An appliance controls my life. I am so ashamed, but it is not because I can’t stay away from it, it is because I rely on it.
Sunday afternoon, during a nice chin-on-chest nap in front of the television, the Norse god Thor with his hammer paid a visit to the internal workings of the refrigerator compressor. It was a gosh awful racket that got the reposed Admiral off her favorite recliner to run to the kitchen, push me aside, grab the offending appliance, and shake it while yelling, "What's wrong with you?"
We say the strangest things when jolted from a deep sleep, and I only tell this embarrassing moment, which she will deny, because her actions and words set the tone for the coming week. I did not know my life revolved around the refrigerator, but I was soon to learn.
The first thing to do was to get all the food out of the dead fridge's freezer. The chest freezer is full to the brim, making me wonder how it is that we never have anything to eat around here. Maybe if the Admiral bought more chocolate doughnuts and diet Dr. Pepper, and less good-for-you-stuff, we'd have room.
The freezer in the "Dr. Pepper" fridge (I don't drink, so it can't be a beer fridge) in the garage is stuffed too, so break out the ice chests. We have two very good ones that keep ice and food cold for five days. "We won't need that," I tell myself, "we'll have a new refrigerator on Monday, Tuesday at the latest." Ha! How can someone my age be so naïve?
Monday, I determined that fixing the old refrigerator, would cost an arm, but if I added only one leg, I could have a new one, so I started to shop. I was confident that we would have a new refrigerator by Tuesday, and I could put my diet Dr Pepper back into its designated unit in the garage. Hope springs eternal. Ha! I scoff at thee, thou gullible fool!
I begin to shop websites. You must be kidding me! Whatever happened to the $500 ones? To get one the size I want, with the features I am convinced are necessary for survival, such as through the door ice and water, I will have to pay an arm and a leg-and-a-half. It took me a few minutes of ranting and raging, but the more I surfed, the more I knew that would be the price. I was willing and still hopeful for Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. Ha! I declare again.
I found the one I wanted, so off I went to the store. To my surprise, they had it, and the price was the same as the internet price.
"I want this one," I told the smiling, prepubescent clerk as I wondered how someone yet to shave could know anything about refrigerators, but then I've been shaving for over fifty years, and I don't know anything about most things.
"That's the first one you’ve looked at," he said.
"Yes," I replied, "this is man-shopping."
He looked at me funny.
"You see what you want; you buy it and go home." I could tell he wasn't married. "You'll understand someday."
He smiled weakly, and we went to check out.
As he was doing his magic in the computer, I asked, "Do you have one still in the box?"
"No, we'll have to have it shipped from our warehouse."
"O.k., I'll take the one on the floor."
"I can't do that. If it was a close out item I could, but we're selling a lot of this model."
"How can you be selling a lot of this model, and not have one in stock?"
"We don't keep an inventory of large items. They all come from our warehouse."
Tuesday isn't going to happen, and Wednesday is a fading possibility, but I ask, "Can you deliver it?"
"Yes sir, let me check a date for you."
"I can tell you the date, it’s tomorrow."
He reddened as he tapped keys, ignoring me.
I sighed and groaned.
"What was that?" He asked.
"That was the sound of hope for Wednesday leaving the building." He didn't get it and I didn’t explain.
"We can deliver it Friday," he said, triumphantly.
I stared at him in shock. It is Monday and I have to live until Friday without a refrigerator? The gods laugh and mock me! It was at that moment that I realized how an appliance controls my life.
The days until Friday were filled with longing, worry, and confusion. I would forget, and go to the dead, empty unit with my glass for ice and water. It's silence mocked me too. Really, am I supposed to drink iceless, unfiltered tap water? The indignity of it, and to top it off, all the diet Dr. Pepper was sitting on the floor of the garage, hot. My heart aches for electrically generated, refrigerated air contained in a box.
Friday arrived and I sprang out of bed like a kid at Christmas. The promised delivery time of 9:30AM was still hours away, but I was ready. I had the mocking victim of Thor pulled out ready to haul off, the space for the new unit was cleaned and scrubbed, and a new water line was made ready. I paced the floor.
I was so nervous. It was like a first date. "Will the new unit like me?" I wondered. "I hope she's as pretty as the pictures."
The designated time arrived. The old unit was taken away, and the new one installed. What a magic moment for me when the technician plugged it in and I could hear the quiet hum. I nearly wept, I tell you.
Like a schoolboy with a new toy, I stood in front of it, running glass after glass of water through the filter to clean it out as instructed. An hour or so later, I heard the first ice cubes hit the bottom of the tub and I shouted for joy. Another hour passed and the wonderful sound of complete silence fell over the kitchen as my new refrigerator cycled off. It was now cold enough to accept food.
I ran and emptied the bottom shelf of the garage refrigerator, rushed the stuff into the new one. Next, the Dr. Peppers on the floor went into their proper place. The freezer stuff in the ice chests was next, and the world began, once again, to go around in greased grooves.
What is wrong with me, why all this anxiety over a refrigerator? What would happen to me if the car died? Well, that's why I have two. Maybe I should have three refrigerators.
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