Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Coming Clean

A few years ago we made a simple request of our dear sons: we asked them to clean up the kitchen after a meal and to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Shocking, I know.

In their zeal to do a really great job (heavy sarcasm here) one threw a very wet sponge at the other one who backed up to avoid said sponge and stepped on the door of the open dishwasher. The door was sprung, so HOB took his drill and drilled a hole up near the top of it (well, he drilled about four holes trying to get it right, but we'll overlook that). In the hole he stuck a screw which screwed into the body of the dishwasher.

Here was the procedure for starting up the dishwasher:
Step One: Feet planted firmly on floor, lift up on door, pulling hard to left side.
Step Two: Slam door hard.
Step Three: Grab screwdriver with hand not holding door.
Step Four: Keeping up pressure to door to the left side, turn screw and hope it is hitting hole, not
starting new one.
Step Five: Step back. Pray to Kitchen Gods while pushing start button and observing to see if any water is leaking out.
When the dishes were done, all we had to do was reverse Steps 1-4.
We did this for about two years.


We had been plagued with semi-clean dishes before the door incident, and the door repair hadn't made it any better. In our typical home repair mode (regular readers will remember the infamous sink story) we put off shopping for the new dishwasher for as long as we could. We stripped out one drilled hole and HOB made another that lasted for awhile.

Finally though, our dishes were coming out worse than when they went in. We had to go out there and shop for a new dishwasher. We were stunned. We found that the world of dishwashers had changed considerably. We went from store to store considering stainless steel interiors, built-in garbage disposals, turbo scrubbers and settings galore.

Too. Many. Choices.

We ended up at Sears, pointing and grunting at a semi-expensive machine and bought it from a salesman who looked like he was twelve years old. We had the machine installed, put our dishes in it and eagerly awaited the results.

We opened the door (still grabbing the screwdriver out of sheer habit) pulled out the dishes and found that they still had scuzzy marks on them.

We called the 'tween salesman, who called the company who sent out a guy.

Part II of this tension-filled adventure continues on our next post. Can you stand the the excitement?

Be patient, Grasshoppers. I'll be back.


LittleSilkDress said...

:o) It never works out as easily as we think it should, does it? haha

Bossy Betty said...

Oh no, it does not . The saga continues!

(Thanks for signing up as a follower!)


Brian said...

At least the plastic latch on the dishwasher never failed, causing the door to fall open and causing you to fall backwards over it, hitting your head on the counter and permanently paralyzing you, causing whichever son pushed you in a minor episode of anger to become severely depressed, sedated heavily by his unforgiving psychiatrist father until such time (after your eventual death) as he could realize how unfair his father had been, and after he met Natalie Portman and had some life-affirming experience near some kind of gravel pit or something, I can't really remember.

Bossy Betty said...

Well, no, but we did have some leakage on the Pergo now and then. I'd say that's just about as bad.