Life expectancy of fridges | Memoir stories

Post-it Note On My New Fridge: ‘Don’t Be Like My Ex-fridge’

Before malfunctioning, remember what happened to the last fridge that stood right where you’re standing

We were together for about seven years, my ex-fridge and I. We were happy in the beginning. He kept things cool, made no demands, and never once pushed me to seek help. He was always there with water and ice, I only had to press the right buttons, and voila! It was meant to be, ours was a match made in an appliance factory.

Then about four years in, I sensed something had changed. My fridge wasn’t acting normally, I saw it in his lights — once they were a bright shade of daylight white, but the sparkle was gone, and the top shelf was noticeably dim.

It made no sense, they were one of my fridge’s most attractive features, and they were LEDs, this should not have happened.

Then one quiet night, the breeze drifting through my bedroom window was too warm, a bit muggy, and I was in one of those moods. I couldn’t shake it, I felt like having a glass of water with ice.

On my way to the kitchen, I heard a weird clunking sound, and that was the night I discovered my fridge’s control board was messing around with the ice maker.

I’d been suspicious of that ice maker, she’d been acting irrationally. Some nights there were just a few cubes, then other times she’d fill the glass until ice cubes were tumbling over the top. Some nights there wasn’t even a response; I’d go for a glass of water with ice and she seemed to be completely offline.

I had only one option, if I wanted my fridge to function as it once did, I’d have to seek professional help.

I was lucky to find a service tech whose interventions had saved other fridges from being kicked to the recycle yard. It would surely have been a one-way ticket for my fridge, after all, appliances weren’t as easily serviced as they used to be.

The tech arrived for the intervention, unpacked his tool kit, and hunkered down next to my fridge.

I stepped into the other room to give him some privacy, but I couldn’t help overhearing the tech say the ice maker was a piece of work… then to my fridge, he said you could have done better than this. The tech also muttered something about control boards not functioning like they once did.

Afterward, he commented that today’s fridges had issues, and we’d all have to come to terms with this new reality.

I remember when fridges took pride in staying in kitchens until retirement when they’d relocate to the garage. They’d have it easier out there, chilling summertime beverages and keeping extra holiday lasagnas cool. It was a great life, some Canadian garage fridges even got to unplug and sleep right through winter.

Anyway, after the intervention, it was decided that we’d have a new ice maker installed, and after that, my fridge hummed along smoothly, seemingly back to its old self.

I felt confident enough to go on vacation.

But I might have guessed, it was only a matter of time. We’d been away for three, maybe four, days when the lady who feeds our cats called to say the fridge sounded weird.

My heart dropped. I should have known, once a malfunctioning control board, always a malfunctioning control board.

The stress of living with an undependable fridge eventually won out over my obsession with being frugal, and I decided I wasn’t putting any more effort into a relationship that was doomed from the start.

The time had come to look for a replacement fridge, one I could count on for glasses of water and ice at any time, day or night.

I shopped around, this scene wasn’t new to me, I mean, it had only been seven years since my last quest for a suitable fridge.

Eventually, a shiny new model caught my eye. But before making a commitment, I wanted an extended warranty.

Side note: I’m pretty sure the inventor of extended warranties is floating on a yacht somewhere in an aqua-blue sea drinking colorful beverages, their grandchildren’s children set for life, but that’s fine, I don’t care.

I just needed a few stress-free years with my new fridge. Even if I end up calling in a service tech, the intervention won’t cost a dime.

Epilogue: It’s been a week since they delivered my new fridge. I couldn’t help feeling a little choked up as I watched my old fridge being rolled out the door on a one-way ticket to the recycle yard. Maybe someone would be able to salvage the ice maker.

This is the related story of earlier days with my ex-fridge: