I do not know how to purchase major appliances; I do recognize the convenient features I wished I had chosen after the machines are installed. I lament the loss of the oven timer that continued to beep until I shut it off. The new one gives one odd yelp and then I’m on my own to remember to return to the scene and pull the pot from the burner while the food is recognizable. Maybe ‘a watched pot never boils,’ but an unwatched pot…guaranteed!
My record continues to sink.
Today’s episode focuses on the coolest appliance of all—the refrigerator, or as my husband still calls it: the Ice Box. That label is accurate to the extent that if we remembered to fill the ice trays, cubes later appeared inside the freezer portion of the box.
Over a decade ago I shopped for a refrigerator in a real hurry—to replace the quitter. If only things like this had expiration dates. Instead, this one waited to give out days before our son’s grad party.
Rows and rows of white and silver ones; all with hefty price tags. The laid-back salesman let me wander and said to find him once I had decided.
His sole advice: “All brands are pretty much made by the same manufacturer and no brand made today will last for as long as your old model did. Just purchase the longest extended warranty available.”
My teacher's mind figured he was another kid who did not do his homework, continued to age, and landed here. Perhaps his commission was directly proportionate to the size of the warranty he sold. Holding on to my theory that despite its popularity, stainless steel looks cold and institutional, I settled for another snow white. Upon delivery, I realized there was no cheese drawer, no practical way of organizing the space, just shelves. The bottom freezer did not include ice cube trays. One trip to the grocery store proved that the whole thing was not big enough. Too late; at least I did not spend a fortune for two people to have cold milk, safe meat, and solid ice cream. All our magnets fit on the front, and we needed one service call before the five-year protection plan ended.
Fast forward some years when an adorable ad with tiny 3-D paper appliances appeared in my mailbox. This local company enjoyed a decent reputation, so I read the details. If a minimum of $3500 were spent and the Steelers shut out Tampa Bay on Monday night football, your purchase would be free! I showed the flier to my husband who usually asks to involve him only for the next car or TV purchase. He laughed about the free deal, informing me that such a shutout could not happen unless Hell froze over. He added that our daughter and I should go on said Saturday and pick out new kitchen appliances. He would be home watching football. Dimensions in hand, we shopped; followed around by another young laid-back salesman. Cannot imagine this fellow working on commission at all; he seemed annoyed to answer questions. We picked a singular brand of microwave, double oven, dishwasher, and refrigerator-- all stainless, with sleek matching, handles—a sweet suite. One slide of the credit card and we were out the door in under an hour. Way too easy.
Pleased to see the appliance store name on the caller ID two weeks after, I answered, pen in hand, to mark down the delivery date.
“All of your appliances have arrived in our warehouse,” the scheduler began, “but through no fault of your salesperson, the refrigerator they shipped to us is white. We wondered if you want to wait until the correct one comes in or if you want us to bring the other three appliances and deliver the refrigerator later. For your inconvenience, we will refund the installation fee on the dishwasher.”
“OK, thank you,” I responded, “yes we will take delivery of the first three pieces sooner rather than later.” (I’ll take ‘Later’ for Two Hundred, Alex.)
The installation went smoothly, and the room was beginning to take shape. Two more weeks and the call came that they could deliver the refrigerator. First, the guys removed our old garage fridge and parked it on the street. They demoted the kitchen one to its spot in the garage. One worker measured the space and started to unload the long-awaited stainless fridge, as neighbors and other rubberneckers drove around the delivery truck and the ugly almond number on skids behind it. Inside, the shiny energy star was extricated from the Styrofoam and layers of plastic, and the kitchen doorframe was removed to accommodate it. They grunted up one step, turned the corner, and approached the space. Lining it up for the final slide into place, the worker who had measured, announced, “It’s not going to fit.” Everything came to a halt. Calls were made to the store, the service department, the boss, and the boss’s boss. Increasingly the team walked out to their truck to have these phone conversations, and no one spoke to me. I kept quiet—not much I could do and yelling, as usual, was not going to fix the predicament.
After a while, and now close to quitting time, I was told they would have to take the fridge back and I would have to go to the store and select something else. Everyone was sorry. Then one brave man voiced their big concern: “You don’t want us to move your old one from the garage back in here, do you?”
I hesitated and did not say any number of the things I was thinking. Instead, I said, “No, the garage is not that far. What I would appreciate is if you would carry the dorm fridge up from the game room and place it in my kitchen for the interim.” No hesitation…they moved the black mini fridge into the big space and quickly packed up before I changed my mind. It looked silly but held the three or four most requested items.
Our refrigerator space is framed with the wood of our cabinets, with a cabinet above, wood sides and trim. None of the fridges sold now would fit—each failing by the proverbial hair. So, friends recommended a finish carpenter who cut the height of the overhead cabinet, leaving an open trimmed shelf. He was quite skilled for how young he appeared. At one point this quiet worker mentioned that he doesn’t usually do this type of work. He normally builds custom staircases! He measured, left, and returned to make it all fit perfectly.
Where can I buy the lifetime appliance warranty—my lifetime!
Lilly Kauffman is a non-fiction writer who was privileged to work as both librarian and a teacher. Her essays, whether serious or humorous, capture the experiences that allow us to laugh and grieve. Family and faith inform her writings. She is currently working on several book projects: A Mother Grieves in Ink, Ampersand, and Lil Letters.