Our special words for things - Dan Brotzel

Our special words for things

Anti-burst hose

Don’t ask.


Bad medicine

What you called the cheap tablets I’d get when you weren’t paying attention. You always reminded me that several top manufacturers recommend Fairy Platinum, and skimping a couple of quid on some cheap imitation would actually cost us more in the long run. ‘Buy cheap, buy twice,’ as you always liked to say. (Not to be confused with that other bad medicine, the stuff that made you bruise like a peach and made all your muscles go numb.)


Bad fairy

A person who deliberately inflicts bad medicine (ie non-Fairy tablets) on their machine. Over time, this became your nickname for me whenever I’d done anything silly or naughty, such as overloading or giving in to my self-storage delusion. Or mixing up your meds or not realising that a pill organiser is an obvious no-goer.


Blocker

A person with a habit of stacking the machine so that the sprayer arms catch or the machine won’t even shut properly. Yep, me again. (Did you know I sometimes did a bit of blocking on purpose, just to see your comedy angry face?) (I think you knew.) (I loved that face.)


Cycle rage

Your frustration on discovering that I had mistakenly set the machine going on Eco yet again. ‘It washes less intensively and takes hours,’ you said. ‘And we just don’t have the time.’


Handling the situation

(Something you were always better at than me.) Your name for the process of going through the cutlery tray and putting all the handles the right way up or down – blades down for knives (safety first), handles first for everything else (gets all the spoonage off).


Intervention

The unscheduled opening of the dishwasher door mid-cycle, usually to remedy a case of nervous ticking or to retrieve a utensil or container that has suddenly become essential to the cook. Should only ever be done as a last resort, you always said, because untold – though never fully explained -- damage could apparently be done to the inner workings of the mechanism by the repetition of such emergency procedures. (Mind you, they saved you a couple of times.)


Kitchen cabinet syndrome

See self-storage delusion.


Kitchenware organisation and sanitation specialist (KOSS)

The title that you believed should be given to those rare elite beings in the world who could stack a dishwasher as well as you. ‘That’s a bit of mouthful,’ I said. ‘Just think of me as your KOSS,’ you said. ‘Give me a kiss, my KOSS,’ I said, and you did.


Last-minute Lulu

The kind of bad fairy who will spend 10 minutes rearranging the whole dishwasher just to squeeze in that one extra cup that they can’t be bothered to wash, even though they will almost certainly be ruining the optimum stacking arrangement in the process. Yes, OK, me again.


Mouth-to-mouth

The practice, only to be used as a last resort, of trying to blow water through the tiny apertures in the dishwasher blade, so as to remove a stubborn bit of eggshell or congealed rice. You never know when that first aid training might come in handy.


Nervous ticking

The name for that noise you made every time the machine started emitting the sort of rhythmic clicking or scraping sound that could only be the result of a schoolgirl loading error. It would take every fibre of your will to resist the urge to stage an intervention. But you held on for as long as you could.


No-goer

Our term for any items that should never be put in the dishwasher, such as chopping boards, non-stick pans and bone china. You didn’t like me putting my flip flops or plastic hairbrushes in, even though the internet said it was OK, but I think you were just jealous because my hair wasn’t falling out. But you cheered up when I found out we could put your Macmillan baseball cap in there too.


Peak plenitude

A perfectly filled, optimally full load, ready for operation. Dishwasher Nirvana.


Phillys

Name given to the mysterious person who systematically over-fills the machine because they can’t be bothered to wash up a few bits by hand. I vividly remember you sighing with disappointment as you opened the door and spied another selection of only partially washed crocks: ‘I see Phyllis has been at it again...’ The name derives, I assume, from the verb ‘fill’. I’ll never know for sure now.


Running on empty

A despairing phrase that describes any scenario involving the dishwasher running at less than peak plenitude.


Self-storage delusion

The heretical belief that the dishwasher is a mere cupboard (or kitchen cabinet) into which dirty stuff can be just shoved out of the way, to create a spurious impression of a spotless, decluttered kitchen. (Then again, I wouldn’t have got through that week with all your family here otherwise. Had to buy a dozen extra mugs too: what else can people do at a time like that but drink more tea?)


Spoonage

A disparaging term for the gunk that is left on larger utensils such as wooden spoons, whisks and fish slices when they have been lazily arranged across the lateral racks above the upper tray in such a way as to have little chance of actually getting fully clean.


Stack attack

A dishwasher crime scene where everything has just been loaded willy-nilly, with no thought given to efficient use of space or cleansing optimisation.


Stackacious!

A high term of praise for a well-stacked machine, said when a stack-check was found to reveal no requirement for any remedial work. ‘Wow! That was stackacious!’ you sometimes used to say, of other things too. (I’m glad something still gave you a thrill, in the last days.)


Stack-check

A favourite ritual of yours where you would review my attempt to fill the machine properly before it was switched on, and correct any obvious organisational inefficiencies. Regrettably your procedures in this regard, once so robust and relentless, slacked off considerably as time wore on. ‘Stack-check please!’ I’d call from the kitchen; ‘Stackacious!’ you’d call weakly from the sofa. In the last days, you didn’t even call back. But I like to think you still heard me, because once I came in and found you smiling. Your eyes were closed, but you were smiling.


Surgical procedures

Any of a range of remedial actions involving rolled-up sleeves and sump filter or circulating pump. Can rescue an apparently hopeless situation, for a time at least.


Wish-washer

A person who would kill to need to use their machine more often, now that they’re only cooking for one.


Zanussi

The name I used to give to my imaginary lover. ‘If you don’t take your pills like a man, I’m calling Zanussi. He’s waiting to whisk me away, you know. Says he wants to sweep me up in his Whirlpool of hot love...’ ‘Zanussi wouldn’t refuse his food like that.’ It’s funny, but I find I use our special names for things more than ever, now that you, of all people, are my imaginary lover.


Zeolite

The Siemens IQ500 machine uses zeolite in its drying process, a smart little mineral that can convert the moisture it absorbs into heat energy. This makes the machine especially good for hard-to-dry plastics and for making glassware shimmer.

Farewell, my last and best friend, purveyor of peak plenitude. Farewell, my zeolite, you who made everything shimmer.

Originally published by Leicester Writes anthology 2019

Dan Brotzel is the author of a collection of short stories, Hotel du Jack, and a novel, The Wolf in the Woods (both from Sandstone Press). He is also co-author of a comic novel, Work in Progress (Unbound). His new book, Awareness Daze (Sandstone Press) is out November 2023. More at www.danbrotzel.com