An unfamiliar number flashed on my screen this afternoon, and so I let the call go to voicemail.
Surprise!
The new fridge that was supposed to be delivered on September 2 has been delayed.
Fortunately, the old one is chugging along now that it's repaired, and the service company is on speed dial.
Maybe I was a little hasty judging the broken screeners. And, admittedly, I'm certainly biased, having never shattered mine. (🪵 knock knock knock!) But you know what I have had break? Appliances!
Regular readers of this blog might recall many sagas involving inoperative stoves, air conditioners, and refrigerators. I can't believe it's possible, but I think we went over six months without a stove in 2008 before we finally replaced ours. Then again, we were stoveless for months in 2019 and again recently when the electronic panel went out.
In every case, part of the situation was service, part was supply chain, but mostly it was me trying to repair instead of replace, and making do in all sorts of crazy ways. (Yes, like the cracked screen folks.)
Just this summer, I prided myself on being able to make the HVAC unit work despite a burnt-out capacitor. I guess it's lucky that it was outside and down a flight of steps; otherwise, who knows how long I might have used my skewer to crank it up when it got too warm?
And our refrigerator drama has been going on for years. First, it leaked, and when it was too old for any repair person to consider, I used a combination of Swedish dish towels and plastic containers to capture the water while we waited for a replacement that literally never came. By then, the capture system was in place, and we put a new fridge on hold. Then, the water outage in June burst the line to the ice maker, and water leaked everywhere until we turned that off. We had a fridge delivered that wouldn't fit through the door, and then the third one we ordered was delayed, so we've been buying ice, 8 pounds at a time, all summer.
The new fridge is scheduled to come on, wait for it, Friday the 13th (of September), but today it seems like the old one might be losing its cool. I have some thermometers on order to confirm, but if it's true? That 20-year-old appliance may have finally met its end.
And what are we going to do?
I'm always shocked when I see a shattered screen. My reaction may be improbable, given the number of young people with devices I used to spend most of my time with. Even so, the response of the person with the damaged screen is usually inverse to my own.
Years ago, I read an essay by David Sedaris about a time when he tried to put an injured mouse he had captured in his country house out of its misery. When he looked down at it in the bucket where he was attempting to drown it, it was swimming lamely, but gamely, around, despite its injuries as if to say, "I can work with this!"
I often think of that mouse when I see the lengths people will go to to avoid having their screens repaired. "You can't use the right half of the keyboard," they might shrug, "just use Siri for those letters."
As a teacher, I would deliver the hard blow without hesitation. "Give me that!" I'd tell the student, "I'm going to put a ticket in to fix it." Soon enough, the sting of being without their device would be salved by a repaired screen at no cost to them.
Out in the world, I don't have that power, and so, as I stated at the top, I'm shocked by the number of folks who use their device with a damaged screen until, well, they can't anymore. "It's fine," they routinely tell me, adding that they either don't want to pay or be without it for the repair.
Of course, there is also the phenomenon of creeping inoperability. A couple of weeks ago, Heidi tripped and landed on her phone. She wasn't hurt, but the screen did suffer some damage. "We should have that fixed," I suggested.
"It's fine," she assured me. "Everything works."
That's no longer true, although I will hand it to her—she has found many workarounds. "Let's get that fixed tomorrow," I said a little while ago as she was scrolling through her address book to find a contact whose name she couldn't type on the broken keyboard.
"Okay," she agreed, "but I think it's probably good for my brain to have to find new ways to keep everything working!"
When I was a kid, it was the Sears holiday wish book that was our go to catalog when it came to making our Christmas lists. And the Sears outlet store in the next town over was always my mom’s first stop for school shopping.
When I moved to Arlington as a young adult, Sears had a big presence here, not only as a mainstay mid-priced department store, but also in the many neighborhood examples of the mail order houses they sold through the Sears catalog from 1908-1942.
And down in Atlanta, right around the corner from my sister, on the BeltLine in the Old Fourth Ward, Ponce City Market, a mixed-use development with a food hall, restaurants, upscale shopping, apartments, office space and a mini-golf course on the roof is a cool example of a repurposed Sears distribution center. Visiting there, though, I’ve always been a little sad that the company’s loss has been our gain.
Yeah, I’ve been a loyal Sears supporter for nearly sixty years, all through the ups but mostly downs of the company. Then, after the whole refrigerator fiasco yesterday, today SEARS called to say that the refrigerator we ordered on November 27, which had been delayed three times, was now discontinued, and we would have to select a different model.
I think that might be the last straw Sears.
We had hit up our neighbors to borrow their coolers in preparation for the arrival of our new refrigerator today, but it occurred to me last night that the whole world would be a refrigerator today, when the high temperature was only supposed to be 32.
No coolers necessary, I rose at 8 AM and packed the contents of the freezer and fridge in reusable shopping bags and set them out on our deck. Then I pulled out the empty appliance and cleaned behind and underneath it, not wanting to subject the delivery and installation techs to a couple of years worth of side spills and cat hair. And I was just finishing up when my phone rang.
Perfect timing! I congratulated myself, but I was disappointed to hear a recorded voice telling me that our delivery had been delayed a third time and directing me to dial a toll free number as soon as possible. Pity the operator who answered my call! I was courteous but clearly displeased, and he soon elevated my call. The next person I spoke to acknowledged my frustration and offered me 42 dollars for my inconvenience.
I laughed out loud, at which point she doubled the compensation and promised to have my fridge to me by Wednesday. "It would cost me more than 84 dollars to take off from work," I told her, which I think is true-- I'll be compensated for my unused leave when I retire. Her best offer was 126 dollars and a Saturday appointment, which I accepted with the understanding that any further delays will result in the cancelation of the order. I hung up and turned to my empty refrigerator.
The problem with it is a clogged freezer drain which results in water flowing into the main compartment whenever the compressor defrosts. I had watched videos on how to clear the clog, but it would involve me removing the icemaker before I could access the drain. After my stove fiasco, I didn't have the will to attempt such a feat, and since our fridge is 19 years old, my research told me that a new, more energy-efficient appliance would have us break even within a year or two.
But the freezer was empty, and I thought long and hard about what it would take to pull that icemaker out. In the end, I attempted to unclog it from the freezer side with some very hot water. Then I scrubbed that old fridge within an inch of its remaining days and hoped for the best.
Maybe it's fixed? But probably not. It does still chill, though, and it's sparkling clean. It can last at least another couple of months if necessary, and I'm thinking that's likely.
The technician arrived shortly after I did. He seemed very professional and quite competent, and I gave him the pre-shipped parts that had arrived earlier in the week then sat down to wait. I heard the whirr of his drill as he opened the back of the stove, and then a melodic beeping that I recognized as my oven in working order.
"Is it fixed already?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes," he said. "It was only a loose wire ribbon. Have you had anyone else out to look at it?"
"No," I answered honestly, omitting the truth of my tinkering.
"Well, it's fixed," he shrugged and then went on his way.
I was happy enough to have the oven working that I resolved to give myself some grace. I had, after all, almost, repaired it. I considered giving the extended warranty company some grace, too, even after all the screw ups.
Just then, my phone rang. "This is Company X," an urgent voice reported. "I got your message about the stove, and I'm returning your call."
"Someone was already here," I told him. "He fixed it."
"Another company came?" he replied in relief. "Okay then," and he hung up.
Seriously, WTF?
I put my phone in my pocket and turned the oven on. It was definitely time to bake something.
It was a maddening conversation.
"I know you received an email saying the appointment was confirmed, but that was only tentative," said the operator on the call I had made to avoid a cancellation of my oven service appointment. I had hastily contacted her company after checking my home phone messages, even though I had updated my contact information twice to my mobile number and explicitly stated that the home number was not monitored.
"But tentative and confirmed are opposites," I pointed out with irritation.
"You confirmed with X company," she answered, "but we are Y company," she finished, as if that was obvious and therefore explanation enough.
In the end, I really just wanted my stove fixed, and even though I postured by asking her if the call was being recorded, and later, her name, I accepted the appointment she "confirmed" even though it was 5 days after my other confirmed appointment.
"What if they cancel the appointment?" I asked.
"They won't," she replied, "because it's confirmed."
"But it was confirmed before," I pointed out, "and it was canceled."
"It's confirmed," she insisted.
"What if it's not?" I repeated.
"It is, because I confirmed it," she told me.
"But that's what they said before," I replied petulantly.
"That was Company X," she answered impatiently.
And so I let it go.
Over the next 10 days I received many communications reminding me of the service appointment scheduled for today betwee there, tooen 1 and 5, and I organized my workload to be able to book home and meet the technician. By 2:30, I hadn't heard a word, and so I packed my things and prepared to leave school.
Before I did, though, I thought to check the home phone. Sure enough, there was a message from someone at 10:30 a.m. saying that they would be at my home in 20 minutes. Fuming, I called the number back, but it went straight to voicemail. In essence, I said that I expected someone at my house before five, and then I headed out to my car.
I hadn't gone three blocks when the phone rang. "This is your technician," said a voice way too friendly to have received my last message. "I'll be at your house in about 20 minutes."
"I'll be there, too," I said skeptically. "See you then."
After successfully fixing my dishwasher, I turned to my stove. The electronic display has been blinking randomly for some time, and after watching a couple YouTube videos and doing my research, I ordered the replacement part, which arrived last week.
And perhaps here is where I should have thought things through, like what would happen if I couldn't fix it. But that was not me, and so I merrily pulled the range from its place, unplugged it, and unscrewed the back panel. Then I confidently removed the control board, pried out the old part and snapped the new one in place. And when I restored power, I was rewarded by a bright and unwavering display. Unfortunately? All it shows is an error message, C-F2, which, further research reveals, indicates a problem connection.
Somewhat daunted, I replaced the original part, which now displayed the same error code, blinking as it did so. And of course, although the oven itself works just fine, there is no way to turn it on or off. Fortunately, the stove top was unaffected by my stupidity, and so we can still cook while we wait for the service call on Saturday.
