There are no glamorous dishwashers. The dishwasher is the kid on the lowest wrung, the bum who can get no other job, or someone down on their luck. No one aspires to dish washing.

And yet I'm kind of savoring the job.

Last week, our dishwasher read E:25 which translates as "your dishwasher's broken." Helpful. I bailed the water and probed for blocks. I ran it again. The pump started. The pump stopped. Started. Stopped. Water came through the tube. Then E:25.

The repair guy fit us in last Friday. He's cool. I like talking to him. I like that he takes his shoes off even though I tell him not to bother. I like how he makes friends with our nervous dog. He showed me how to free the impeller. Packing up, he warned that the pump might go, but if it did, he wouldn't charge for another service call.

Good thing too, because the next morning, E:25

He replaced the pump this Friday. I came down this morning. E:25.

The tough part is expecting the dishwasher to work. It's Charlie Brown trying to kick the football. Washing all those dishes by hand is a job, but I don't mind a broken dishwasher once I get over the surprise.

Here's a Zen dish washing story:

A monk told Joshu, “I have just entered the monastery. Please teach me.” Joshu asked, “Have you eaten your porridge?" The monk had. Joshu said, “Then you had better wash your bowl.” At that moment the monk was enlightened.

Knowing I'm at E:25, I wash my plate or cup soon as I'm through eating. Am I enlightened? I don't know. But the soap on my hands, the water running through my fingertips, these things feel good.

Who needs a dishwasher?

My daughters and wife do.

I've called the guy. We will talk again while, shoeless as a monk, he dives in and we wait on enlightenment.