Greetings! I’m Janice Johnson. Thanks for joining the fun here on Maladjusted Mondays. This series is a collection of scathing exposés in which I rat out my uncooperative appliances. (Thanks to Linda for hosting me!) I originally published these posts on my blog, Joywriting: Everybody Has a Story, where I do occasionally write about something besides my appliances. You can visit me there any time by clicking here.
And now for the eleventh post in the series, which first appeared on my blog March 1, 2017.
Protein Shaken, Part 2
When last we left Jan, she was wiping splashed protein shake from her face and was about to clean up the (major) portion that had dripped behind the refrigerator.
Spill + 3 minutes: Step one– Pull the fridge out away from the wall.
Spill + 4 minutes: Step t–wait, I’m still tryna move the fridge.
Spill + 11 minutes: It simply wouldn’t budge. I looked everywhere for the user manual.
Spill + 18 minutes: I couldn’t find any manual, so I looked it up on LG’s website. The online manual showed how to do every possible thing you might ever want to do with a fridge…. EXCEPT move it.
Spill + 24 minutes: I got on phone with a very nice person at LG, who spoke pretty good English as long as she didn’t have to stray from the script.
Spill + 25 minutes: We had to stray from the script.
As near as I could tell, she was claiming that I first had to retract the wheels so that the feet, not the wheels, were touching the floor.
Spill + 32 minutes: The LG lady wasn’t familiar with the term “counter-intuitive.”
Besides, I couldn’t even see the wheels OR feet, because a handy rubbery barrier like a giant squeegee blocked my view. You couldn’t get too mad, I guess, since it probably saved hundreds of green peas and blueberries from rolling under there and going bad.
Spill + 1 hour, 13 minutes: Brent came home.
Spill + 1 hour, 14 minutes: Brent wished he hadn’t come home.
Spill + 1 hour, 27 minutes: Brent somehow figured out how to get those stupid wheels to turn.
By the time we got the fridge rolled forward enough to clean behind it, I figured the shake mix would’ve dried up and I’d have to sort of chip it off the wall and floor. Not so… the protein had coagulated into wet, sticky, dark brown clots.
My kitchen floor looked like a violent-crime scene with dust bunnies.
That happened about a year ago, and I’m still having flashbacks.
I can assure you, though, that every time I serve up a scoop of protein-shake powder, I turn well away from the blender before re-closing the bag.
Maybe I should get a roll of Crime Scene tape, just in case.
Thanks for reading,