Skip to content

On the fritz

What the hell?

This morning is Sunday: I awoke, fairly well rested, but still definitely waylaid by some mysterious and sinister Addison’s-dickering illness. My back was sore from the gym (new personal best on squats!), my guts were sore for reasons that are yet to reveal themselves, and I was under-energetic and grouchy. And then the dishwasher greeted me with “E 25” and its “check water” sign illuminated.

Oy. We disconnected the waste hose and drained it. We opened up the waste pump inside the dishwasher and fumbled in the murky water a bit. We blew into the waste hose (that was M, poor chicken) to see if we could feel a blockage. We sucked on the waste hose to siphon out what we could (that was also M, he’s so brave). We unscrewed the sides of the dishwasher to see if we could pull it out of the cavity and get at its hose from the back end (turns out you can’t: they make ’em so you have access to one end only). We cursed and waggled hoses and scooped out bilge with cups. Finally, we had drained out enough water that we could see all the way into the waste pump inside the dishwasher—and saw the purple rubber band tangled around the wheel. A few quick yanks and it came free; we rain the drain cycle and huzzah! It took us some wrangling to get it back into the cavity (I recall from when we installed it, actually, that job was a bugger), but we got it back in, hooked up, and ran a cleaner through it. (It didn’t really need one, but I felt like it had been through a lot and deserved a treat.) Thank heavens.

Then I realised the cupboard under the kitchen sink smelled like…well, poo. And that’s a sure sign that the bilge around where the sink connects to the drainpipe was dribbling. It gets moist and scummy around the rubber washer there and stuff jams in it and decomposes — hence the poo smell. (We’ll get it fixed one day when the house burns down.) We must have jostled it loose when disconnecting and reconnecting the dishwasher hose, which connects to the drainpipe. M gave it some persuasive tightening and I cleaned up all the poo water that had gotten into the tupperware cupboard.

AND then I put a load of washing on and the ‘start’ button on the machine was cactus. Completely cactus. It’s been on the fritz for about three years, but generally by jostling the front panel—and thus, I dunno, resetting the button connection?—we were able to make it go. But not today. Of course not today. Today we (well, M) got in there with screwdrivers, attempting to pry off the front panel and, when that proved impossible, the start button. Once the start button was (perhaps permanently) off the machine, M could wiggle around the connector and managed to get the load started (I stood nearby, rehearsing my electrocution first aid in my hand and vocally registering my reluctance with the fingers-in approach). So we got one last wash out of it, but it looks like we’ll have to call someone this week and get them to have a squiz at our mystery button problem. It seems a shame to dispense with a hardy and faithful washer just because of a frtizy button.

But what the hell’s going on around here? Have all the warranties expired or something? It’s like one of those horror movies where the first sign that your house is crammed with poltergeists is that all the electricals go haywire. Or maybe it’s not poltergeists, but we’ll realise I’ve been cursed (or CHOSEN) or something. I’m scared to touch the cat in case I break it.

If anybody needs me, I’ll be interacting with only the most low-tech appliances, like books and knitting. (And laptop, obviously, for blogging.)

Post a Comment

Your email is never published nor shared. Required fields are marked *