We have a new dishwasher!
The stainless steel beauty of its front panel opens to reveal the pristine spaciousness of two deep dish racks, an easily removable silverware caddy, and a self-cleaning filter. (Side note: we could use more “self-cleaning” things around here.) With six different wash settings, spot-free rinse, and a heat dry cycle, it has revolutionized the functional efficiency of our entire kitchen.
Gone is the dinosaur that once stood in its place, and call me callous, but I don’t miss it. There was a basic communication breakdown between it and me. Silly me, I was laboring under the misapprehension that a “dishwasher” was meant to, you know, wash dishes. Instead, the washing was all done by me, prior to placing the dishes into the dishwasher. Stuck-on food had nothing to fear from the clumsy ministrations of our outdated appliance. And then there were the spots of soapy film still clinging to the glasses after the “rinse” cycle, making it look as if the whole top rack had been splattered with toothpaste. Still, we lived with it, dutifully pre-washing and post-rinsing every load of dishes, begging the question of why, exactly, we were using a dishwasher in the first place.
Then a wonderful thing happened.
The old dinosaur started leaking. First, it was just a few drops of water at the end of the rinse cycle. Then a little puddle. Then a pool. We even had to run a few loads with a towel tucked around the base of the washer to catch the runoff. It was time to call the landlord.
The day after we spoke to him, he came out to look at the offending machine. Thirty seconds later, he declared it a disaster, and reappeared the next morning with a replacement—a glorious technological wonder, the epitome of modern day dishwashing prowess.
Did I mention that it’s shiny?
Every so often, it’s nice to be a renter. (Now if I can just remember that the next time I go on an HGTV binge …)