We moved into our house almost fifteen years ago. When we moved in, we bought a GE fridge. I have hated that refrigerator for fifteen years. It’s a side by side and both sides are inadequate.
The vegetable drawers on the fridge side always come off the runners and freezer side is so narrow that a square frozen pizza box doesn’t fit inside. That means, when my son wants a frozen pizza, we have to go to the store and then come home and pop it in the oven right away – which kind of defeats the whole convenience of having frozen pizza. I mean, if you are going to drive to the store, you might as well drive to the pizza shop and get something that doesn’t taste like cardboard. Although my kids like the pizza that tastes like cardboard better than pizza that has actual toppings and little green bits of oregano floating in the sauce.
Anyhow, imagine my delight when I came home yesterday and a brand new half gallon of milk was sour.
“The fridge isn’t working,” I said to my husband. “I think we’ll have to get a new one. After all, it’s fifteen years old.”
Harris cursed. Then, like a true handy man of the new millennium, went on line to try to figure out what to do. Muttering something about coils, he lay on the kitchen floor and issued orders. “Get me something long…a coat hanger…no, a barbecue skewer.” I stepped and fetched. “Do we have an old toothbrush? Can you get the vacuum?”
What he pulled out from under the fridge was appalling. If I had any pride at all, I wouldn’t broadcast to the world that my refrigerator coils were insulated with a thick coating of dog hair, cat hair, my husband’s former hair, dust, Cheez-It crumbs and the general filth of fifteen years of cooking, shedding and spilling. Ewwww….
Within an hour, the fridge had cooled to a chilly 34 degrees.
I wiped out the shelves. Then I went to the store to buy a fresh gallon of milk and a frozen pizza.