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| Location of dents indicated by "x." |
As with most things in this house, the refrigerator delivery
came with both good news and bad news—because why would it ever be just one or
the other?
The good news: the new refrigerator arrived. It
is a KitchenAid 26.2 cubic foot, multi-door French door refrigerator with a
platinum interior and stainless steel exterior, as I mentioned here. It even
has a fingerprint free exterior (something I wasn’t aware of when I bought it),
as well as offering up two different kinds of ice – crushed and cubed –
something else I wasn’t aware of when I bought it, so I was pretty pleased. In
other words, it is beautiful. The delivery crew removed both the front door and
the storm door to get it inside, hauled the old refrigerator out without incident, and slid the new one neatly into place. It fits
perfectly, which already felt like a small miracle.
The
bad news: everything else.
First,
I was informed that they would not be connecting the water line unless I paid
extra. This was surprising, given that my receipt said otherwise, but I decided
to put that argument on hold for another day. I have learned to pace myself.
Second...the dents. Over the phone customer service offered money off, but I
declined. When I pay for showroom perfection, I don’t want something that looks
slightly used. It would be like hiring a hitman and being satisfied with a
simple bruise. I am not keeping a visibly dented refrigerator that I plan to look
at every day for the foreseeable future. So yes, technically I now have a
refrigerator—but practically speaking, I do not, because once the return is
scheduled and a new one is on its way, it would be pointless to fill it up with
groceries, only to take them all out again.
Still,
it’s something.
But wait, there’s
more.
While
disconnecting the water line from the old refrigerator, one of the delivery men
warned me that a little water might leak onto the floor and asked if I could
get him a towel. No problem, I said confidently, heading for the laundry room.
I opened the dryer, fully expecting a warm, fluffy load of towels—only to
discover that I had outsmarted myself earlier in the day by actually folding
the laundry and putting it away. All of it.
Thinking
quickly, I opened the washer, full of yet-to-be-laundered clothes and such, grabbed a towel, and turned back to hand it to
him. And that’s when momentum, physics, and fate intervened. Along with the
towel, I unintentionally flung a pair of my underwear directly at the poor man.
The
mortification was immediate and complete.
To
his credit, he reacted with admirable professionalism, pretending that nothing
unusual had occurred, while I stood there silently questioning every decision
I’ve ever made. Somewhere between the refrigerator, the dents, and airborne
underwear, I accepted what I probably should have known all along: nothing in
this house happens without incident.
(Those of you who know me personally will
recall the time I inadvertently flashed my underwear, in a similar fashion, to
the UPS man. That time a dryer was also involved, but the underwear was stuck
to the robe that I had quickly pulled on in order to answer the door, rather
than flung into his face.)
At
least the refrigerator is beautiful. Even if it’s only visiting.