General Plate, and the Battle of the Dishwasher

It was a winter evening in Mississippi. There isn’t really a lot to say about winter evenings in Mississippi. It might be cold, but probably not. It might be clear but a better chance of rain. What made the night special was not the fact that it was winter or in Mississippi (or even that it was evening), the specialness came from the events that would proceed dinner. The sun had set somewhere in Delta warming the black muddy river and night was beginning to fall. Just beginning I tell you, for it will be that on the day of my death I will swear before God and all the saints it was not yet night. I am willing to stand before the heavenly courts proclaiming the eveningness of the night.

I completed dinner, taking my plate to the sink I wondered, “Where should this plate go?” It is only a surprising question for those of you who are not privy to the inner workings and bureaucracies of my kitchen. It is not a complicated kitchen, per say, nor is it set apart from the kitchens of Mississippi. It’s a small kitchen, a place where, should the moon shine right, joy happens, and happens with a vengeance. Once in that very kitchen I thought the sun would rise from my sink and illuminate the cosmos that is my apartment.

Yes I know, it would also burn my apartment down but lets not take the analogy that far.

This night however, joy was not on the menu. It was frozen pizza. Yes the melted cheese and quarter sliced pepperoni set upon a French bread crust and cooked to perfection in my toaster oven. Yes there was pizza and that pizza was good. Well, as good as frozen pizza could be. But this was not the great occasion of the evening, only the precursor.

I suppose I should have known I should have seen it coming. The omen the night before, plate falling, I should have known. It is easy to turn eyes from problems looking to other parts of my apartment, like the computer or the TV, or oddly enough how in the recent years they have become like one and the same. No, that kitchen, nay, that apartment, will never be the same.

You see the dishwasher was already full. It had been full now for over two days. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I had dishsoap, the dishwasher had already been run and the dishes were clean. The previous nights culinary extravaganza had left my dishes dirty, so dirty in fact that I had to wash some pots and pans by hand. This hand washing of the dishes, though it dried out my hands was not the issue, and it most certainly was not tragedy. It was when dirty dishes began overflowing into the dining area that battle cries went up.

It was a plate, a blue plate. A plate so blue that it wept like a willow… a blue willow. I walked into the living room and turned on the TV and heard a cry so horrifying that to this day (or hour since it was like twenty minutes ago) I will not forget, I will never forget.

The plate rose from the depths of the sink wielding a knife, but not just any knife, a steak knife. Behind him the other dirty dishes rose up, plates wielding knives like swords and forks like… forks? You might be asking yourself, what of the bowls and the spoons, what was their fate? Relax, I haven’t gotten that far, I am still talking about the plates with the knives and forks. Wait till you hear of the bowls and spoons!

No, I’m serious, I will get to the bowls and the spoons later, it’s a really cool side but I have to… FINE I WILL TELL YOU ABOUT THE DAMN BOWLS AND SPOONS.

           

It was this time I noticed the bowls and spoons. Well, not really there was more about the plates with knives and forks, but the patience of certain readers is… OK I WILL GET ON WITH IT!!!

           

           It was this time I noticed the bowls and spoons; the bowls had begun gathering loose pieces of food and ice cubes. The ingenuity of General Plate was amazing it was having the freezer raided for food bits and ice cubes (see I told you there was more to say about the plates with the knives and forks). The spoons were being mounted for catapults and being lined on a cutting board with a peppershaker for a ram all to be used as a siege engine. They arranged themselves in ranks on the kitchen counter; I feared they were coming for me.

           I tried not to look nervous but I couldn’t help groping around for some kind of weapon, a stone or brick, maybe a mandolin, something that would case damage in the case of attack. I begin to take note of my surrounding, I realized I could turn the kitchen table to its side and my couch on it’s back, then I would have a wall, I would be damned if dinnerware was going to drive me from the place I lived, but they didn’t come after me, they were marching on the dishwasher.

            

I noticed a few flaws right on the outset: 1) they would have to open the dishwasher 2) they had no angle of approach from the countertop.

Then I noticed the rags were being shredded and woven into rope, and quickly at that. They had been attached to the sides of an empty popcorn bowl and the dirty dish troops and supplies were being lowered to the floor, and I noticed old tin can tops making their way to the top of the dishwasher with other ropes. I couldn’t help but watch for some time and I saw them finish their siege engine with empty tin cans as rollers. The tin can tops were tying rope to the top of the dishwasher and lowering the ropes, it seemed as though the salad plates would be the force used to open the door. The siege engine with its catapults ready stood waiting. On the word of the large plate, as blue as willow the battle would commence.

I couldn’t fathom the purpose of this war. It seemed like there would be an awful lot of broken dishes and bent forks and knives over this senseless battle. And that is what it was too, senseless. I began to figure the strategy out though. Run the clean dishes from the dishwasher and take up residence, by any means necessary. I felt powerless to stop the impending loss of dish. I remember very clearly when General Plate gave the battle cry a tear fell from my eye.

In a moment the onslaught had begun. The dishwasher door was down and the spoons began firing ice cubes and frozen broccoli toward the dishwasher. I feared the dishes in the dishwasher would be slaughtered but I was wrong. They had prepared equally and as the door opened a line of stainless steel pots marched forward behind it plates carrying knives and the spoons preparing to fling themselves behind enemy lines. Then it happened.

General Plate stood at the front of the battle, clouds of ice cubes and broccoli blotting out the kitchen lights, salad plates of all different kinds rushing against the stainless steel pots, and the general saw it. For the first time he looked upon his enemy. The two opposing generals saw each other, and rushed toward preparing for battle. Steak knife against steak knife then when I thought all was lost, a tablespoon called them to their senses as he through himself between the two warring generals. Then they saw each other; I mean really saw each other for the first time.

Both plates, blue as willow holding steak knives. Dirty General Plate looked upon his brother, Clean General Plate and they realized that this was not the way. It was not long before they created a truce and I went to watching TV (let’s face it, the fight was cool the truce was boring).

I had been watching TV for about 15 minutes when two plates walked over to me. Clean General Plate and Dirty General Plate stood tall with their knives up, behind them two armies marched… and now more than one siege engine, four with glasses and bowls and silver ware of all brand and size. Dirty general plate pointed his steak knife at me. Then he pointed to the dishwasher, then he pointed to the clean dishes, then he pointed to the cabinets, and then he pointed to himself and the dishwasher.

Obviously these plates were mad, and made no sense. I think he ran through the motions four or five more times I don’t remember clearly I was watching cartoons. Finally, I looked down and said, “ I don’t play charades you dumb plate.” My worst fears were then realized. I didn’t notice at first because I had gone back to my cartoons, but when I looked down again my position was surrounded and the two generals poked me with the steak knives. Not just once but like 10 times, I was like, “DUDE STOP IT I’M TRYING TO WATCH CARTOONS.” He didn’t stop. Then the ice and broccoli started and I was under attack.

When I thought all was lost the tablespoon threw himself before the army looked up at me and said, “Would you PLEASE put the dishes away then fill the dishwasher?”

I was like, “Sure, why didn’t you just ask in the first place.”