Life Preservers

Dish Washer

Recently, I noticed a certain deterioration in the performance of the dishwasher. One by one, the buttons stopped working. “Pots and pans” died. “Heavy wash” died. “Normal wash” died. I was down to “Light wash.”

I had a repairman take a look. Prognosis:  A new electronic pad unit thingamabob, $200 for the part, yada-yada, and I decided—with a surge of energetic, disciplined vim that I, whose ancestors crossed the ocean on a boat . . . that I, who have camped in the wilderness and washed my mess kit in a stream . . . that I, who generally only have dishes for one—could certainly live without a dishwasher for a while.

And so, my friends, I washed dishes by hand. And, you know what? It was soothing. It was a sort of Zen thing. It made me wax philosophical about this rush-rush-rush world we live in.

The next day, I decided that the “Light wash” cycle was, you know, probably fine really, and, while loading up the dishwasher, I noticed this plastic rectangular bit (inside the door, opposite the not-working buttons) that looked as if it would pop right out. And it would. And I did.

Journey to Stupidville. Step 1.

Then, I noticed the screws around the edge of the inside door. I’d turn back if I were you!

With the door taken apart, I came upon this bit of bulky black plastic (with electrocution warnings) that also looked as if it would pop right off. And it would. And I did.

(Yes, I turned the power off first.)

And then, as I realized, sigh and rats, that I couldn’t access the buttons anyway, I decided to put it all back together again. And that was when the entire top third of the inner door fell out of the doorframe.

Ah. Yes. Hmmmm.

I attempted to put it back together for quite some time while staving off a wave of fear, panic, and completely unjustified astonishment. No go.

I did indeed consider picking up the phone to call the repairman or my Dad. But, the Unsinkable Molly Brown Maniac in my head suggested I try again.

After another hour or so of fumbling, straining, cussing, and wishing for a third hand to reach the screwdriver . . . it was, suddenly, somehow, some it-can’t-be-right way back together. I tightened the screws. I pushed the “Pots and pans” button. (Nothing.) “Heavy wash.” (Nothing.) “Normal wash.” (Nothing.) “Light wash.” (Ah, the little green light comes on, water begins to run.) I stood watch, truly fascinated at the lack of leaks and/or explosions. I shook my head at my wasted efforts but breathed a sigh, saluted the Gods of Dumb Luck (who prefer offerings of icy cold beer), and promised myself to call the repairman very soon.

So.

Last night, I loaded up the dishwasher, and pushed a button—in the way I have been doing since it started to stop working, pressing each button in a row until I get to one that works. I hit the “Pots and pans” button, and, as I slid my finger to the “Heavy wash” button, um, Hel-lo. The little green light under “Pots and pans” is on?! and the water is running?! The dishwasher had started up! On “Pots and pans”! It also started on “Heavy wash” and “Normal wash.” Every. Single. Button. Is. Working. Now.

Awesome! Amazing! Freakin’ sweet! Mwa-ha-ha! Mwa-ha-ha, in your face dishwasher. I won! I won! I won! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha! I WON!

Hooray!

{On the other hand, I can’t help thinking this is positive reinforcement of the very worst kind.}

May 23, 2013 at 5:10 pm 3 comments