Sunday’s Column – The End Of An Era

Mar 31, 2014 by winjaw

I came home the other day to a rather high stack of dishes, glasses, bowls and other eating utensils.

We all knew this day would come. I just kept putting it off.

I guess I hoped some appliance genie would show us grace a while longer. It was not to be. The dishwasher is dead. Long live the dishwasher.

It was well past its prime. Heck, it was well past the 20-year mark. In other words, it would cost more to fix it – if parts could even be found – than to replace it. And that says a lot, I think. In today’s society, it’s easier, and usually cheaper, to just throw something away and get a new one.

I hate new appliances. Our old one had a “normal cycle” and a “heavy cycle.” I think you could also select heat or air dry.

Now I’m going to have to get a replacement only the SONS of Thunder can operate. I know this because our ancient washing machine recently gave out. We got one of those “high-efficiency” models that uses a tablespoon of soap. It has more buttons and dials and lights and action than I can handle. I just want to push a button and wash clothes. I have to call them every time to do even that.

But back to the current crisis. The aforementioned dishes/plates/bowls/etc. needed to be cleaned, so I did what any self-respecting dad would do: I called the SONS down.

“The dishwasher is broken,” they all pointed out in unison. No duh.

“We will hand-wash them,” I reply, followed quickly by a “don’t give me that look. Just say ‘yes sir.’”

They are all Boy Scouts. Somehow they have no problem washing dishes and plates out on a backpacking trip with Leave No Trace principles, but a modern kitchen with a sink and running water somehow has them perplexed.

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Remember, we are talking about the SONS, so someone is going too fast or too slow or not wiping/drying/rinsing properly. I tell them they can’t speak to each other until they’re done.

The Little Black Dress comes down and I proudly point out my awesome assembly line and note we really don’t need a dishwasher – we have the SONS.

She gives me one of those looks. After 20 years of marriage, I know this one – “I love you but sometimes you have no concept of reality.”

So I point out that when we were first married we lived in a little brownstone in Washington, D.C., and it didn’t have a washing machine. We washed all the dishes by hand and had a cool, wooden drying rack.

“We were young and it was just the two of us,” she replied. “The SONS are like Hobbits, they eat six times a day.”

She then points to a sale on dishwashers in the newspaper. The one she wants raves about its minimal “decibel level.” Basically, you can’t hear it and there’s a little light on the front that lets you know it’s even on.

And I look at her and ask why we need a dishwasher we can’t hear. Plus, the thing had way too many buttons and dials and …

She just gives me another one of those looks. And I’m off to the store. So much for the SONS learning a trade.