Chick Wit: No arguing with that kind of logic
I'm being gaslighted by my refrigerator. For months, I'd been suspicious of my freezer; specifically, that it's thawing and refreezing my food. A bag of frozen peas, once loose and flexible, is transmuted into a solid block of bumpy ice by the time I go to cook them. No matter how many times I've sneaked "just a spoonful" from a pint of ice cream - yes, living-alone rules - the ice cream's surface will be rendered smooth and flat, the evidence of my nibbling erased.
I'm being gaslighted by my refrigerator.
For months, I'd been suspicious of my freezer; specifically, that it's thawing and refreezing my food. A bag of frozen peas, once loose and flexible, is transmuted into a solid block of bumpy ice by the time I go to cook them. No matter how many times I've sneaked "just a spoonful" from a pint of ice cream - yes, living-alone rules - the ice cream's surface will be rendered smooth and flat, the evidence of my nibbling erased.
"Maybe I didn't break my diet, after all," I'd say to myself the next night I opened the container.
Add enabler to my list of grievances.
I procrastinated about calling an appliance-repair company. After all, I wasn't completely sure it was broken.
Until I went on vacation. Upon return, I opened the fridge and was hit with a putrid stench. The interior of the fridge was balmy, and the food inside looked like a science experiment.
Through the nausea, I felt validated.
The repairman who examined it said the temperature regulator needed to be replaced. I explained my earlier concerns about the freezer, and he said it was likely the cause of that, too. I paid for the service and the new part.
A few weeks later, my freezer was slowing down again - this time I was certain. My shrinking ice cubes looked like victims of global warming, missing only a tiny polar bear waving a white flag.
Even my bag of Ezekiel bread was sweating like a whore in church.
Thankfully, the repair service had a 90-day guarantee, and this was less than a month later. I called, and they sent out a different repairman.
I brought the new guy up to speed. He opened the freezer.
"Feels cold to me."
You pay extra for the expertise.
"It's cold now, but it's not maintaining a freezing temperature. Look." I brought out Exhibit A, a box of fruit pops, and showed him how each treat was a wonky shape, half off its stick, its cellophane bag filled with red goo.
He pinched the fruit pop between his fingers. "That's frozen."
"But look at it. It clearly melted at some point."
"They could have been like that when you bought them."
"No, they were fine before."
"How could I know that for sure?"
"Because . . . I'm telling you. It's why I called you."
I was so bewildered by his skepticism I actually laughed. "Do you think I'm lying?"
He smirked and shrugged, like that was a definite possibility.
Women. Am I right? Always crying wolf for refrigerator- attention.
It was like I had slipped down a wormhole of retro gender dynamics. I stood barefoot and helpless in my kitchen while a man patronizingly explained how I don't know what I know.
"A freezer cycles to maintain its temperature. That's how a thermostat works."
Don't mansplain cycles to me, dude.
"Cycles to the point where things melt? I swear, it's malfunctioning. This happened before the fridge broke down a few weeks ago, and it's doing it again. Can you think what might cause that?"
He threw up his hands. Then he began writing something on his clipboard.
At this point, the only thing icing over was me. "So you don't know how to fix it."
"I can't fix something that isn't broken." He tore off a sheet and handed it to me. It was a bill.
I explained that this was still under the last repair's warranty.
"The warranty is for the repair, not the service call."
"Right, but the last repair didn't work. My fridge is broken again, hence this service call."
"Only the part we replaced is guaranteed. It still works."
Ah, yes, the "temperature regulator." Works like a charm.
But this was bizarro-world, where up is down and hot is cold.
I handed over my credit card so I could get this guy out of my apartment and return to sanity.
The truth is, the fridge is nearly 15 years old. I don't want to put any more money into it. I've decided I'm going to buy a new one.
Soon.
I've continued to live with my freezer, convinced it's not safe to eat anything from, but reluctant to pull the trigger on buying a new one. Why?
What if I'm crazy?
Look for Lisa and Francesca's latest humor collection, "Does This Beach Make Me Look Fat?" Also, look for Lisa's new emotional thriller, "Most Wanted" and Lisa's new Rosato & DiNunzio novel, "Corrupted."