I suppose this is as good a time as any to point out that my refrigerator is not one of those water-in-the-door types. At least it wasn’t until the other day. Then it had water in the door. Also the meat tray, the produce bins and the butter keeper.
At the heart of the problem was an ice maker that had died in the night. Instead of making cubes (which aren’t cubes at all, but crescents, but who asks for ice crescents?) it was just sitting there allowing water to flow in and then right back out again. I found this out when I opened the freezer door and was greeted by Niagara Falls. Also a bunch of thawed food.
My first thought, of course, was that something might be wrong. Obvious, I know, but give me a break. It was early and I hadn’t had coffee.
“My goodness!” I said, or words to that effect. OK, maybe it was a little more forceful. And non-printable in a family newspaper.
I then did three things in rapid succession.
1) I shut off the ice maker, which stopped the flow of water.
2) I tried to move the refrigerator so I could unplug it. No dice. I ended up throwing out my back.
3) I ran around the house gathering up towels to begin mopping up the spill.
I imagine I was quite a sight, running around hunched over with one hand on my lower back, muttering, “Owie, owie, owie” as I went from bathroom to bathroom to linen closet, gathering up the terry cloth. And keep in mind I was moving at panic speed, which I am sure only added to the comedic effect.
I got the water contained and turned my attention to the freezer and was surprised to see how much food had just been stored and forgotten: a 3-year-old package of pork chops, for example, or an ancient half-bag of frozen french fries. I really need to be better about keeping up with my inventory.
However, that was not foremost on my mind as I began sorting through the food. No, I was thinking that this was just another case of betrayal by a major appliance.
Really, I take this sort of thing personally. The washing machine breaks down and I sulk for days. The dishwasher conks out and I am not fit to live with. And then there’s mechanical stuff. The lawn mower blows up and I get hurt. Don’t even get me started on what happens when the truck breaks down. Suffice to say it involves medication and counseling.
Or it could just be that I get upset because I know it’s going to cost me money. I knew I was in trouble when Chris the repairman got off the phone with his parts supplier and asked me, “How much do you like ice?” Turns out I need to like a lot. Mine’s an expensive ice maker. Oh, well. Gotta have it if you want ice crescents.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit with a heating pad on my back. Maybe I’ll have tea. Hot tea. I’m kind of uninterested in ice at the moment.