Out in the Country: Dishwasher Disaster

Adam had his first day of graduate school today. I thought I would be a hard worker and get a lot accomplished. But I was also a little lazy, too.

So I loaded up the dishwasher, still the original machine in the new house, and turned it on. Nothing happened. I called Dad, and he reminded me to turn the dishwasher’s water lines back on. Easy enough, right? I should have thought of that. The girls and I played, read some books, and then decided to do lunch in town and go to a park. Maybe even see Great Grandma. A few hours had passed.

On the way to get shoes on, we noticed that the kitchen floor was wet. Flooded, actually. As in, “Hey, get the plastic boats from the bathtub!” flooded. Monsoon season flooded. The dishwasher had not drained normally and instead was draining all over the floor, which apparently has low points over by the clothes washing machine in the entry and also in the space between the fridge and the oven. That’s where the pool of water was deepest, of course.

I sent the girls to play in another room, but of course they hung around to watch and ask a thousand questions about the water. And splash. And get yelled at by a panicking mommy. And splash some more.

Luckily, we had moved most towels over to the new house. I started grabbing bath towels from the closet, and after spreading them all over, the water was still up to my knees. No, not really. But it was still deep. So I grabbed all of the hand towels and spread those out, too. Still wet everywhere. I tried wringing towels out in the sink, but that made a bigger mess and wasn’t stopping the water from spreading (the puddle was moving out toward the garage door). So I got all of the washcloths from the closet and spread those out, too. At this point, I finally noticed that water was still leaking from the dishwasher just as strongly as ever, and that the new water was steaming hot. Not only was the water not draining, but the water hadn’t stopped running either.

So what did I do? I texted my Dad, of course. Because he wasn’t answering the phone anymore. Apparently he was in a meeting. Maybe calling a plumber would have made more sense. I don’t know.

Here is the basic text conversation between Dad and I. It’s an approximation, anyway.

Me: Was I supposed to turn on a drain, too?

Dad: No the drain shouldn’t have any valve and should be hard connected to the drain under the sink.

Me: Why is my kitchen flooded then? I’m running out of towels and rags.

Me: Out of towels and rags now. Using pants and shirts. Please advise.

Dad: Turn off the valves on the inlets to make sure no more water runs in just to be sure.

Me: Will need the washing machines at this house, old house, and your house to clean all these soaked linens.

Dad: Call the contractor and let them know about the problem.

Me: Will try to canoe to the phone book. Thanks.

I talked to the contractor. And a plumber. And a repair place that no longer repairs appliances. And a repair place that does repair appliances. And what I learned is that to drive out, inspect, and repair a 40-year-old dishwasher (if it can even be repaired), it would cost less to just get a new one.

Old dishwasher was a Maytag with a brown wood panel front. It was the original dishwasher and I liked it a lot. But I worried that it may not last much longer (and there were a couple lingering safety concerns from the previous owner), so that was the one thing that could have been replaced without much arguing. It stayed with the theory that it had a few years left in it.

Instead, the months in the garage during remodeling either weakened its seals or the pump wasn’t emptied and it cracked. Either way, we probably need to look for a new dishwasher now. Because Mom and Dad actually sold their canoe, and I have no way to travel across the kitchen when the dishwasher is on.

And sadly, I don’t think I’ll be getting a wood paneled appliance replacement. Unless retro style makes a huge comeback in the next 24 to 48 hours. I’ll cross my fingers just in case.