Dishwasher Insanity

So my parents bought a dishwasher in July. It arrived in due course and they had a plumber come over to install it. He happened to be the retired dad of my SIL, so they thought they'd do the community-oriented thing and hire someone they knew instead of a stranger. (Can you see it coming?) anyway, he showed up one weekend morning and proceeded to spend EIGHT (8) hours installing their dishwasher, because he a) talked too much b) insisted on "fixing" (aka breaking) their kitchen tap, c) didn't have the tools he needed, d) installed the plumbing before the electrical and then realized he couldn't reach the wall behind the dishwasher to connect the electrical, and had to do it all over, e) insisted the whole time he knew exactly what he was doing and wouldn't listen to my dad's input or observations. Now being my father's daughter, his input and observations usually drive me batty but he does have a good head on his shoulders and the poor guy would have saved him (and my folks) about 4 hours if he'd listened. Anyway, it got done. Except for the kick-plate, which was dented, which is where my rant actually starts.

The Bay, the retail bastion of Canada, now owned by the chinese (god knows everything comes from there anyway) - or was it the Americans? anyway, one of them furrinners, ordered the part. So they say. A month later, no part.

My mom called the Bay. "oh yeah, it's back-ordered at the manufacturers. Call us in a week"

Three weeks later, still no kickplate. At this point, I somehow got roped into helping. I could feel a rant coming on but I restrained myself, saying it was a bit early to rant. I called their warranty, the golden we-do-everything warranty that they purchased with the dishwasher since they didn't want any hassles with it. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Warranty Guy: "Oh, we don't do that, it was still part of the installation. Call the parts department". I called the parts department. No one knew anything about it. They promised to investigate and call back the next day.

Three days later, I phoned back.
Parts Guy: "oh, umm. we have a note here that we actually sent the part to the store. I have the store number right here, we want you to be happy". Yes, he really said that. Ha. Ha. Ha. I phoned the store and asked for the manager. I ranted. A small rant, quite reasonably toned, but undoubtedly not a happy story.

Store Manager: "Oh, it sure sounds like you got the run around! who was your sales guy? Let me look into it and we'll solve the problem for you."

Two days later, the Store manager calls my mom. "Come on down any time, we can't find the part they sent but we've removed a kickplate from one of our existing models for you!"

I packed up Samuel, dropped him at my SIL's and drove to the store. No part. No sign of a part. Three staff people and not one clue among them. Also no store manager. I didn't rant but was definitely annoyed.

Store guy: "We'll have Bill (the manager) call you on Sunday when he gets back."
He busily writes my name and number on a non-descript scrap of paper that is shouting "lose me! lose me!"

Sunday: no call. (are we surprised?) I phone the warranty people and let off a good rant.

Warranty Woman: "I'm sorry I can't help you. The parts department is closed on Sundays. I can call them tomorrow for you."

I let a couple of hours go by and call the store again. Where's Bill?
Sales guy: "oh, Bill isn't the manager. He's the sales guy looking after this for you. I'll have him call you." Warren calls me. I rant unrestrainedly.

Warren: "If you want, we can order you the part. We never ordered the part, because if we had I would have done it. Bill just took one off another diswasher and left it at the front. They should have given it to you when you came in. He's expecting you today"

Me: "I'm not coming to the store again. I have a baby and am not coming in. I want the part delivered and installed as it should have been at the beginning!" (not a pleasant tone)

Warren: "well who would you like to yell at?"

Me: I don't care! just fix my problem!! If Bill had called back like he said he would I would yell at him directly!

Warren: "I'll have Bill call you."

To be continued...

Sleeping Babies

I will never again underestimate the power of sleep. After six months Samuel is just starting to nap regularly and for longer than 20 minutes at a time. He has one nap in the morning for about an hour, and sometimes another one in the afternoon though it is not at all certain. I can’t predict when a large or short nap will happen. And despite repeated advice to “sleep when your baby sleeps” I still succumb to the lure of laundry, dishes, vacuuming, tidying, reading the paper, writing a blog (hee hee – obviously this one doesn’t win out very often) – all to the detriment of my sleep-o-meter, which is permanently in the red. I can understand how sleep deprivation is a form of torture. Actually, I do get the requisite hours of sleep, it’s just not uninterrupted and in two-hour stints, could be a mean schedule for the CSIS torture gang.

Torturers: tell us your secrets!
Spy: never!
Torturers: okay then, look after this baby night and day for the next three weeks!
Spy: aaaagh! Anything but that!! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!

I should probably stay off the roads on my bad days – it’s like I’m on auto-pilot and I inadvertently start driving to which ever destination gets triggered by the particular road I’m on. I have to remind myself over and over: “don’t go to the coop you’re going to the bank”.

On a sunnier note, my dad is out of the hospital as of yesterday, after five long weeks. After the depression he developed ICU psychosis which apparently hits 1 in 3 patients that have to stay any length of time in the ICU – characterized by anxiety, panic attacks, disorientation. It manifests a lot like dementia but goes away over time, thank God. A woman down the hall was convinced murderers were after her. My dad kept feeling like he couldn’t breathe, didn't know what day it was or what had really happened vs dreams. He’s much better now, but still a little confused. I think being at home will help a lot in getting him grounded back into himself. We’re all thrilled and secretly worried that he’ll run my mom ragged now that he has 24 hour access to her. Oh well. I try to stay out of their little love games. It drives me crazy but it’s kind of cute at the same time.

Sam is already six months old. Where does the time go??? I haven’t done most of the million or so things I had in mind when I thought of an entire year off work… ha ha.