Friday, April 5, 2013

Baby fork in the road

Our garbage disposal had outlived its warranty.
And although I firmly hold that anything made of metal and rubber ought to last at least a lifetime, I knew our kitchen disposal had paid its dues.
So when it made an unusually loud clangy-bangy noise the other day, I wasn't overly surprised.
The new beauty
I stopped it, examined it. (Who doesn't love rummaging around in the guts of a disposal?)
I found nothing but a sort of grimy interior with two clangy-bangy things that moved around some.
I searched and could find nothing to explain the noise.
I flipped the switch again (AFTER I took my hand out).
This time it did nothing. There was no movement and no noise. The clangy-bangy things didn't bang or clang.
I told Marc about it after April Fool's Day was done.
Any earlier than that and he would have thought I was joking because there's nothing more that he loves to do than repair/replace anything to do with plumbing.
We went shopping for a new one.
We stood in the store looking at our options, priced from $85 to $350.
We knew nothing about disposers except we assumed the more expensive ones were probably the better ones.
We didn't even know what kind we already owned.
When the nice salesperson came to help, he pointed out that if we had a Badger brand disposer already, it would be easier to replace. He said a bunch of things like "be sure and knock out the plug in the line between the dishwasher and the unit" and "you might need some plumber's putty if you have an older model you're replacing."
He also mentioned washers and stuff like that. It made little sense to me.
Marc seemed to understand what he was saying but he still sighed as we toted a $100 unit out to our car.
A man happy in his work
Today, he waded into the project.
After he huffed and puffed and pulled and pushed, he got the old unit out. He put the new unit in.
He even discovered the problem: a cute little baby fork cut neatly in half and wedged in so tightly that we couldn't budge it.
I couldn't have killed the disposer any more effectively. I couldn't blame anyone but me.
I threw the fork — still inside the disposer — away.
Marc thanked me profusely for the experience.

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