Dishwasher Wanted

On a recent drive we passed by a restaurant that had posted a very large Help Wanted sign on its door facing the street. The help they were seeking was a dishwasher. My husband (who  does the dishes at our house) queried “Are there still dishwashers in this day and age?” Hello, Earth to husband . . .  if someone had invented a way to collect up all the dirty dishes, rinse them off and put them in the dish washing machine, pour in the soap, press the buttons, watch TV for an hour and then empty the washer and put away the dishes being sure to have all the coffee mug handles facing at exactly 45 degrees, then we would have purchased this handy device by now. Yes there are still dishwashers and you are it.

As my regular readers know, we have a new dish washing machine at  home. Once I found out how to open the clothes washer door I then moved upstairs to try out the dishwasher. Basically it is fabulous with two exceptions: the plastic unit to hold the cutlery is held on to the front of the lower rack by an act of will. If I lose concentration or sneeze or get absorbed in watching “Eureka” then it falls off. I missed being impaled in the foot by my drug store Ginzo knife by just a hair. How hard would it have been to put a sturdier mechanism on the cutlery container? Thing two: the soap dispenser does not stay closed if you put soap in it. This means that after I fill it up I have to close the door really fast or soap falls through the crack onto the floor. The floor under the dish washer is three shades lighter than anywhere else  in the kitchen.

Ok, now that I am thinking about it, I think there is a third thing I don’t like about my new machine. It uses big words on the buttons. No “On”  or “Start” but rather “Activate” or “Treblepushrequired”. Instead of “Rinse” it has “Salivate” or something like that. I am not sure I want drool all over my Fiestaware.

Dish washing is one of humankind’s oldest tasks and thus oldest professions. Legions of men and women have performed this vital service, unseen and rarely appreciated. The cook gets the “Please thank the chef for me — this was delicious.” The wine steward gets a huge tip. The busboy gets to eat leftover filet mignon every night of the week. The dish washer, whether in the finest restaurant or in our very own home kitchen gets to work in a hot, moist environment, made hazardous by sharp instruments, fragile glass, and has the nauseating tasks of separating out cigarette butts from the rice pudding so the disposal does not get clogged.

And when all the dishes are clean, dried, and put away, someone starts the process all over again at breakfast. Dishes do not stay done. We do not value and honor the dish washers of this nation adequately. I suggest we take a moment to reflect on their contributions. Next time you are at a restaurant please ask the waiter to let the dish washer know that the plates are sparkling. Tell your domestic washer that s/he is doing a fantastic job — that you love the sound of squeeky clean glass and love the sight of shining silverware. And next time you go to grab your third glass of the evening, put it back. Rinse oout the one you have been using and  use it again. Dishwashers need love too.