that crazy garbage disposal

It’s confession time.  Do you know what household “appliance” scares me the most?  I guess there’s really no surprise since it is the title of this entry.  But humor me anyway.   It’s the garbage disposal; yes you read it correctly, the garbage disposal.  I’m telling you, it’s an apparatus to be feared.  Don’t ask me why, but ever since I was a little girl, my fear and dread of the garbage disposal have been like thorns in my flesh.  All right, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but, nonetheless, the garbage disposal has truly mystified me for the past 38 years. 

First, it was the warning from my mother.  You know the one . . .  “Never, ever put your hands into the disposal while it’s running.  You could cut off your fingers.”  This warning was enough to scare the living daylights out of me.  Of course, I was grateful for the information.  No mangled hands for me, no sirree.

As an adult I figured keeping my hands out of the disposal was the only rule to follow.  I had that one down, no problem.  But, hold on, when I entered college a second warning from a roommate made me wish I’d never even heard the word garbage disposal.  Now I had two rules to follow?  Too much pressure.  It happened one night while I was cleaning the kitchen.   I was pouring the rest of my yummy Raman noodles down the drain and was set to switch on the garbage disposal when my roommate grabbed my had and firmly told me, “Never, ever (there’s that phrase never, ever again so I knew this was  serious.)  Never, ever run the disposal with hot water.  Always use cold.” 

Suddenly my brain was spinning.  Could this be possible?  Did I miss something?  For the life of me I couldn’t recall this rule at all.  Had Mom forgotten to tell me?  Oh, the dilemma.  But being a girl that likes to play it safe, I added this rule to my manual on garbage disposal etiquette.  From now on, I would use only cold water when I ran the disposal.  Once I’d begun to follow this rule faithfully, I breathed a sigh of relief.  Surely there were no more rules to follow.  I was safe and well informed on the finer points of disposal use.  

But then I got married, and once again I was forced to acquire a new rule.  To make matters worse it came from my husband.  While I was cleaning the kitchen one night and using the disposal very appropriately, I must say, his advice blindsided me.  “Honey, aren’t’ you running that disposal a little long?  I remember in Home Ec the teacher told us to run it for only short spurts.”  I gave him a cold, calculated look.  Now I know my mother had never, ever given me this “never, ever” advice.  Did I really want to change everything up just because some home ec teacher told my husband something fifteen or so years ago?  And the answer was, of course, yes.  Why take a chance?

Sighing, I shut of the garbage disposal and added the new “rule” to my list.  I vowed from then on to follow these three rules faithfully.  Each time I used the disposal I muttered my three rule mantra, “Hands clear.  Cold Water.  Short Spurts.  Hands clear.  Cold water.  Short spurts.”   

By now you may be thinking, “This gal is crazy.  Who’s afraid of the garbage disposal?”  But my fears are real deep-seeded ones.  Which leads me to a question; what exactly am I afraid of?  You’re going to laugh, but I really think it all boils down to one thing.  I’m a rule follower.  One of those who pours over a recipe to ensure that I’m using the right amount, of the right ingredients, in the right order.  Rarely do I just creatively “throw something together” for dinner. 

What’s worse my son is following in my footsteps.  At conferences, his teacher informed me that whenever another student in class does something wrong; he’s quick to tell them that they “broke the rules”.  And with that, I realized that I need to try to be a little less anal about “following the rules” and a little more open to the possibility of making a mistake.  After all, I don’t want my children to grow up with the same insane fears I have. 

And while I may never completely get over my fears of the disposal, the lesson in this will perhaps be a good reminder.  It’s okay to mess up.  It’s okay to not doing everything perfectly all the time.  Except, of course, for the mangled hand thing – I probably want to get that one right.  But the others?    It’s okay if I don’t follow the manual all the time.  So as I close this silly tale, I will ask for only one favor.  If you know of any more rules about running the garbage disposal, please don’t send them my way.  The “rule follower” in me thanks you.