Suds

It seemed I had been out of work too long and needed to be productive. I had not started at Blue Cross, yet, in fact I still divided my time between the east and west sides of the state. It was a weekend I was spending at my in-laws house, but it was quiet and I was getting stir crazy. The kids were gone, maybe at my parents, and the house was empty except for me. I settled on dishes.

I gathered the dishes from around the house, brining them to the sink. The window above looked to the pool in the back yard, which was covered, but no snow had yet fallen. I opened the door of the dishwasher to check to see if it was clean or dirty. I pulled back the half full top drawer and dipped my finger into the bottom of a coffee cup. No water, which probably means the dishwasher has not been run. I pull open the bottom drawer and I can see the fleck of debris on the silverware. Definitely dirty.

I turn back to the window, rinse the dishes I have gathered and complete loading the dishwasher.

It is funny how doing work, completing something worthwhile can make you feel good. While I enjoy this first hint of good feeling, I look under the sink for the detergent. I am stuck. My in-law have a water softener, so they by special detergent, which comes n large containers. So, under the sink I don't find a Cascade box or anything obviously marked for dishwasher use. Instead I find a few clear, purple lidded containers with powders inside and scoops. I select the one I reason is most likely the correct one, put in into the little cups in the door of the machine and start it up.

I move from there to the floor. I just plan to sweep a little and call it good.

It takes me a while to find the broom. I check the closet, the garage, upstairs and downstairs. Downstairs I see the mop and bucket, but no broom. I am stuck for a while, so decide I must have overlooked it. I go back to where I started, do a better search if the closet and there it is. In the corner hidden behind a press of coats and jackets, behind a large heave jar on the floor, it is there.

When I finally retrieve it and take the step back into the kitchen, I realize something is wrong. The bottom of the dishwasher is a waterfall of soapy suds. They have covered half the floor and are soaking the rug which allows the island to be pushed around the floor. The feeling of usefulness drains out of me. I have used the wrong soap, I have created a huge mess, I am not even sure what to do.

At first I think about stopping the dishwasher, but to do what? The soap isn't waiting in the door to be retrieved, it's filling the box and I don't dare open it. I figure if I shift it to rinse I can get it to begin cleaning the suds. I do and run downstairs to get the mop and bucket I just overlooked. By the time I get back up, there is even more suds.

I mop and I push water. I mop and I push water. I can keep the pool within three feet of the dishwasher, but it comes too fast to move it any closer. This is where my mother-in-law finds me. I explain what happened and I learn not only did I use the wrong soap, but I used twice as much as I should have. I assure here I'll clean the mess and she goes to the computer room.

The bucket slowly fills with black water, the floor looks way better than I would have expected and the dishwasher stops. I am frustrated. The initial happiness of doing something good has been replaced by failing at s etching so simple. I use the mop to push the bucket toward the bathroom, where I can dump it.

The wheel of the bucket hits the place where the carpet touched the tile a little too hard and bucket flips. I let out a a growl of frustration. Now not only do I need to mop this water back up again, but the blackness of it is soaking in the carpet. A jobless man who can't even run a dishwasher or mop a floor right.

It is twenty more minutes of work, with a mop and shop vac, before I have almost eliminated signs of the spill. When I am done and ready to go hide somewhere, my Mother-in-law offers a lunch of Panera. It is a small thing, but enough to make the day a little more right.