Finding Religion Before A Scheduled Appliance Installation

Before I got pregnant and had a baby, the only good reason I could come up with for having a blog was to complain about the immense inconvenience of home ownership. Don't get me wrong, it was good blog fodder, just infrequent. Also, don't get me wrong. Owning a home is a privilege and a blessing. But damn, it is such a pain in the ass.

Tomorrow, two guys and a truck will show up for the second time to [PLEASE, GOD] install our new dishwasher. I say "Please, God" because in our house things are never that simple.

Without getting into the epic shitshow that has been appliance repair and installation in our house, let me just say that four weeks ago, two guys and a truck showed up to install our new dishwasher. The actual dishwasher never even made it through the front door.

Before I begin this post in earnest, let me say that I do feel quite badly about bitching about my "champagne" (aka "rich people") problems. I really do. Enough that I hesitate to complain about them publicly. But the fact is, they are still my problems. And if you haven't noticed, I like to complain.

One of the biggest challenges of "champagne problems" is that, in our case, they primarily result from someone else's champagne taste. "Someone else" being the people from whom we bought our house. The Sellers, as we'll call them, did a beautiful job remodeling our house with custom features and high end appliances, all of which looked great when we were buyers but suck in reality. Do you know how much it costs to fix the broiler on a Viking oven? I do. It's not cheap. I promise to fill you all in on the details some day, but let's start with the goddamn dishwasher.

When we bought our house, it came with a Fisher & Paykel 2-Drawer dishwasher. This high-end, high-concept appliance was, I imagine, designed to do more efficient loads of dishes. In reality, it requires a PhD in engineering to load soup bowls, a fact which becomes rather inconvenient rather quickly.

The other dose of reality that comes with this dishwasher is that "standard-size" is a relative term. According to the salesperson at the local appliance chain that Mark and I will never patronize again, the Fisher and Paykel dishwasher is a standard size appliance, aka one that we can replace with any other standard size appliance. Turns out, this was a bald-face lie.

After receiving this information, Mark and I researched and decided to purchase a standard 24-inch wide LG dishwasher. It was reasonably priced, had good reviews, and met Mark "the Dishwasher" Pepple's standards for load-ability. 10 days after we purchased it from Lowe's, the installation guys showed up, dishwasher in tow. The appliance didn't so much as make it through the front door. It turns out that our "standard-sized Fisher and Paykel dishwasher" is actually 23.75 inches wide, not the standard 24 inches. Because our cabinets were built to spec (#champagneproblems), our carefully selected LG dishwasher was not going to fit. I was promptly informed by the installation team that I had three options: (1) buy another Fisher and Paykel dishwasher and continue to suffer; (2) rip out my kitchen cabinets and start over; or (3) buy the one and only dishwasher on the market that we could jerry rig to fit in the space, a Bosch.

We chose door number 3.

The day after the failed installation attempt, the sales guy from Lowe's calls me to arrange for the order of the new dishwasher. More insanity ensued. First, he offered me the white vinyl version of the dishwasher, which they had in stock, instead of the stainless steel version, which would take three weeks to order. For some reason, he thought that having a young baby would make me so desperate for a dishwasher that I would put a white vinyl appliance in my otherwise stainless steel kitchen. RIGHT.

Then he asked me when I could come in the place the order. Lowe's is at least 20 minutes from my house. I asked him if I could place the order over the phone. He said I could, but I should probably come in an look at the dishwasher before I bought it. He said this as though I had another option. Hilarious. I don't know if he appreciated it when I sarcastically remarked that I was okay purchasing my sole dishwasher option site unseen.

All of this is a long way of saying that, last night, on the eve of installation attempt number two, I looked at my husband and said in all sincerity "please God, let this work." I may not normally be religious, but if there was ever a time to find it, I figure this is as good as any. 

To find out how it went, see my live blog of the installation.


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