The Fabled Multifaceted Dishwasher

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Last night, as I waited with uncanny calm and patience for my Philosophy final to start, I had an epiphany. Naturally it came in categorical syllogism (modus ponens)form, and went like this:

If I studied for my final, I will make an A with ease,
I studied for my final,
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Therefore, I will make an A

You can't argue with logic, and I breezed through it... Arguably one of my finest college performances to date. Anyways, the other night, my good friend insomnia paid me a visit, which yielded the following post.

The Multifaceted Dishwasher: Life at Cambridge Oaks (University of Houston)



It’s a little known fact that in the spring of 2003 I relocated from the University of Houston dormitory to an on campus apartment complex (Cambridge Oaks). My reasons for the premature departure of my temporary abode need not be specified, but my good friend Andrew Thomas Petruzzo (of Star Trek notoriety) moved due to a African American urinating on him while he slumbered. Although Andy once said that the incident “quenched his thirst for dark African urine”, I feel that the mishap directly contributed to his relocation. So, there we were, Andy, Sarah, and myself, sharing a one bedroom, 400 square foot apartment. To say the least, it was a recipe for disaster.



Now there are a near infinite number of unfortunate events and mishaps that I could relay, the two that come to mind share a commonality: the dishwasher. Now this seemingly innocent little kitchenary device is most often used for the cleansing of kitchen utensils. As you can imagine, with the three of us, this was not the case.

Story One: Being the raucous, rowdy, boisterous college coeds that we were, there was a moderate amount of alcohol consumption from time to time. Andy, my aspiring alcoholic roommate, had a approximately 2.3 Smirnoff Twist adult beverages one Friday night. As you may or may not know, this is tantamount to mixing baking soda and vinegar. While the chemical reaction we marveled at in fifth grade was fun and safe, the reaction of the 3.5% alcoholic beverages mixing with Andy’s bloodstream often yielded some rather bizarre happenings.

If the consumption of alcohol wasn’t the final nail in the coffin, the ensuing hunger that struck Andy certainly was. Being the full-blooded Italian that he is, Andy must embrace his heritage by relying on pizza and pasta for his diet. Finding the kitchen after a brief search, Andy retrieved a frozen pizza and proceeded to attempt cooking it in the dishwasher. It wasn’t until the rinse cycle that Andy realized his pizza was not in the right place. But not all was not lost; as it turns out, pepperoni and cascade makes for a rather good pie.



Story Two (inherently anticlimactic after the pizza mishap): Being the raucous, rowdy, boisterous college coeds that we were, there were a few material objects that were mandatory in the apartment. Some of these were pretty standard… ramen noodles, a Jim Belushi poster, collection of beer bottles, the ill advised collection of street signs. Some, which we possessed, were a bit anomalous (Veronica is applauding me as I type for using the word anomalous… thank you, thank you so much). These objects included Seasons 1-6 of Deep Space Nine, a UFO hanging above the bed, an anti-matter gun (to zap the cat with naturally-didn’t quite work out-I digress), and explosive devices. The operative word in that former sentence, is, as you may have guessed, explosive devices.

Now these innocent little firecrackers had something about them that wasn’t innocent at all: explosiveability (once again, applause ensues for my neologism). Now it is possible, despite the immutable laws of physics that the fireworks managed to light themselves. It may be more possible that I, Prince Dubious, somehow, might have, kind of, like, maybe, sort of lit them. Furthermore, it might be even more possible, that I lit them in the middle of the living room in which a large crowd of coeds were socializing.

Although I was conscious of my idiotic and perilous actions (I remember the seconds leading up the lighting of the fuse with vivid detail and clarity), it is safe to say that was entirely divorced from reality. Sheer panic immediately ensued as the fuse was lit, and the members of the room immediately fragmented. The first group, composed of Andy, John, Michael Stephenson, and Sarah went straight for the nearest exit, which just so happened to be the front door. The order of those names is very important because it is also the order that they exited the apartment, which is funny because at the time of the incident Sarah was closest to the front door. Sarah was pushed out of the way by each gentlemen during the mad dash, and she is luck to have escaped without the certain disfigurement that would have occurred had she not finally escaped. And who said chivalry was dead?

While their exit plan was certainly pragmatic enough, it was also rather humdrum. My escape, while not intelligent, was much more memorable and exotic. I made a beeline for the kitchen, and sought refuge in the flame retardant Maytag dishwasher. So there I was, the top half of my body (you must protect the hair!) safe from the brilliant pyrotechnic display happening in our living room, but bottom half exposed, legs akimbo.

I’m not sure if it was the two-minute ear piercing explosion that alerted the authorities to our misdeeds, or perhaps the subsequent fire alarms going off. But whatever the case, the cops and fire department arrived within five minutes demanding answers. After the somber realization that they were not amused, I answered their inquiries with an all too simple answer: “We were making popcorn.” They weren’t amused.

Oftentimes, I wonder how the three of us made it through that fateful semester. As WC Fields once poignantly stated, “The times were full of danger and imminent peril.” Those words ring true when I look back on the Spring of 2003. If nothing else, we learned that the dishwasher, while capable of working miracles on dirty dishes, is not only capable of producing a good pizza but providing refuge from firecrackers as well.

Point of Information: If you’re wondering what became of apartment 510 at Cambridge Oaks… the last we heard, it is still condemned. As it turns out, manicotti, if left out for long enough, turns blue and attracts literally thousands of maggots. This maggot infestation, coupled with charred carpet, a blackened shower, and a level of filth not suitable for any human, is enough to constitute the most coveted apartment award (for a college student that is): Condemnation.