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The Great Dishwasher Duel
It was supposed to be a completely ordinary day on the job as an apartment maintenance worker out in Tukwila. I had a standard work order for an appliance replacement—a dishwasher. It was the kind of routine job I’d done a thousand times before without a single problem.
Removing the old dishwasher went perfectly fine. I slid it out, set it aside, and got the brand-new one unboxed and ready to go. But I should have been more careful. I really should have been wearing gloves. Why? Because the underside of a dishwasher is a hidden maze of razor-sharp sheet metal. 🔧🪓
I was hunched over, trying to muscle the new unit into the opening, but the bloody thing kept catching on something underneath. I gave it a firm tug to get it into place. Suddenly, it broke free.
My hand was right in the danger zone. The sharp metal edge sliced clean across the top of my hand, completely flaying a section of my skin wide open. 🩸
Now, I don't particularly enjoy the sight of my own blood. Luckily, I found a rag nearby—hopefully, it wasn't a special cleaning cloth, but it was going to have to do. I wrapped it tight around my hand to stanch the bleeding.
Looking down at the mess, I thought to myself, Well, of course this means management is going to have to find one of the important employees to finish installing this bloody dishwasher, because I need to take a day.
I walked into the leasing office, trying to be as polite as possible under the circumstances, and found my manager. "Ah... so this just happened," I said, unwrapping the cloth to show her the damage.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh, that is bad! You need to get some stitches right now." 🩹
She quickly grabbed the appropriate worker's comp paperwork so the employer would cover the bill, because God forbid I have to pay for a trial-and-error injury on the job.
Then, she jumped into the driver's seat to take me to urgent care, since she was the only one free to drive me. 🚗
My boss was a young woman, quite a bit younger than me and rather petite. We got to the clinic and sat there for what felt like forever, just waiting and waiting to be seen.
Finally, the medical staff called us back.
But before they even looked at my hand, they pulled me aside into a completely private room. They looked at me with deadpan, serious faces and asked, "Is this a domestic violence situation? You can speak freely with us." 🤐🕵️♂️
I stared at them, completely dumbfounded.
"No! She's married, I'm married, and she is literally my boss. She’s just the only one who was free to drive me to urgent care!"
I burst out laughing, but let me tell you, the medical staff did not have a single ounce of a sense of humor. They just stared at me blankly while they stitched me up. To this day,
I still have the scar to prove it. 🧵
On the drive back home, I couldn't keep it in anymore. I turned to my boss and said, "You are never going to believe this. They pulled me aside separately because they thought you did this to me! They thought we were a domestic dispute!"
We both absolutely had a massive laugh over that. She shook her head, giggling, and said, "Well, I guess I'm a hard-core girl, aren't I? Look what I did to you!" 😂
It became a running joke between us that we talked about constantly. A small woman, a giant dishwasher, and a clinic staff with zero sense of humor—definitely a day on the job I’ll never forget.
