As I've written before, I used to teach high school biology in a rural county in North Carolina. This story happened during that time.
After a summer of frantically searching for a job, I was offered the position at West Montgomery High School one week before school was to start. Frantically searching for a job morphed into frantically searching for a place to live and frantically packing for a move.
Luckily, a former member of the county Board of Education liked to supplement her income by renting out her family's log cabin in a gated community in the Uwharrie National Forest. The house was nice: 2 bedroom, 2 bath, nice porch, beautiful view of the river at sunset, etc. etc. etc.
The main drawback was that this house was for sale.
The deal was that the real estate agent had to give me at least one day's notice before showing the house. As the year progressed, the one day's notice shrank to 12 hours to a few hours to phone calls while am at work saying "I'm on my way to show the house" to strange people showing up at the house, knocking on the door, peeking in the window, and saying "oh, the realtor said it would be OK to come by." After complaining to the realtor and my landlady, things would get better for a week or two, but they would rapidly begin to deteriorate again.
I stopped caring how the house looked. If the realtor didn't want to give me any notice, I didn't want to bother making the house look decent. Of course, this lead to fun moments with my students like the following actual conversation:
Cute Student: Mr. Davis, my sister and her husband looked at your house yesterday.
Mr. Davis: Oh?
Mr. Davis (thinking): GAH! The realtor didn't even call.
Cute Student: My sister said your underwear was all over the floor. *giggle*
Mr. Davis: GAH!
And, now, you are probably thinking, "What does this have to do with a dishwasher?"
I will tell you ...
With little or no notice that the house was about to be shown, I would have to run around throwing things in closets and cabinets in a mad attempt to tidy up [This, of course, was before I stopped caring].
One of my most hated chores is washing dishes. So, right before the prospective buyers approached, I would shove all of my dirty dishes in the cabinet under the sink and completely forget that I had done that until much, much later, when I would think. "Hm. Where *is* that big pot? I want to make spaghetti sauce."
I would find it crusty and disgusting in the cabinet under the sink.
After a year of this torture, I moved to a new townhouse in a neighboring town. It was HOT! and it had a dishwasher. Woo hoo!
After a month or two of living with the comfort of modern kitchen appliances, I had a conversation with a fellow teacher:
Fellow Teacher: How do you like your new townhouse?
Me: OMG! It's fantastic!
Fellow Teacher: Really?
Me: YES! I can throw my dirty dishes under the sink now, and they come out CLEAN!
There you have it - my "rather entertaining" dishwasher story. You're welcome.