A man and his dishwasher
The good news is that the new dishwasher is working well Image Credit: Shutterstock

The dishwasher went kablooey the other day. I’m talking serious harm. Fatal in fact.

For a couple of weeks it had been playing up.

I think the first hint that there was something wrong was when that little cube of dishwasher tab that was supposed to dissolve and work its magic when it pops out of the little flip thingey in the door didn’t flip.

It was just a semi-dissolved clump in the bottom of the tray. But at least the dishes looked clean — you know, man clean.

I would define man clean as being good enough, the that’ll do stage when you swoosh a cloth or brush over the plates in a sink and they come up clean — man clean.

An entirely different category

Man clean is different from woman clean. Woman clean is an entirely different category altogether. It’s sort of the stage just below clinical clean where cutlery could be used for a medical procedure.

When I leave the man clean plates and pots on the draining board at night, in the morning they are moved to the dirty side of the sink, and are then prepped for woman clean.

Man clean is when you race the vacuum over the floor as if it’s a 100-metre dash. No need to worry about the corners, the skirting boards or getting under the couches or beds. Just the general area where there’s traffic and footfall.

Woman clean is a totally different level, one that involves getting under the beds and couches, taking the vacuum head off and lifting the hose up to curtains and running it over the upholstery and the like. In car terms, it’s like getting a full valet rather than the quick trip through the power wash.

But back to the dishwasher.

After a couple of those man clean jobs, it simply gave up the ghost.

When I turned it on it whirred a bit. Then gave a couple of thunks, some grinding noise and the ping of the little thingey door opening and the tab falling.

It’s just that there was no sound of running water. I am not a mechanic but in my layman’s mind, the pump wasn’t pumping. And if it ain’t pumping, there’s no water.

A three-week operation

I did flirt with the idea of changing the pump myself but that would be a three-week operation. I’d have to take the dishwasher apart, then find the pump. Then remove it, take photos and try and find one on the internet. Along with a video on what to do.

Then order the part and wait for it to come, then wait a bit more while I plucked up the nerve to do it. Then do it and end up with some bits that belonged in there but seemed as if they were spare and weren’t really needed in my mind.

No. That seems more complicated than sending a man to the moon. Better, instead, to just go out and get a new one.

The delivery guys were great. They had the old one out and the new one in less than 10 minutes. I think it would take me a whole day to get the old one out and then swat and fumble dropping hoses and tightening things too much one way, then the other — and still ending up with a couple of spare parts that didn’t show up in the user’s manual.

The good news is that the new dishwasher is working well. There’s no more clumps of tab in the bottom. The bad news is that I’m not let put the dirty pots and plates into the dishwasher as I would like.

Instead, I am under instructions to rinse the plates before putting them in. And that kinda defeats the purpose. A rinse is as good as man clean.