The conversation started out with the statement, "I don't know if I need your boy help, but I do need your boy advice". Probably, behind "we gotta talk" or "does this make my ass look fat", not the most welcome words to any guys ears, right?
I explained that I may have dropped at least a quarter and two pennies down the garbage disposal. Of course, by "may" I meant, I totally dropped some fucking change down the disposal. And that my solution, at first, had been putting an orange down the disposal, running H2O and turning it on. Looking back, even I'm not really sure why that was the best fix-it solution I had. ...I'm just sayin' it was.
Guess what? As you probably already have surmised, that didn't exactly produce the fix I searched for in my feeble, girl, fix-it mind.
My next move was to look up a video of how to fix the disposal. Clearly, this should have been my first move. Oh, well...If Cher can't do it, what hope do I have to turn back time? Anyhoo, there I was on the floor usin' some crazy ass doohickey (aka: Mr. Allen Wrench) and pressing the reset button. (Good News: If you should ever have a [reasonable] clog or sumthin', it's a super easy process and you will definitely be able to do it.) Unfortunately, $0.27 and an orange isn't exxxxxactly the same as, 'opps!! too many mashed potatoes down the drain'.
The game plan then switched to a recovery operation. Out came some tongs and in I went, grasping, and eventually aggressively poking at the orange to bring it back from the disposal. Think of this as what it would be like to actually have to push a newborn back into mom once it's already out. ...With tongs.
It was not natural.
It was not pretty.
It was not easy.
But I did get it done.
Another BBG helpful hint for ya, change is extremely hard to see in the disposal. It's those damn black flappy things. You can't really get a good vantage point on anything that's not directly in the center of the disposal. Sooooooo of course my next thought is, I need a magic telescopic magnet.
Which is where my need for guy advice began to directly impact Dole Pineapple, who because he works 6 seconds from my front door had stopped by for a post workday check-in. After hearing my cracked out home maintenance tale, and a query as to if he actually happened to own some magic telescopic magnet (and a head shake, eye roll and stifled laughter later), Dole Pineapple asked if I needed a new disposal installed. Honestly, he got half giddy at the prospect. I explained that it seems to be working when coins are not jamming it. (Again, thank you YouTube video gleamed knowledge!)
Once he informed me that change isn't magnetic and blowing my telescopic magnet solution, he offered to fix it on the spot. I declined as A) he had just stopped by to say hello, with no expectation of dealing with a home project-- at someone else's home for fucks sake. 2) I'd already re-birthed this orange. So I was still operating on the misguided assumption that I could do anything. ...Why not have the satisfaction of remedying the situation myself?
As we discussed some other catch up stuff and consumed a glass of wine, I asked where on the scale of 1 to 10 that he thought I could accomplish getting those coins out myself. I'm fairly sure he flat out lied to my face as the words, "I think you probably could" hit the atmosphere. (I knew it was a lie because it was presented in the same tone I hear when I think in my head, 'I could be a size 6'. The semi mocking tone of, unlikely possibility to bordering on full on thaaaat's never gonna fuckin' happen-ness.)
He then followed that up with, "but I wouldn't want you to get hurt so I'd feel better if you just let me do it".
I then followed that up with thinking, 'I wouldn't want me to get hurt either. ...And now I'd feel better if you just do it"
Decision made.
He told me part of his plan included turning off the breaker before he goes in after the Washington and Lincoln's. Something that in all of my how-to approach of this trauma never ever once entered my mind. Proving that I require adult supervision.
As Dole Pineapple headed out to go attend to his d oh double g after a long (and now BBG made ridiculous) day, we made a plan for him to swing by with the express purpose of disposal fixin'/coin retrieval. He offered to swing by the following evening. I'm not trying to make *you* doin' me a favor more of a pain in the ass, ya know? And what Dole Pineapple doesn't know is that I rarely use the disposal. Why? 'Cause a constant cycle of grilled ham and cheese, cob, peanut butter and jellies, wedge salad and Chick O Sticks don't demand much disposal usage. Plus, there is no food in it so it's not like sumethin' is getting stinky in there. As it's obviously zero of an emergency we made a plan for the rainy day this weekend.
I am thankful that he happened by in my time of dumbassidness need, has the skillz to do something about it and the kindness to offer to do so.
...And this is probably something that makes me a baaaaad person. I found myself mostly thankful that during this conversation Dole Pineapple never asked me how the change got in the garbage disposal.
It's not a bad/I'm goin' to jail/hell story.
More of a, some Big Brown Girl is a world class dumbass tale.
Alright, alright. I guess as I am trying to be a solution I should share to help others avoid my pitfalls...
Even when it casts me in a bad light. Fine.
Reality is still real, even when I don't like it. Accepted.
Ok. Short version: Don't try to clean all of the free range salt that's accumulated in your purse by wackin' it a few times upside down over the sink. At least not the side with the garbage disposal. Unfortunate things can transpire. You're welcome.
