I have a problem with dishwashers. In the family’s domestic scene it’s my responsibility because I’m the only one who really understands how it works. Mrs G doesn’t understand the blades that swish round squirting soapy water need to be able to operate unencumbered and routinely packs it in a way that means it doesn’t wash properly. It’s a user issue, not a hardware issue. When I say ‘you’ve packed it in a way that means it doesn’t work‘ she puts her hands on her hips, cocks her head to one side and says, ‘fine, you know how it works you do it‘. So constructive criticism made with the best of intentions to create efficiency in a household aid designed wholly to save time is twisted into a personal criticism. I presume this argument, if you could call it that, bubbles away in all households, part of the symphony of divided household chores that becomes our own unique norm. The splitting of household jobs has never been formally agreed. We’ve never sat across a table with a sheet of paper and pen divvying these things up. As a bloke I am in charge of all bins, recycling, poo on the lawn (but not poo in the house), dog washing if the dog has rolled in something shitty (but not if it’s just to make them smell nice for Christmas), any animal illness, all insurance, anything to do with cars, everything in the garage, the dvd player set up and whole Netflix thing, anything involving wifi and tech, batteries, tools, takeaways, breakfasts, lightbulbs, anything that requires setting foot in B&Q, all bills,anything to do with the fireplace, lawn mowing and all things garden related. Her jobs list is probably bigger but she can write about that in her own blog post if she had a blog and posted on it.
This morning the dishwasher starts bleeping and I opened it to find it full of brown water and foam. I’m thinking immediately about cost of course. Those call out plumbers who only work weekdays between 9 and 5 requiring me to take a morning off work. The idling, the faux lengthy diagnostic procedure despite knowing exactly what’s wrong, endless trips out to the van to get extra parts all drawn out to take an hour so that I feel I’m getting benefit for my £150. But not today. Empowered by my recent drain unblocking procedure I decide to hit youtube and try to work it out for myself. It turns out that nearly all dishwashers are exactly the same. Unscrew the parts, take them out, clean out the nerf gun bullet, put it all back together again and you’ve saved yourself a painful morning with an ‘engineer’ and of course you don’t have to shell out £150. I’m immedietely doing the maths of course. Could I do 4 of these in a day? Hell yeah. A business opportunity if ever there was one.
My success and new bond with the intimate workings of my machine has taken our relationship to a new level. In only a few hours I’ve come to reappraise my views on this unknown and resented device. Like most gadgets we only really think about it when it doesn’t work. Yet for 361 days a year, often twice daily it toils away doing our dirty work. It doesn’t share the glory of a washing machine or an oven which both rather egotistically have a glass front so we can marvel in real time at their solid graft. Our dishwasher stoically does it’s work quietly in the dark. The manufacturers don’t even bother to put a light in there. We’ve even got a cupboard door glued to the front so you can’t tell it’s there. Like we’re ashamed of it. Nobody ever says thank you to their dishwasher. Nobody ever pats it and says ‘look at all that time and effort you’ve saved me.’ And even when it does it’s work we complain about having to empty and load it again.
Anyway, I thought this was interesting – a Go Pro in a dishwasher.