The Assignment of the Great Appliance Disastrophe

Y’all remember my stories from last summer about our movers holding our stuff for almost three weeks after we moved into our new house, and then the story about how the dryer died as soon as it was finally delivered and installed?

Fast forward six months, and I’m hoping Bubba can pull of a miracle for us again.

The other night, we turned on our dishwasher, and it started right up… and then promptly stopped.

Hubby switched it off. Turned the dial. (This one’s old school, y’all.) Then he flipped the latch to start it again. It swished once, twice… and then died.

So I turned the dial and flipped the latch.

Nothing.

At that point, we did what any brilliant couple would do. We opened the door.

The dishwasher promptly roared to life, sprayers spraying like they’re going for gold.

All over the kitchen.

Hubby slammed the door shut. I stood there giggling. (Of the two of us, he got wetter. Probably the universe’s interference, since Squeaker threw half a cup of water on me while I was giving him a bath not thirty minutes earlier. Not that I wished for the dishwasher to malfunction and then spray hubby. It just happened that way, and it struck me as interesting that now we were even.)

We both actually got a good laugh out of it. Then hubby twisted the knob again, flipped the latch, and the poor dishwasher was just dead as an armadillo on I-10 in August. Hubby carefully opened the dishwasher back up, then, while it was open, he turned the knob. (He wanted to see if the soap container would open again.)

Cross my heart, that dishwasher sprayer sprang right back to life. And this time, Hubby had a full rack of dishes pulled out and a giant bowl blocking the vertical sprayer thingie (technical term) that had shot upwards, so he couldn’t just slam the door shut again.

We’re talking water shooting up over half the kitchen here, folks. Me and my military man, shrieking at each other to turn it off turn it off TURN IT OFF!! until one of us remembered the fancy little switch on the wall that kills the power to the darn thing. (Seriously. Confused the bajeezers out of us when we moved in and couldn’t figure out what that switch was for, and then thought we’d moved into a house with a broken dishwasher until we figured out how to get power to it.)

Between that and the timer on our new-to-us dryer recently deciding only some cycles are necessary, I’m thinking our little sunny spot of Alabama has some spiritual issues with the idea of us having working appliances.

Probably I should go make a sacrifice to the appliance gods. We’ve got a few months left here still. Wish us luck!

 

p.s. Disastrophe is totally a word. And it’s awesome.