There once was a day, long ago, when I could expect a newly purchased major appliance to be delivered from the store by a technician who would wheel it in, install it, and exhibit an easy competence that instills confidence in the home owner. But that was when I lived in the big city, pre-retirement. Those days are gone.

You know how, when things go wrong, they go wrong in threes? Our first two were the range and the dish washer. At present, we are waiting for the shoe to fall on whatever the third thing will be. I fully expect the washer or dryer to fail, or perhaps one of the toilets to begin flooding a bathroom. Maybe the heater will explode, or my truck will conk out. I call this TSP, or Third Shoe Paranoia.

We purchased our range and dish washer from Sears, a two hour one-way drive from our home. The guy in Merchandise Pickup wheeled them out with a handy dolly and put them in the back of my PU. My wife and I drove off, proud owners of two heavy, large boxes, wondering how we would get them into our house.

Here’s how:
It’s called snow shoveling, a borrowed dolly, and some clumsy maneuvering. Our house faces away from the driveway, so the “back” has ended up being the “front.” The door is 30 inches wide; so is the range, unboxed. The “front” gate is no larger, so another door would be necessary through which to haul this thing. That meant shoveling a path from the driveway, through two feet of snow, digging out two gates, around rabbit brush and sage, uphill & downhill, about 35 yards to a side door wide enough to accommodate our purchase. We did it. Some days subsequent, two guys from the gas company arrived and installed it. They were even willing to haul off the old one. Naturally, I suspect they will refurbish the thing and re-sell it.

But the real story would become installation of the new dish washer. Neighbors recommended a local handyman named George and he had, in fact, installed an outside light for us weeks before. He had at that time expressed an ability to install the soon to be purchased dish washer, so I called him. George, who is 80 years old, was laid up with a bronchial infection, but promised to recover in time to install our appliance as soon as possible. Yesterday, sounding much better, George arrived, tools in hand.

First the old dish washer had to be yanked out. I offered to help but George insisted he could manage. There was some grunting and groaning, but he got it out. With his dolly, which was a much nicer, heavier duty one than the shaky little thing that I had borrowed, he removed the old dish washer from the house. At least, being narrower than the range, it would fit through the door and the front gate. I had scanned the installation instructions that came in the box and so, when he went to move the now unboxed dish washer with his dolly, I pointed out that, according to the manufacturer’s instructions, a dolly was not supposed to be used once the appliance was out of its box. “Ah, that’s for home owners,” George spat, and moved it over with the dolly.

With a disconcerting amount of wheezes and sighs, old George installed my new dish washer. Much of the time he was lying on his side on the floor fiddling with the various water and electrical connections, or digging through his tool box looking for some tool he couldn’t find. The installation instruction manual remained unused on the table, causing me not a little discomfort. Whenever I would make some passing reference to it, George would wheeze and snort and pooh-pooh it. “That’s for home owners.”

He not only did not die during the installation, he apparently succeeded at the task, complete with a test at the end to make sure there were no leaks or other problems. Of course, we haven’t used it to wash dishes yet. I’ll hang on to the installation instructions, just in case.