As the stay-at-home person in this household, I’m the one tasked to stay home to wait for repair and service men (because, really 99% of the people who come to repair things are men) to (hopefully) arrive during their scheduled window of time.
That’s what I’m currently doing.
Because this happened:
*drawing not to scale
Our 9-year-old refrigerator stopped working.
*cue sad music violins*
The stopped-working-part happened last Thursday, so that night, Patrick used his super computer knowledge to Google, “how to fix a refrigerator.”
That got us to the point that we took everything off of the top of the fridge that’s been stored up there for the at least last 6 years, he pulled out the fridge to expose all of the dust and dead roaches from underneath, and used the keyboard air compressor spray can to clean the coils. Or something.
Friday morning, he scheduled the Sears repairman to come to our house Tuesday (today) between 8am-12pm.
We left the fridge with the temperature hovering around 45ºF.
My thinking on leaving the fridge full of food for 48+ hours is that if no one opens the doors, the little bit of cooling that was happening would sustain the coolness inside the fridge until we returned.
… FIFTY-FIVE HOURS LATER …
(Say it in your head in the Spongebob narrator voice. It’s much funnier that way.)
Walking inside Sunday afternoon, the house didn’t smell too bad. I thought we were in the clear and the fridge had stayed cool enough.
No such luck.
Before I even took off my shoes or opened my lappytop, I opened the beast.
OH HOLY MOTHER OF EVERYTHING HOLY UNDERWEAR.
The temperature for the inside of the fridge and freezer read “76ºF.”
I unloaded that stinky bastard quicker than you can say, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SMELL GET IT OUT OF MY NOSE HAIRS!”
But you didn’t expect me to empty the entire fridge, did you? No. I just emptied the rotting food on the shelves and in the drawers out to the garbage can that I dragged out to the driveway because OF COURSE the garbage pick-up wasn’t until Tuesday (today).
Oh, and yeah, all that bottled jar food I left in the fridge on the door was still there this morning, waiting for me to brave the stink again. And LIKE A BOSS, I emptied that stinky bastard of all that was left to melt and gelatinousize before the Hero Trashmen came to rescue my stinky bags o’ rotting food.
So who is left to stay home with the stinky fridge waiting for the Sears repairman? Me.
I’m here waiting between the hours of 8am-12pm for someone to hopefully rescue me from my stinky fridge. Waiting and pooping as quickly as I can for fear that he comes, knocks, and I can’t get to the door fast enough and he leaves me with the stinky fridge. Hearing every car that drives by and doesn’t stop with my Hero Searsman. The anticipation of not knowing when I can leave leave to get my lunch because nearly stale bread with peanut butter doesn’t cut it for me as a “meal” is killing me.
Don’t these on-call Hero Repair Dudes realize what they’re doing to us when they don’t specify an exact time of arrival? Don’t they know we sit at home in stinky houses eagerly awaiting their rescuing?
For now, I sit in here hungry with the sliding door open, the fan on, Febreezing the shit out of my kitchen anticipating the arrival of my Hero.