Broken promises

My dishwasher is broken. My dishwasher has been broken for a looooong time. Three repairmen with varying gruff demeanors have stuck their heads into my dishwasher over the past three weeks, looked perplexed and left without fixing it. Each gruff repairman has charged me for the privilege of looking perplexed and leaving without fixing it. The first gruff repairman cost $80 for a five-minute visit. His verdict was the control panel. Head office quoted $240 to replace the control panel. Being on a budget – well, aside from essentials such as the cleaner, gardener, psychologist and lunch with Husband on Wednesdays – we chose to fix rather than replace it. Second gruff repairman installed a new control panel, swiped my VISA card and left. Thrilled, I filled the dishwasher and turned it on. Dishwasher didn’t work. Third gruff repairman arrived (many days later) and said it wasn’t working because the filter was blocked (my filthy fault, apparently) and left, confident he’d solved the problem. I cleaned the filter, filled the dishwasher and turned it on. Dishwasher didn’t work. I was getting pretty toey about the $240 spent on a new control panel at this point, since the control panel clearly wasn’t the solution. The repair place stopped returning my calls. Wait, I lie, they did call. But it was about the vacuum cleaner they took away six months ago to fix. (Oooh, so that’s where it was!) They finally got around to looking at my vacuum and quoted $300 to fix it. Older and wiser, I told them to forget it and asked to be transfered to the dishwasher repair section. The dishwasher repair section had left for the day (likely story), but the receptionist promised someone would call. Two days later, a text message popped up: my new control panel would have to be replaced because it was faulty. That’s another four precious hours of my life waiting for a gruff repairman to arrive. What’s with the whole “we’ll be there sometime during a four-hour period” thing? How do people with actual jobs manage? Why not just say “we will arrive in the last 15 minutes of the four-hour waiting period we’ve assigned you”, since that’s what is actually going to happen. It would save both parties much angst and free up time for more useful pursuits such as trawling toy shops for this particularly rare Zhu Zhu puppy I want for Sprog 1’s Christmas stocking (I normally start my obsessive Xmas shopping in July, but I’m running behind schedule this year). I’ve no idea where I’d have found 12 hours (and counting) to wait for gruff dishwasher repairmen to arrive when I was employed. Husband is loving that I’m available to wait endlessly for gruff repairmen, as I’d have probably made him do it in the past. I used to wonder why my sister never got her dishwasher fixed. It’s been broken for years and I finally understand why. Too much trouble. Better to just buy a bottle of diswashing liquid and be done with it. 

TONIGHT’S MENU: Leftovers. So many leftovers. Sick of leftovers.

4 thoughts on “Broken promises

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