Righty Tighty

       “Do you think you’re an appliance technician now?” my husband asked sarcastically.

       “Uh…how hard can it be? It’s just a couple of screws and some glass….” I said looking around at the oven door…scattered in sections…all over the kitchen floor.

       I truly don’t know why I thought I could fix the oven door by myself, except that I honestly didn’t think it would be that difficult. I’ve done my share of household plumbing, electrical wiring, audio/visual repairs and computer troubleshooting, so naturally, the neglected oven door would be next. No big deal.

       My intention was to just get the bloody crumbs and drips cleaned out from within the two pieces of glass that makes up most of the front, and adjust the hinges so that the door didn’t sag upon opening. The task didn’t seem worthy of a $125 service call, which I could see turning into an order for new hinges, more parts and labor fees and an additional service call for installation. All I needed to do was turn the screws a little to the right (righty tighty…) and spritz a little glass cleaner on the window. Seriously, how hard could it be?

       How the hell the crumbs and scum managed to get within that sacred glass space in the first place had perplexed me for some time. Where was the weak point? Where was the hole? How do morsels of meatloaf, grains of granola and particles of pizza jump from the rack’s horizontal plane to the glass’s vertical door anyway? Did it happen during entry? Exit? Where did the drips come from? Sauces or greasy condensation? It was driving me crazy, because it was the one place my disinfecting hands couldn’t get into; escaping my relentless wipe-downs and frantic cleaning sprees. Also, every time the oven light was turned on, those food fragments and dark drips were illuminated like a backlit modern display at the MoMa. Sparkling in their glory, the patterns would randomly change with every tilt of the door, and bop up and down occasionally during cooking. I tried to think of my oven door as ‘art in motion’, but my poor overcritical and persnickety mind just couldn’t make the transition.

       So, deciding to conquer the contraption, I got out the screwdriver and dove in. The door lifted quite easily out of its hinges (probably the reason it overextended and sagged so easily too), and so I figured the remainder of my project would be straightforward as well. I had no idea of the intricacies of oven door assembly, however, and after carefully placing components all around the floor, I realized that perhaps it was a little more complicated than anticipated. Other than the actual door, there was metal, glass, rubber spacers, metal spacers, glass brackets, another piece of glass and screws in places you wouldn’t think you’d need screws. It seemed excessive and redundant at times, but I nevertheless managed to disassemble the uncooperative unit in relatively little time and with minor effort. And let me tell you, wiping those burned and hardened bits out of there was oh-so satisfying! By the time I was done, the machine looked brand new…assembly line new actually, since it wasn’t yet assembled….

       When my husband walked in, I had already failed at several attempts to reposition the glass pieces. You’d think they’d just slip in as easily as they slipped out, but they were seemingly a one-way part, with no apparent indication of what way that would be. Every time I thought I had mastered the construction, when I re-attached the door, the inside glass would fall in, out or down, rendering the door unusable. My husband had no choice but to get down there on the floor with me and try to put the thing back together. By this time, my frustration level was elevated, but my determination had skyrocketed and there was no way in hell I would have called in a professional to clean up after me. How embarrassing would that be? Not only would I be insulting the guy by telling him that I thought it could do his job…which I thought was probably simple…but I would most likely have to pay extra for his time and lost parts. Ugg.

       But four hands working together, and an hour and a half later, we finally got all the parts back in what we thought were the correct places, and the door tightened to the oven. Phew. It was an ultimate case of teamwork, patience, critical thinking and problem solving.  And although I wasted a lot of our time and endured needless irritation, I did learn a lot: Mainly, that if you have to remind yourself how to use a screwdriver with ‘righty tighty, lefty loosey’, you should leave the damned thing alone. It’s just not a sign of competence.

       So, that was 7 months ago.

       Today, I’m at home waiting for the appliance guy to come and fix the oven…..that has had a broken glass window for months, and is practically touching the floor when opened from the extremely lax and damaged hinges. I maintain that my attempt at being an appliance wizard had nothing to do with the downfall of the oven. After all, had it not failed to begin with, I would have not had to fix it, right? Frankly, I don’t think the hinges ever worked properly, and I know the glass was put back in there securely….’cause my husband did it…..and even though he’s not an appliance guy, he can fix things pretty well….sometimes. For example, I think the television looks fine bolted to the wall with 2 x 4’s….

       Besides, isn’t there such a thing as a heat crack?