One day I pulled the milk out of my fridge to make tea and was gravely concerned. Vaguely lumpy milk is never a good sign, and it’s the kind of mild biological oddity that makes you uncomfortable and question if its something airborne and going to spread to the rest of your food. Also I couldn’t drink my tea without milk because what am I, some kind of animal? With time, I came to realize the issue: my fridge was bonked. The regular fridge part itself was rapidly becoming warmer, and the arctic ice floe that lived in the freezer above was beginning to gather condensation. My heart sank. The fridge was terminal.