‘Super’ser

For those of you not in the know the ‘Superser’ was parents’ chosen method of ‘warming up’ their family up to as late as the 1990’s. It was essentially a gas fuelled mobile heater, much more convenient then lighting a real fire, which involved the highly skilled art of pinning sheets of newspaper to the face of the hearth until they caught fire or got sucked up the chimney.

Manys the freezing morning dirty faced school children would run down to consume their soggy, cardboard like breakfast, huddled round the Superser, as one, then the other parent would struggle to get the open faced toaster on wheels lit.

It used a simple flint ‘clicker’ system to ignite the firey face. ‘Click-click-hold, click-click’, went the button somehow spelling out “I’m gassing my children” in morse code. The parents shouted instructions to each other through chattering teeth, “No, it’s click-hold-click! You idiot”, they’d shout.

Eventually the Superser would catch and, degree by degree, the family would warm up to a point that could almost be called ‘cozy’. At this exact moment though the Superser must be turned off as its coincides with when the family must leave for the school run, scamper from the house and pile into the car.

Unfortunately the same factory that made the Superser clicker was also the one that manufactured the ‘Choke’ device often found in mid to low prices family cars of the time. Again the parents grow frustrated with each other, as the magic combination of timings and sequences must be found. “Pull it out, now pump the accelerator three times and turn the ignition” “No it’s: pump, pull, turn, push back in”. “Ah fuck, now it’s flooded”.

Once ‘Flooded’ the entire family would have to get out into freezing conditions and push start the car until all the warmth the Superser had managed to instil was gone.

Superser hated my family.

Years later, while working part time, I saw one laying on it’s back being used as an over sized sandwich grill by the other workers on their lunch break. I watched as the molten cheese and tomato dripped down from their sambo’s onto the element, ruining it forever. I hastily grabbed my own sambo from the fridge and tossed it on the improvised grill. Cheese, butter and ham ‘juice’ poured delightfully from my sandwich as the heater sizzled and spat in it’s death throws. “Not so ‘Super’ now my old foe, not so super now.”

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