(Last in a series of home appliance installation challenges...)
I mentioned in a recent post the joy (insert eye roll) a fairly
simple dryer-maintenance project brought. Undaunted by that calamity, I gamely
moved on to tackle the long-delayed installation of a new dishwasher.
Some background: the new dishwasher had
been sitting in its original packaging, in our storage shed, since I bought it
ONE YEAR AGO. The old dishwasher worked, technically -- I mean, the water ran
and the arm spun around and it probably *would* have cleaned the dishes if the
racks weren't completely rusted out. "Why didn't you just replace the
racks?" you are asking me telepathically right now. Have you ever priced
replacement dishwasher racks? Surprisingly, they can be nearly half the cost of
a brand-new machine. Considering the dishwasher was well into its dotage, it
made little sense to spend that much on replacement parts for something that
would likely die a painful death right in the middle of our next Thanksgiving
dinner. Last year I saw that Sears was having a great sale on appliances so I
bought: a replacement for an oven that randomly re-set its temperature mid-bake
(I didn't notice there were two small pieces of packing tape affixed to the
heating element in the new unit, so the first time we turned on the oven the
house filled with the smell of smoldering plastic and adhesive; I think we've
gotten used to it by now since remnants of the tape are still welded to the
bottom of the oven), a new under-the-counter microwave (I didn't really pay
attention to the "how to measure for your new microwave" guide on the
Sears website and purchased a unit large enough to defrost a 20-pound turkey;
if you want to see what's happening on the stove top you have to step back from
the microwave and crane your neck to one side to bring the burners and control
panel into your line of sight), and... what was I talking about? Oh, yes -- and
the dishwasher.
After making those purchases last year I
thought I'd get all three appliances installed one upcoming weekend when our
son Josh was going to visit. According to various videos I watched online, the
oven should have taken twenty minutes and the microwave and dishwasher an hour
or so each. A half-day's effort for a dramatically improved kitchen -- easy
peasy. Josh and I started with the oven. That job was complicated by an awkward
placement since there's an island directly across from the stove leaving a
space barely wider than the open oven door. But we got that done and moved on
to the microwave. I'll give credit to the directions for that one -- the
manufacturer supplied a template to tape on the wall making it very clear where
to drill holes and affix the necessary hardware for a snug installation. I had
to drill a hole in the bottom of one cabinet to snake the power cord through
and didn't have a large enough drill bit, so I utilized a carpentry technique I
call "what the hell" to make multiple overlapping holes and trust
that somewhere in there was enough clearance to push the plug through. The good
news -- it resulted in a sufficiently sized opening. The bad news -- I ended up
spewing particle board detritus all over the kitchen not once, not twice, but
three times. [BTW - did you notice our error here? Why would we have put in the
new oven before installing the new microwave above it? Because idiocy is a
genetic trait from my side of the family.]
We'd had enough of home improvement after
wrestling with those two tasks and moved on to beer consumption for the
remainder of the day before Josh needed to head home. The dishwasher continued
to sit in its packaging in the shed... silently judging me every time I walked
past it, season after season. I couldn't motivate myself to get started with
the job, and besides there were so many other projects to overwhelm us undertake
around the house. We continued to wash our dishes by hand (#FirstWorldProblems).
This past weekend, Josh was coming up for another visit and I asked for his
able assistance to finally get it done, which he said he would gladly provide.
After a relaxing family meal on Friday night, it was early to bed so we could
get started first thing Saturday morning.
When Josh hadn't emerged from the guest
room by noon I started to remove the old dishwasher myself. I'd actually
replaced a dishwasher before, years ago, in our house in South Carolina. That
task was complicated by the fact that we'd put in a tile countertop, adding a
border that hung down over the top of the old appliance, and had also laid a
hardwood floor that was higher than the original linoleum. That meant the
dishwasher was boxed in top and bottom -- I couldn't chip away the tile and I
couldn't remove the flooring. It was a long time ago but I'm fairly certain I
just set my phaser on "stun" and evaporated the old appliance,
leaving a nice, neat space for the new one.
But back to the task at hand: I struggled
to get the old dishwasher out because of various non-code-compliant decisions
the prior homeowner made during its original installation. Once I addressed the
various hang-ups (and yes, I remembered to flip the breaker and turn off the
water... shortly after I got started), I was able to free the old appliance. As
it slid back away from its home under the counter, I saw an empty Milky Way
wrapper on top of it... the little bite-sized ones you give out for Halloween.
"How'd that get in there?" I wondered. I figured whoever installed
the machine had been chomping on some candy and just lazily dropped the wrapper
on top before sliding the dishwasher in place. But then I saw another wrapper,
and another, and... then I saw a boatload of them behind the machine. Along with
a small mountain of mouse turds. Looking like a collection of broken pencil
leads, they were piled up along the back edge of the opening where there was a
gap between the wall and floor, as well as where there was room around the hole
through which the electrical wiring had been brought up from the crawlspace. By
this time Josh had emerged from hibernation, so he helped me carefully bring
the dishwasher outside so we could cart it to landfill. Then Carol and I
tackled removal of the mouse droppings. That was a whole lot of fun. The final
steps were to mop mop mop the area with disinfectant and Murphy's Oil Soap. I
wanted to let that area dry out completely before proceeding, so that was the
end of what we could accomplish on Saturday. Josh was going home that evening,
thinning our ranks in the middle of the battle.
Sunday brought a new day but a few
lingering turds. I carefully vacuumed out all the crevices (THAT bag was
hermetically sealed before going into the trash) until I was satisfied the area
was now waste-free, and then stuffed steel wool in the various crevasses
(crevassi?). Finally it was time to get started with the new install. I opened
the box and there it was, free at last -- a brand-new-yet-one-year-old Kenmore
dishwasher. The sheet on top of the contents said to "carefully" open
the dishwasher door and remove the installation instructions and assorted other
parts. I put my hand on the door latch and pulled and... nothing happened. The
door wouldn't open; nothing clicked or seemed to release. I tried again with
the same result. I pulled harder -- it wouldn't budge. Carol tried to coax it
open with no luck. I dialed the Sears "Installation Hotline" number
and spoke with a very pleasant man who essentially told me to... yank on the
door. I did -- it opened. I thanked him for his help and he kindly waited
almost until I'd hung up the phone before laughing at me.
Now I had the installation booklet in hand
and began to review the steps required. The twenty-six pages of steps required. Twenty-six pages to explain how to connect the water
source, connect the drain hose, connect the electricity, roll it in place and
level it up. Certainly all of these steps must be done in a certain prescribed
manner, both for safety's sake as well as the efficient operation of the
machine. But were TWENTY-SIX PAGES required to explain? Well, as I came to
learn, this was because the author of the manual decided repetition was the key
to success -- several steps were repeated, occasionally in a different order.
This, along with illustrations that were meticulous but rendered largely out of
context with the surrounding components, left me unable to get my bearings to
find anything I was supposed to be handling.
Typically, a set of instructions goes like
this:
1.
2.
3a.
3b.
(If "Yes", go to Step 4. If
"No", go to Step 7.)
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9. (optional)
10. Turn it on.
These instructions went like this:
1.
2.
4.
7.
6.
4.
5.
8. Before beginning this task, complete
Step 3.
3.
9. (optional)
10. Step 9 isn't optional after all, so go
back. Do not pass "Go"...
Among the first steps was a clear
instruction to carefully lay the dishwasher on its back. Then you were supposed
to hook up the drain hose and electrical wiring. However, there was no way in
hell the drain hose or electrical wiring had enough play in them to reach their
intended locations with the machine oriented that way. Sure enough, another ten
pages in, the same steps were presented with the device pictured upright and
rolled into the opening underneath the counter. Now, of course, the hose and
wiring reached their proper points of connection. And now, of course, I was
working in that small space underneath the machine where I could insert only
three of five fingers, one hand at a time. The video I'd watched before
getting started (which, as you may now realize, wasn't all that helpful) was
entitled, "Installing a Dishwasher in an HOUR!!!" Christ Almighty -
it took me nearly forty minutes just to get the water source connected to the
machine, a step complicated by the existence of copper, not flexible, tubing
coming from under the sink. There were two pieces of drain hose to connect
together, one running from under the sink and the other from the machine -- but
the end coming from the machine was tucked up along one side of the dishwasher
(the sides now firmly encased in the cabinet space, since the instructions were
to connect these two hoses after placing
the machine in the opening) -- so I rolled it back out, found the end of the
hose, brought it down underneath the dishwasher, and rolled everything back
into place to hook the two sections together. The electrical cable was a
direct-line, not a grounded plug, so that led to some awkward wire-twisting,
capping and taping done in a tight space underneath the machine up against the
side of the cabinet. The last step was to "locate brackets on top of
dishwasher and secure dishwasher to countertop with two, #10 x 1/2"
Phillips-head screws (included)." I had the two, #10 x 1/2" Phillips-head
screws (included) ready, but where were the brackets? Oh, there they were --
located in the package of assorted parts provided for installation. If only the
instructions had mentioned those brackets earlier on, say... before I'd
connected the water, drain hose and electrical wiring. I disconnected
everything, rolled the machine back out of the opening, slid the brackets into
place on top of the dishwasher, rolled the machine back into the opening,
reconnected the water, drain hose and electrical wiring (with the two
functional fingers I now had remaining on each hand), and finally completed the
installation (long after sunset). It's a good thing the brackets were there to
secure the dishwasher in place because otherwise I would have thrown the fucking
thing right out the kitchen door.
One small leak-tweak later and this bad
boy was operational -- a mere one year and six hours after purchase. I told
Carol this task marked my retirement from self-installation, no matter how
"E-Z" the instructions say the job is going to be. From now on I'll
gladly pay the additional fee for professional assistance; whatever the cost it
will be well worth the time saved and frustration avoided. I can use my newfound
freedom in pursuit of other interests.
Such as my latest hobby -- catching mice.