I wasn't referring to the neighbors, my mother-in-law or Time-Warner cable. I was talking about my dishwasher and I… hated it. The "my" was a misnomer. I didn't install, choose or even want it but when we bought the house of my dreams it came with the dishwasher of my nightmares.
The horror story began on a sunshiny day as an innocent couple bought their first home. As they squealed with laughter at how lucky they were finally to have a home of their own, inside lurked the dark force--the dishwasher.
Since this was a horror movie, the first thing the woman did was put on a bikini. The first thing her spouse did was not mention how weird it was that she was wearing a bikini. The couple ate a meal of roasted chicken and sauteed vegetables--just a little something she whipped up after work. They loaded the dishes in the machine, poured in washing powder and pressed "start".
They were greeted with clanking, pounding, wailing and wheezing. The machine sounded like a rabid badger crossed with a teenager trapped in her family's cross-country RV trip.
When the machine finished its cycle the dishes were wet but still dirty. The dark monster had won the battle! But every bikini-clad woman in a horror movie knew it didn't matter who won the battle there was still another hour to finish the war.
She tried expensive washing powders, detergent cubes, after-rinse and pre-rinse soaps--none of which worked. In desperation she succumbed to washing the dishes by hand before loading them in the machine. Afterwards they came out dirtier than when they'd been put in. The monster was back and winning!
She ran to the top of the mountain--to get a cellphone signal--and called the home warranty insurance company. They'd fix this dirty dishwasher since she'd been paying them for months for just this sort of repair.
"This machine doesn't clean," the bikini girl said to the appliance Repairman. "Please help." He nodded then gave her a bill for $100. "But you haven't fixed it."
"It ain't broke," said the Repairman.
"But it doesn't clean my dishes."
"Says who?" The Repairman exited laughing.
Every day the woman worked, cooked and cleaned stacks of dishes. Every day the defunct dishwasher made her life a waking nightmare. She called the home warranty company again. A new Repairman came to the front door and charged her $200.
"But!" the bikini girl said. "You didn't even look at my machine."
"I don't have to see it to know it isn't broken." He laughed while turning on his heel.
She called the home warranty back, they sent a third Repairman, who gave her a bill for $300 without even leaving his truck.
"You can't see how broken it is," she said.
"Our machines never break!" he said laughing like a hyena.
So much money had been spent for machine repairs that'd never happened. The dark force was winning. Oh the horror! The bikini girl took matters into her own hands. She ripped out the offending dishwasher and unplugged it. Then she smiled because she had killed the machine! She'd won the horror war!
Of course she still didn't have a functioning dishwasher, which left her heaps of dishes to do by hand. But she still smiled. In her bikini.
Next: A new chapter
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