FUCK! Not Again! I Dropped Another Fully-Cooked Lasagna Behind the Fridge

I took the pan filled with lasagna goodness out of the oven with rags draped over the handles. But the damn rag was too damn thin, and my fingers started to feel hot. And then very hot. And then I screamed and yelped and swore and pushed the pan away from me. It hit the counter, making a thonking sound like a cranium on a table. Then it slid across the counter slotted perfectly in the gap between the wall and the refrigerator. The lasagna slid slowly down the gap, spreading its gooey goodness all over the wall, until it finally slid to the bottom and rested on top of its compatriot that I had dropped in the same manner the week before. 

Why are the high rise kitchens designed like this? Why is there a massive gap between the refrigerator and the back wall that is the perfect size of a lasagna?