Aside from the fact that Brett is completely discouraged about not having a job, it seems he has waaaay too much time on his hands.
He's been using his time well, for the most part, working on a website to show his art (which is up and running, although very basic at this point) and trying to get one of his mopeds running. (Both of them broke down last week.)
So anyway, yesterday, I get this call from Brett as I'm riding home on the bus.
Me: [whispering, because I haaate people talking on their cell phones on the bus] Hello?
Me: What's up? I'm on the bus.
Him: Um, well, there's something wrong with the dishwasher.
Me: What's wrong?
Him: Um, well, there are bubbles coming out of it.
Me: [thinking, Ohhh, shit.] Did you put the wrong soap in it?!?!
Him: I think maybe I did.
Me: [cracking up, having lost most of my quietness] Well, TURN IT OFF!!!
So we laughed, talked about what to do about it, and got off the phone.
Later, I was asking him about it.
Me: So why did you put the dish soap in there?
Him: Well, it cuts grease really well...
Me: [aghast, as the realization hits] You didn't put MOPED PARTS in there?!?!?
Him: Well, my engine was all greasy.
I got kind of upset at that point because he has a (very annoying) habit of using my kitchen things for moped work, so I'll stop this recap...but it was pretty funny, especially because a few years back, I had a traumatic experience with dish soap in a dishwasher.
It was in college, and I was living in a house with, like 8 other girls for the summer, because it was cheap and I was going to France and wouldn't need a place for much more than a few weeks on either end of the France trip. (Note to self: never, never live in a place with, like 8 girls and one shower. Especially when the landlord decides to rip out the shower and take ninety jillion years to repair it, and will only come work if you agree to babysit his terror of a three-year-old son.)
I was preparing for my trip to France with meticulous care. Having never traveled abroad before, I was packing and re-packing my newly-purchased backpack almost daily, trying to fit everything in. I had it on the floor of my basement room, with all the other crap I was bringing in my carry on -- books, extra clothes, toiletries, CDs -- stacked around it.
A couple of mornings before I left, I woke up to extremely loud laughter and banging coming from the kitchen over my head. I didn't think much of it, until I heard my friend Bree's voice yelling and laughing, too. A few minutes later, she and Katy came running down the stairs to my room, cracking up.
"What's going on?" I asked, still groggy from sleep.
"I was running the dishwasher," Katy explained through her laughter, "and something's wrong! All the sudden it just started shooting bubbles and water out!"
Bree and Katy and I spent the next few minutes cracking up at all of the water and bubbles on the kitchen floor.
And then? I heard the dripping.
You see, my bag -- my meticulously packed bag, full of clean clothing and new books -- was right. under. the. dishwasher.
And what was dripping but soapy, nasty water, right through the floorboards and onto my brand new bag.
Katy denied that she'd put the wrong kind of soap in, but both Bree and I thought privately that she had, and that was confirmed when the landlord came out and couldn't find anything wrong with the dishwasher.
It was traumatic at the time, and I remember kind of flipping out, but everything turned out fine, and while I've lost touch with Katy, Bree and I still look back in fondness and laugh at that morning.
In fact, I called Bree to tell her about Brett's experience just after I got off the bus yesterday.
"Hi Bree, It's Leen."
"Um, so guess what just happened. I was on the bus, and Brett called, and he said there was a problem with the dishwasher."
"Uh, oh," she said, as she started to laugh, knowing exactly where I was going.
"Yeah," I said, "He put the wrong kind of soap in."
We spent the next few minutes cracking up all over again about the incident that happened five years ago, and the water and bubbles taht were all over my France bag.
Who knew that five years later we'd still be laughing?
So, let this be a lesson: Never, EVER, put regular dish soap in the dishwasher. Bad -- yet funny and memorable -- things are sure to occur.