You stand up, and stare at the disembodied head. "Shut UP!" you yell, and cram it back into the fridge. You slam the door, and this time it does not bounce back open.
You stoop down to retreive the plastic jar of mayonaise, and hopefully salvage some not-too-hairy pickles from the floor. You ignore the faint cries coming from the fridge.
"I will! I don't care what you think, Dad! Now I'm all grown up, with a big house, and a big kitchen, and a big fridge," you say, slamming down your ingredients, "and a big - mayonaise - and pickle - SANDWICH!"
At this point, you shove the sandwich in your face, and then sit down and cry and cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. What should you do now?