Smile-breaks
Multiple choice
Got a new washing machine not long ago. Shortly after that, I got a new dishwasher. The "old" ones were fine but they stopped working. I did everything you're s'posed to do. I studied studiously to determine the best brand, best model to buy for both the washer and the dishwasher. Before that, I called in the repair person to fix them.
Of course they weren't fixable. Too old—parts were discontinued after their thirteen plus years. Side note: the refrigerator's next, but we won't go there. So now I have the latest—but not-so-great, in spite of the rave reviews—in washing machines and dishwashers. I now have Multiple Choice Appliances from the 21st century.
After years of selecting between two or three wash cycles, my new washing machine offers eight possible cycles: Normal, Heavy Duty, Bedding, Towels, Delicates, Perm. Press, Speed Wash, Tub Clean. After I choose one, I must then choose from five water temperatures, three spin speeds, and three soil levels and, oh yes, do I want to rinse before washing? If so, there are three possible rinse cycles to choose from.
I swear. I thought I was done with multiple choice when I finished high school and college and oh those terrible CPA exams. I get a headache just thinking of doing my next wash. At least there are no essay questions. That'll probably be the next thing. "Describe the items in your wash, including color and size and the primary reason for needing a wash."
Just as I resigned myself to dealing with the washing machine's multiple choices, it was time to get a new dishwasher. Again I studied studiously, determined the best brand and model—I should have known better!—and made the wise purchase. Best brand, best model; raved on by all the evaluators and their tests. I even got a bargain at the discount appliance store, so my purchase was delivered still in its box.
The dishwasher was installed, no problem; it fit right in the cavity left by the old one. I loaded it—with great difficulty. There were all these strange racks with slanted prongs and nothing fit in any of them. Nothing like the one I'd been so used to, and so happy with, if you can be happy with a dishwasher.
I presumed the button at the far left was the turn-on button. It had a symbol on it, too proud to use the ordinary "On" designation. When I pressed it, the entire strip across the front panel lit up with, what else? Multiple choices! Did I want Heavy, Auto, Normal, Speed 60, Rinse or Favorite? There wasn't any "All of the above," nor any "None of the above," either. I pressed "Speed 60" to save energy—we're all supposed to do that, right?—and then, continuing on the other side of the strip: do I want to Delay, Remote Start, Delicate, Sanitize, Extra Dry, Machine Care? I don't know! I ignored all of those and in spite of there being no "None of the above" choice, I pressed the Start button at the far right on the strip. At least I think it's the Start button. Yep, the sloshing begins. . .
I sure hope my refrigerator lasts another ten years. And my dryer and the microwave. And the toaster. Oh! And the stove!!! Heaven help me.
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