fair warning: on block island or manhattan or in missouri, we can be a little salty
a fearsome moment
There was a near tragedy yesterday when it seemed as if the Shrine to Dependancy (as well as a gesture of solidarity with my developing world brothers and sisters who proudly keep their fridges in their
living rooms, though granted they don't have another one in the
kitchen), aka The Beer Refrigerator, was on the fritz. Yes, the light in
the Timex display with Cigarettes from Around the World still worked
but that in the fridge was ominously Off. I changed the bulb. Didn't
help. Then I noticed that there was a drip running down from the freezer
that you have to defrost yourself. It was defrosting. My heart sank. I
have had this refrigerator (though not always beverage-dedicated) since I
moved in here in—1976? "I guess its time has come," I thought. I quit smoking years ago and often keep nothing but cold water in
there. I was sad, though. I had thought it would outlast the one I bought 25 years ago (which has already outlasted three in Block Island in the past decade alone—what is it with appliances these days?) And what would I do when I had a party?
Checked the plug thinking perhaps the cleaner pulled it out with the vacuum. It was solid. Thought about the fuse. The cigarette light was on the same plug. Eventually realized the fridge had an extension cord and was unplugged from it. Don't think I'm impossibly slow, all this happened in a couple of minutes. Phew: Addiction Central is safe.