Included in this list was a lovely, shiny dishwasher from Samsung. It had ample room for dish storage, buttons out of reach of sticky toddler fingers, and best of all, was a sturdy, stainless steel gem that looked great under our counter. Never a fan of washing dishes by hand, I thought I had found a winner.
Fast forward to this September. With about thirty minutes of its three hour cycle left to go (it's energy efficient too...we're saving the planet very, very slowly), the neon blue light started flashing. It whimpered a sad little "LE...LE...LE..." and promptly died. We looked it up in the owner's manual, and realized it meant there was a leak. I immediately threw towels on the tile and Brian called the 800 number.
When the nice people at Samsung asked if we had purchased an extended warranty, my mouth moved faster than my brain and "No, I usually buy stuff with the idea that it will last longer than a year" slipped out. As most of us know, sarcasm gets us no where. Especially no closer to clean dishes.
When the repairman came over, he said there was no leak. None at all. In fact, all of my dish towels were still bone dry. The dishes in the machine were clean (and hot! Gotta love the sanitation feature) and I put them away without a second thought.
The next week, we were hit with the blinking "LE" again. This time, it happened within the first hour of the cycle.
Cue the repair guy. He said the same thing: there is no leak. It must be sensing something faulty.
I pulled all of the half-clean dishes from the machine and did them by hand. I swear, I was having flashbacks to my days of pumping (and washing...so much hand-washing...) but managed to get through it.
The repair guy called in a new part and left a message on our machine, asking us if we wanted to go ahead and order it. Sadly, this was the time I was in Indiana, and so the message wasn't heard for over a week. By the time I returned and asked Brian, "Did the dishwasher people come out?" (like, the third thing out of my mouth after I landed in Vegas - a sad testament to the exciting lives we live), he sighed and said disgustingly, "No, they haven't even called us back yet."
Note to self: get rid of the land line. Streamline communications for the good of the household.
Anyways, after that whole debacle and we found the message on the machine, we consented to ordering the part and set up our third appointment.
The same man came out, put the part in, and said, "No offense, ma'am, but I hope I don't see you again." I laughed, shook his hand, and heartily agreed.
And then (we all know where this is going...), on Thursday, the stupid dishwasher didn't run its entire cycle. I opened it and found blue dishwasher paste streaked on the bottom. Undeterred, I ran it again. Same thing.
So I ran it again.
And while the paste eventually melted, the gunk on the dishes remained.
I removed all of the contents from the dishwasher - again, scrubbed them by hand - again, and called the repair man. Again.
I am starting to feel like the Munchausen by-proxy poster child of kitchen appliances. I am not intentionally breaking my dishwasher to get attention or gain sympathy; this is real. But it doesn't matter. The repair guy gave me that, "Sure, lady...mh-mmm" look when he walked through our front door just a few minutes ago.
Whatever. I just hope he doesn't wake the Bear and is able to get the dishwasher up and running again. Maybe next time I'll read the reviews more carefully and try to not to let shiny, pretty things distract me. I'll save that for like, jewelry shopping or something.
Update: the repair guy just left and his exact words were, "You need to junk it." Okay, then. He's calling the main office to see if they will give us a new model. May take a week or so. And he did wake up the Bear, who is currently howling from his room, "More Momb! More Momb!"
Fun times, indeed.