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If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It • Southern Rural Route

My dishwasher was having issues. It’s twelve. The internet, where I take all my problems except mental health, decided I needed a part.  Off I went to the appliance parts store. I walked in to see three women behind the counter, one of them with green hair. I knew immediately I had fallen off the crooked moon into the Twilight Zone. I couldn’t make a run for it, either, because Green Hair was looking at me expectantly.

The two younger women were talking among themselves leaving Green Hair as my only option despite her appearance sending my Uh-oh Meter into the Disaster Zone. She looked my age or older and I tried to convince myself that she might have a clue what she was doing. The green hair gave me doubts. What if that green dye had seeped into her brain and eaten away all the good parts?

I presented my Owner’s Manual and explained that I wanted a water valve. Green Hair wasn’t having it. Said my Owner’s Manual was useless to her. She wanted the Model Number off the inside door of the dishwasher. Who knew? How many times have I looked at that sticker and never paid any attention to it?

The water inlet valve was going to set me back $55. Not being a wealthy woman, I mentally eased away from the counter. What were the odds of the two teenagers or the green haired crone having any real knowledge about broken down dishwashers? Spending the $55 was not high on my list so I threw it out there. I told Green Hair that the bottom of the dishwasher had filled up with water only once and did not fill up again after draining it (Press the Cancel button. Mine is marked “Cancel drains automatically”).

Front panel of dishwasher
Not a sharp photo but you get the idea.

I also admitted that the dishwasher had begun to “smell.” Green Hair was clueless and whipped around to consult the teenagers.

Immediately, the arrow on my Uh-oh Meter beat frantically against the Disaster Zone as if it trying to say “No. No. No.”  Those kids couldn’t know anything! They hadn’t been on the planet long enough. I felt bad about myself, though, when The Kid started to talk like she knew what she was talking about. She was way ahead of me. In comparison, it’s a wonder I knew which button to push to make the dishwasher run.

According to The Kid, my water line was likely clogged up. She suggested I run the dishwasher with bleach in the little soap thingies and Green Hair declared, “Let’s hold off on ordering your part.”

I went home and ran the dishwasher with bleach. I kept an eye on it in case it started spewing water all over the kitchen. Ran like a charm, the smell went away and it did not fill up with water.

The next morning, it still had not filled up with water. I called to thank the Amazing All Woman Crew for their help.

The point of this missive is simple. If you go to the internet to solve your problem and your problem is not exactly like the one you find, then you need to keep looking or ask questions before you spend money on a solution that may not work for you. May your dishwasher serve you well.