Refrigerator Roulette, Round Two

Image by ChatGPT.

So… it would appear when Best Buy tells you they’re going to make a delivery between 1 PM and 5 PM what that really means is 6 PM. That also means that they’re going to try to swap out your current brand new but dented refrigerator with one that is slightly newer, but dented even more enthusiastically. At which point, we were no longer discussing appliances; we were discussing principles.

 Suffice it to say that I am NOT happy. I have now spent days living with a refrigerator that is technically functional but spiritually unsettling. It is nearly empty because I don’t want to load it with groceries only to empty it again for the next swap. Everything that didn’t seem worth hauling upstairs lives in the basement refrigerator, which means I spend my day running stairs like I’m training for something. What, I’m not sure. Survival, perhaps.

 Customer service insulted me by offering me a $200 discount. I barked with laughter. I told them $1000 or nothing, asking how they would feel about buying a brand new car and th​en settling for one with dents. So, yes, we are doing this again, but not until March 14 (!!!) when one of this type becomes available. This does mean that I will be filling up the refrigerator and freezer, and have an even bigger job emptying it for the next swap, on what will undoubtedly be too warm a day to take advantage of the deck. Another day blocked off. Another round of waiting. Another opportunity to reflect on how precious time actually is, especially when you are, as I delicately put it, hurtling toward the grave and not interested in wasting entire days on refrigerator roulette.

 There was, however, one small victory. I insisted that they hook up the water line, something the previous delivery person had neglected to do. I now have cold water, crushed ice, and cubed ice. I will absolutely be needing all three, especially when paired with the gin and vermouth that I’ll no doubt be downing while waiting for the next round.

You probably think that this is the end of the story. Of course not! Life clearly enjoys a good plot twist. Last time the swap took over an hour. I didn’t want food sitting on the counter that long, so I boxed everything up—four trips because I can’t carry much at once—and set it all out on the deck.

Wouldn’t you know it: on the one night I decide to turn my back deck into temporary cold storage… it snowed.

I stood there watching fat flakes land on my milk, my leftovers, and my rapidly diminishing patience. The universe has impeccable comedic timing.

March 14th can’t come soon enough. Or maybe it can. I’m not sure I have the emotional bandwidth for another episode.

Until then, if anyone needs me, I’ll be on the deck with a martini, a bag of frozen peas, and the kind of quiet rage that only comes from spending an entire day waiting for someone else’s incompetence.

To the powers that be at Best Buy and KitchenAid: this is inexcusable. A refrigerator should keep food cold, not inspire endurance training, weather-based improvisation, and cocktail consumption. 

Image by ChatGPT.

 Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have ice to use.