On My Plan to Gain Independence and End the Wash, Rinse and Dry Cycle of Misery

Can hand washing dishes change your life? Grant a new perspective? Give you a healthier, more luminous complexion? Buffer arms? More patience and forbearance? Make you a better housekeeper? A better person? A brilliant thinker?!

I believe so. I'm out to prove it, and I'm my own guinea pig - me and my kids.

Down with the dishwasher! I say. Overthrow the tyranny of major appliances! is my battle cry.

Does this mean I'm hunched over a fire pit in the backyard, slow roasting meals on flames and baking in the coals? No, no. Does it mean I'm keeping my super-salted meat and other perishables in a cellar 10 feet under? Nah. Washing my clothes in the bathtub, scrubbing them with stones from the landscaping? No way in Arizona (which is close enough)! I'm just done with my nemesis, that evil manipulator of my time and a chronic liar: the Dishwasher.

The beauty of my plan is that I don't have to replace it. I just wave my hand, say a few affirming words and Voila! In its place I now have a very fancy, ultra-expensive, built-into-the-counter drying rack. Ever heard of such a thing? Well, neither had I; though, I tell you, it's quite handy.

Yeah, yeah, some would say, Well, what about the germs? Those nasty, nasty germs? How do you intend to sanitize your dishes without a high temp/sani-rinse/heated dry cycle? My reply would be, just when did our standards get so high? Are we that civilized? Are public pools and Porta-potties still in existence or what? As for germs, I am a firm believer that what you don't know can't kill you...at least not immediately.

I'm on my fourth day of hand washing. It's humid work, but my complexion is dewy. Yes, it's tedious, menial labor, but I have so much time for quiet contemplation that in a few more years I'll be a great philosopher (was that your secret, Aristotle?). And it's bringing back memories of my childhood, good memories, like my brother hiding silverware behind the lip of the counter, so he wouldn't have to wash it.

As for the housekeeping part, my kitchen is cleaner than it has ever been since the dawn of children in this household. No more metal water bottles standing at attention for days by the sink, begging to be noticed and washed by a generous hand. No more piles of dishes, pleading for their turn in that next run of the dishwasher, if I can be bothered to unload and reload. No more funny smells coming from beneath that never ending but changeable tower of oddly-shaped utensils, lids and plastic in the left of the sink, because I just never seem to reach the end of it or the salmonella slime that is surely there below.

Oh, how many wasted years have I believed the lie that I can't properly wash my own dishes! That I must wait on the "dishwasher"? Now ALL my dishes get washed - every day - by my own two hands! My sink is so sparkly and stainless that I could churn homemade ice cream in the garbage disposal, and how often can one say that? (Would one want to say that? you ask. To which I reply, Yes! Come on over. I'll whip some up!) And since the sink is so often filled with hot soapy water, I wipe down my counters, stovetop and faucet alot more often, too.

Okay, I'll be honest. The rest of our home is suffering some neglect, hanging in the balance of disorder and probable collapse in the next few weeks, if not days, because of the dish labor. But if civilization does collapse in the rest of this house, I am cheered to know that thanks to my valiant and constant efforts, we can all retreat to the spotless, albeit tiny, kitchen with purified water (hey, the food's already here!), a crank radio and bug repellent and wait for someone to rescue us.

Today my son asked when we were going to get a new dishwasher, to which I replied with fervor, "Never! We're never getting a new dishwasher. I am the new dishwasher - mwah-ha-ha!"

And to which my husband responded, "When Mama breaks."

But I am a new woman, freed from the urge to delegate to a machine. And I have been inspired by my eldest daughter Ana to keep up the brave fight, for the most wonderful thing happened as she helped me wash dishes on the first day of my resolution/revolution. I gave an eloquent speech about how her saintly Aunt Vinca has gone without a dishwasher for nigh on twenty years - that if my big sis could do it it, I darn well could, too. As I droned on my precious girl did her chore cheerfully, and my heart expanded with pride when, reaching into the soapy water for some new thing to clean, she exclaimed enthusiastically, "It's like a treasure hunt; you never know what you're gonna find!"

Ah, a fresh perspective. A new era! Freedom! Unless.....

...shudder...

......Mama breaks.

Built to Last...a year or two

I'm going to drive this car into the ground, people say. I've said it with every vehicle before it got annihilated in a car accident a few years later, and what I mean is, I'm going to drive this thing until it can't drive no more.

You don't hear people say similar stuff about major appliances:

I'm going to load this dishwasher into the floor.

I'm going to toast this toaster into the counter.

I'm going to eat this refrigerator into the basement.

But the frugal among us cherish such resolves. We will eek the usefulness out of every major purchase for years, and dare we hope that it will be for dozens of years? We don't replace things simply because they are out of date. No, we replace them when they are falling apart, not functioning at even 1% of their potential and are an indictment against the style choices of an earlier age. We firmly believe that a major appliance should last a minimum of 20 years, even if we are the Arch Queen of Accidental Disaster.

This is why I detest my expensive, energy-efficient dishwasher. It and I do not hold this truth to be self-evident: that all dishwashers were created to wash dishes.

A year ago we had to have an intervention, as it had lost its sense of purpose in life because it was no longer WASHING dishes. The blasted thing was only three years old. The manufacturer's repair man came out (shudder) and thoroughly scrubbed out our dishwasher, all gunked with soap, and replaced all its hoses - gunked with soap. We paid the price of a new dishwasher for this service. In exchange we were given specific instructions for our high-efficiency dishwasher:

Use only the best, most expensive powder dish detergent

 

Buy expensive dishwasher residue fighter to compliment pricey detergent. Use EVERY SINGLE TIME.

 

Always use high-temp setting

 

Run tap water for several minutes to get it really hot before starting dishwasher

 

Keep water heater at 130 degrees or greater to enable dishwasher to dissolve soap

 

Stroke dishwasher. Compliment it often. Assure it that it's doing a great job, and wash all nasty dishes thoroughly before loading them into its fancy interior.

 

 

Okay, I made up that last one. But I'm understandably bitter, because the stupid thing recently had another identity crisis. The top arm wasn't moving, soap wasn't dissolving and our dishes weren't getting clean. My husband wanted to replace it, but when I pointed out it was only four years old and that we had already invested the down payment of a house on it, he reconsidered. Instead, he called a friend over, and they took it apart bit by bit and found NOTHING AT ALL WRONG WITH IT.

 

Stubborn, I resolved to die under a crushing pile of my own dirty kitchenware before replacing the damn thing, so I began to hit a special, top-secret combo of buttons before running each load, tilting its door at a 35 degree angle while pouring in the soap, whispering sweet nothings through gritted teeth before setting its cycle, and performing special rain dances for it as it filled with water. All this followed by embarrassing supplication on my knees. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. 

 

As I see it, if I finally give up on this thing in which we have invested blood, sweat and tears, there is only one course of action left to me. I must leave it by the curb with a fifty-dollar bill, some homemade chocolate-chip cookies and this note attached:

 

Please take our dishwasher. Late model, energy-efficient piece of c--p will only run with constant coaxing, flattery, caressing, coercion or by an Act of God. Will gladly accept old, steel-door, last century, water-guzzling dishwasher that actually works in exchange. Delivery negotiable.