Well, it finally happened. My dishwasher finally went kaput. After only a day, I grew weary of scrubbing all the plates, bowls, cups and silverware necessary for a family of five. Also, I tired of the inevitable bickering with my beloved over whose turn it was to wash.
So, no one was happier to see the installer’s van pull into our driveway after 10 days of handwashing. This young driver apologized several times for being late. I could read the lines of weariness on his face. I assured him not to worry. We all have days that get away from us through no fault of our own. And though the installation would delay supper, I was looking forward to an easy clean-up (it was my turn for the dishes).
I went outside to cut the power to the dishwasher from the fuse box. When I returned, my five-year-old extrovert was asking questions like a high-speed spin cycle. While unpacking his tools, he answered her with a slow drawl and quick smile. I escorted my daughter upstairs to read books so that the man could work.
I have spent most of my adult life with words. Others use their hands for other types of art, still others for trades like repairs and installation. There are many kinds of human intelligences. While machines have been replacing human labor for a long time, artificial intelligence tools like ChatGPT are now writing blog posts and maybe newspaper columns!
A dishwasher, of course, is a machine. There are other machines that assemble it. We already have the self-driving technology to deliver an appliance to my house. There’s probably a near future when a robot could install it while capturing the experience in a Petrarchan sonnet!
There are obvious advantages to certain technologies. But what is lost by the lack of human connection? The Hollywood writers’ strike is making headlines (rightly so), yet I am thinking closer to home.
I am not interested in washing dishes by hand, but I gratefully shook the young man’s hand when he had finished the installation. The gleaming appliance promised clean dishes and, even more satisfying, more time on things like reading to my kids.
As he packed up his tools, the installer told me about his daughter, age three. “A fun age,” I grinned and we chuckled in appreciation of shared knowledge.
My girl asked if she could have the cardboard box that had contained the dishwasher. Not only did he empty the trash from this box, he cut a door in the cardboard to her exact specifications. As a finishing touch, he cut a small rectangle in the center for a door handle.
It was twilight by then. I had supper to make and he wanted to get home to his family. But we stood for a bit in the backyard grass, watching her delight as she went in and out of her dad-made playhouse.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the author of “Little Big Moments,” a collection of mini-essays about parenting, and “Tigers, Mice & Strawberries: Poems.” Both titles are available most anywhere books are sold online. Taylor-Troutman lives in Chapel Hill where he serves as pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and occasionally stumbles upon the wondrous while in search of his next cup of coffee.
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