Three weeks ago, my fridge started having a personality crisis. First, it thought it was a freezer. And then, it thought it was a cabinet, and then it thought it was a fridge again. It just couldn’t decide who it wanted to be. Or what it’s main goal was in life. And I felt a little sorry for it to be having a mid life crisis at such a young age, but felt helpless in getting it the help it needed. Because the place we bought it was all, “you have to call this place.” and then the place would pick up the phone and tell us we had called the wrong place and “you have to call another place”. And then the third place was all, “You’re fridge is no longer covered under this super extended covers everything short of explosion plan. Because we don’t cover that model anymore.” Or maybe because we never actually paid for that coverage. Or something.
And I was all for calling the doctor, where the doctor is the repairman and if he costs me $150 a minute, I kind of still *have* to pay it because honestly, food poisoning is so expensive for a family of seven.
But this was hard for Dave. It was hard because the fridge wasn’t totally out of commission, but just a little bi-polar. Normal temperature for a few days, and then gradually warming, and then once every single thing was moved to the fridge that we keep down the hall, over the piles of dirty clothes and towels that we pretend is the laundry room, and out the door into the area commonly known as a garage, but which we refer to as the Goodwill pile, the fridge calmly goes about it’s business cooling back down. And once we brought the food back in and began behaving like normal humans, the fridge would invariable decide it needed to start menopause and we would find ourselves hauling things back out again.
Which makes the fridge not so much bi-polar as evil to the largest degree possible.
But again, my insistence that we lose an arm and/or a leg or two in order to stop trekking back and forth through the obstacle course we lovingly call home was met with resistance. Because a quick google search showed that we can totally fix it ourselves. We just need to try a few little things and it will be as good as new.
Tonight, for the 4th time, Dave pulled everything off the top of the fridge, pushed it out from the wall, took things off the back, tinkered with things underneath and around and inside and eventually declared he had figured out why it wasn’t working. Apparently, there was a piece of cardboard that got shoved under the fridge and was preventing one of the fans from running fully. Once everything was put back in the proper place, we waited and hour to let the fridge get cold again so that the kids could eat cereal in the morning without pouring milk all over the carpet on their way in from the garage.
When we checked it just now, the newly fixed fridge was a very cool 61 degrees.
I’m sawing off my arm and leg. Anyone know a good refridgerator repairman?