Day 15: Some more putting your hands together...

Lisa and I interned with a lifestyle magazine back in 2009. We reconnected recently and found that we have more than one thing in common. She is originally from Hyderabad, moved to Mumbai to pursue a degree in fashion technology, and is almost done with a master’s from New York City. Here’s what she has to say:

Moving Day a.k.a the Day I Wanted to Kiss Arthur Scott

Shoes. 2 cardboard boxes full. Check.

Clothes. 2 suitcases full. Check.

Furniture. Disassembled. Check.

Utensils. Still dirty.

Sigh.

I looked apprehensively at the dishwasher. I’d used it plenty—rinsed dirty things, loaded them into the dishwasher and taken them out once they were clean. But somehow, in the four months I’d been living in New York City, I’d managed to never actually run the damn thing.

I was 24 and I’d never operated a dishwashing machine.

In my defence, I’d lived most of my life in India, where ‘dishwasher’ meant ‘that lady who comes by every morning and does the dishes, not to mention all sorts of other household chores I’d never think about till I moved to this ridiculously expensive city.’

It couldn’t be that hard, I thought to myself. I mean, my roommates had shown me how to do it right when I’d first moved in. I couldn’t remember a thing that they’d said, but I did remember thinking—that sounds easy!

I’d ask for a refresher, but neither of them was home. They were off visiting family for the duration of the winter break.

And that was how I wanted it. I was moving out of my stupidly small but expensive, eerily Stepford-esque East Village apartment to a much larger, slightly cheaper place in East Harlem. The apartment was so tiny that it would have been impossible to get anything done with two petite passive-aggressive roommates underfoot.

Except that bit with the dishwasher. It would have gone splendidly had I two dishwasher-trained roommates to (once again) show me the dishwasher way.

So I sucked it up, rinsed out those plate, pots and pans, stuck ‘em in the dishwasher. There was a clearly marked space for dishwashing detergent, which I proceeded to fill and then I dashed in a little extra. I wanted those dishes sparkly.

You’re not supposed to do that. You’re also not supposed to use the dishwashing liquid that you use to wash dishes by hand—which, I’d like to add, had been kept deceptively close to the dishwasher. You’re supposed to use a powder detergent specifically formulated for dishwasher use. Which was stored inconveniently out of sight in the cabinet under the sink.

Anyhoo, the dishes were in the trays, the soap was where it was supposed to be, so I shut the dishwasher doors, turned the knob all the way to the right side and toddled off to my room to do other productive moving-days things.

Guess what happened when I toddled back, a mere 15 minutes later?

Foam. Flood.

Panic.

2 fewer rolls of paper towels and an urge to kiss Arthur Scott (of Scott TM brand paper towels, and yes I looked him up.)

Crisis averted!

Now all I had to do was get a bunch of drunk classmates to actually move my stuff (yes, some of it was a bit damp). Which is a whole other story.

*Lisa Mahapatra eventually got over her irrational fear of dishwashers in just 5 short months. She even used one, start to finish, on May 20, 2012, without flooding her beautiful East Harlem loft. She hopes that this streak of dishwashing luck lasts the rest of her life.