Well, our dishwasher is not happy. It came with the house, in fact, it was the only appliance in the place. We bought a foreclosure in Northern California, so we’re lucky there weren’t holes in the walls and such. When searching out rock-bottom-prices in the Bay Area, you see some pretty craptastic houses. When the one came along, we learned to adjust our first-time-home-buyer-dreams for reality.
After living in the house for about two years we are finally figuring a few things out. The dishwasher has never really been right. It makes lots and lots of noise, was installed incorrectly, leaked the first couple of times we used it – and the bottom spinny thing doesn’t spin properly.
And, the other day, during all its noise and lack-of-proper spinning, the spinny thing got stuck. Let me set the scene: the baby is serenely napping, I’m happily doing my work and enjoying a nice quiet afternoon (well, not really because the child was actually NOT napping and in her crib singing the theme song from Caillou really loud and the dishwasher was making this horrid CLUNK CLUNK BUZZZZZZZZZZ kinda noise) when an interesting smell wafted towards my delicate nose.
I ran around the house in a panic searching out the smell. Was our house going to burn down? Should I call someone? Was there a wire burning somewhere inside the walls?
And then I knew. I knew it HAD to be that dishwasher.
I opened the door mid-cycle, all the water gushed out, and there was the smelly culprit.
The spinny thing.
It was caught on the heating coil and melting.
So, this lovely Saturday morning, we are heading off to do one of my most dreaded things. Shopping with sales persons that make their livings off commissions.
Wish me luck.