Apparently the blond doesn’t come entirely from a box.

31 May

I will tell you now that this is 100% true. And it’s horribly, horribly embarrassing. Especially for someone who prides herself on competence and logic. So here goes…

I’m selling my place tomorrow (knock wood). The buyer is slated to do her walk-through inspection at 2pm and then meet me at the settlement table near the end of the day. Everything needs to be in normal working order, and the repairs I agreed to during the home inspection (all minor) need to be complete.

So imagine my consternation today when – on my way out the door to hit a yoga class – I attempted to run a load in the dishwasher and nothing happened. I fooled with it for a bit and realized that the latch was somehow broken, because it wouldn’t catch and seal the door properly.

I ran to yoga, the whole time thinking, damndamndamn. That dishwasher has been great for ten years. Wouldn’t you know that it would crap out NOW, 24 hours before I’m supposed to sell this place?

During my downward-facing dogs, I kept chewing on the problem. It’s just the latch, I told myself, I’ll take a crack at fixing it.

When I got home from yoga, I did a mental prayer, thinking that maybe a bit of time would’ve allowed some self-healing to occur. It had not. The door would still not latch.

I pulled out my toolkit (mentally praising myself for wisely NOT boxing it up during my packing frenzy yesterday) and began looking for a hex wrench so I could remove the plastic casing from the dishwasher door and get access to the inner-workings of the latch mechanism.

I removed one screw and struggled with the second – and third – and fourth – and realized that like rusty lugnuts, these screws had seen enough water and lime deposits that they were not going to go gently into the night.

I sighed and tried to take a different approach, working a long thin screwdriver through a vent to depress the latch manually. I repeated this maneuver a few times and the latch seemed responsive. I then slowly opened and closed the door, trying to see if the latch was misaligned to its strike plate.

Everything looked good. Puzzled, I sat back on the floor and thought about it. Everything I was seeing seemed correct. So why wouldn’t the latch catch?

Ummmm. This is the part I’m embarrassed about. I reopened the door and spotted a Tupperware lid that was just a smidge too tall sitting there, poking up and just slightly out the front of the rack. I removed it and attempted to close the dishwasher. It latched. Just like that. As it has a thousand other times.

And so I knelt on the floor of my kitchen, sheepishly replacing the screws I had removed and shaking my head in shame.

What makes this worse is that in addition to simply THINKING my dishwasher was broken, I posted it to the world via Facebook.

And I sent Alan a text bemoaning my bad luck. (To which he replied letting me know he was good with dishwashers and happy to help – which was the catalyst for me pulling out the toolkit and trying to disassemble it myself – because I’m just *that* competitive.)

And I had already started writing a blog entry titled,”Screw you AND your law, Murphy!” when I undertook the home repair project. Apparently I can scrap that one – or at least re-purpose the sentiment when it’s actually appropriate.

On the bright side, I don’t have to buy a new dishwasher. Unfortunately, I’ve confirmed I’m an idiot.

3 Responses to “Apparently the blond doesn’t come entirely from a box.”

  1. bonnie May 31, 2010 at 3:52 pm #

    Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought my dishwasher was broken for the same reason. Apparently repetition didn’t teach me anything for a while, so I must be an idiot several times over.

  2. popdialectic May 31, 2010 at 5:34 pm #

    You started taking it apart SOLELY so I couldn’t fix it for you? I have to think what else I’m “good at” so you’ll tackle those jobs, too.

  3. Alicia June 1, 2010 at 10:23 am #

    not an idiot at all. I’ve done this repeatedly thinking the casters had broken because I can’t get the top tray to roll back in. It’s always just a misaligned mug handle, but I forget every time and panic.

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