OK, so here we are on final countdown to the biggest, most complicated, most emotionally loaded meal of the entire year, with company on the way, and my brand new, fancy schmancy, ridiculously overpriced refrigerator is freezing everything.
Yes, folks, I got your frozen celery, your frosty cheese, your solid-state salad dressings, your milk slushies ... whatever flavor of ice your little heart desires. I do not, however, have a turkey that is anywhere close to thawing out by Thursday.
Why me, God, why me?
After ten minutes of suffering through the robot phone lady and the holding pattern in the Sears service center, I convinced a rep that I had done all the tweakage recommended in the operating manual to no avail. Four days later, today, a service person was dispatched.
According to Younger Son, who supervised the process in my absence, the guy moved some bread away from a blower in the back of the fridge and declared the problem solved. Or, if not, we should "wait about four days to see if it gets better."
Oh HELL no. And now the thing is even colder.
Back on the phone after work, back through the robot lady, to another rep who -- miracle of miracles -- will send somebody out tomorrow. This will pretty much wreck my plans for my day off, but at this point I'm feeling lucky not to be waiting four days for the damn thing to make up its mind what temperature it wants to be. I already know what my temperature is: boiling.
Beauty And The Beast
13 hours ago