The Eye Of The ‘Dishwasher’ Storm

The pandemic changed everything for me — not just how a repairman replaced a dishwasher for me.

In December 2019 — owing to loud neighbors who played indoor basketball and ‘100-meter stairwell dashes’ at all hours — my girlfriend fled her townhouse in a picturesque Alexandria neighborhood.

Her new home — a five minute drive away from her old place — had a Zen-like quality, was spacious and had a dishwasher that didn’t work.

With the power vested in her iPhone, my girlfriend contacted the property management firm to dispatch a dishwasher doctor. (That was before COVID-19 began sickening adults in Virginia, where we live, and kids across the country got to stay home with their moms for the rest of the school year, instead of going to school to learn their A-B-C’s.)

I wasn’t there when the serviceman came to fix the dishwasher, but I heard that he did some handy-work, and then told my girlfriend that everything was A-OK. Except that it wasn’t. The dishwasher growled — even when we didn’t turn on the wash cycle — but didn’t clean the dishes.

Two serviceman visits later, the property manager agreed that it was time to replace the old Samsung dishwasher with a spanking new one.

As the dirty dishes piled up in her sink, we anxiously awaited the day when the Home Depot serviceman was scheduled to haul in a new dishwasher. When that day arrived, my girlfriend informed me that supervising the dishwasher serviceman was a ‘man-job.’

At 5 p.m. sharp, a man appeared at the front door and introduced himself as the Home Depot service man.

I put my hands up in an “I surrender” pose, backed off and said: “Social distancing.”

The service guy laughed, and said: “That’s a good policy.”

After briefly examining the carcass of a dishwasher in the kitchen, the serviceman disappeared out the front door.

Several minutes later, the serviceman returned with the new dishwasher in brown box, and a second serviceman to help him lug the appliance. (Neither serviceman offered their names.)

Maintaining my force field of six feet between myself and the two servicemen, I watched in wonder, as the pair lovingly worked on the dishwasher unit with the rhythm and cadence of a knitter working on a quilt.

I studied the team’s work, while maintaining my social distancing from them.

Under my watchful eye, out came the old dishwasher, and in came the new dishwasher — with cyan-colored packaging on the front, making it reminiscent of a cyan printer toner cartridge, ready to be popped into a monster-sized Hewlett-Packard printer.

The servicemen informed me that there was just one problem: The dishwasher was too small for the dishwasher alcove, meaning that the entire appliance would rock like Stevie Wonder when we opened or closed it. To fix it, the landlord would need to have latches drilled into the granite counter, then have those latches attached to the new dishwasher.

After consulting my girlfriend (since she signed the lease), I made an executive decision — The shimmying dishwasher would stay.

The chief serviceman offered to show me a summary of his team’s work on his iPhone, but I backed off and put my glasses on. At six feet, though, I couldn’t make heads or tails of the text on the iPhone’s screen.

Now the serviceman wanted me to sign off on his work on his iPhone. I carefully leaned as far back as possible and snatched the iPhone away from him.

I ran upstairs to hand the iPhone to my girlfriend, who sleepily doodled something on the surface of the screen.

Running back downstairs, I extended my arm as far as possible to give the phone back to the serviceman. It turned out to be an exchange: I gave the serviceman his iPhone, and he gave me a paper copy the service order and asked for a signature.

Tired myself now, I sleepily doodled something on the paper service order.

With the work complete, and the servicemen departing, I faded into the background, and began loading the dishwasher.

Satisfied that I could clean dishes that had been waiting to be washed for more than a month, I was confident that I had evaded COVID-19.

UPDATE: (October 2020) I wrote this piece in early April 2020, shortly after the nation’s governors, including Virginia Governor Ralph Northam, issued stay-at-home orders. After being installed, the dishwasher hummed on and usually cleaned the dishes when I hit the pressed the start button. My relationship with my girlfriend, on the other hand, did not hum on. In September 2020 we parted ways. I can only hope to imagine how things might have been if not for the pandemic — which was a turning point for our relationship, and not for the better.

Author bio: Jay Krasnow is a public affairs professional and journalist who has, over the past 25 years, worked in government communications offices and as a writer for trade publications.