Tom needed to get rid of them—the neighbors that blasted music, mowed two times a day and received complicated exotic deliveries that required the street to be shut down and teams to bring items into the house.
The Westons. Tom hated these neighbors. They’d only lived there for two weeks, and he loathed them.
He knew a strategy. The dishwasher strategy.
So Tom went to the Westons and asked them about their trip to Ireland. He said he was thinking about going. The Westons were thrilled to have Tom over. They led him to the living room over bearskin rugs he tried to avoid stepping on. They talked his ear off until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Mind if I get a glass of water?” Tom asked.
“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Weston said. Her feet rested on a miniature grand piano ottoman.
“No, don’t get up,” Tom said. “I know where it is.”
Tom rushed to the kitchen. He had mere moments. He grabbed a glass and then turned on the faucet. In a flash, he opened their dishwasher, took a screwdriver and popped out a part that would ruin the dishwasher.
Tom then went back to the living room.
“You got tap water?” Mr. Weston asked. “We import from the Himalayas.”
“I just had something in my throat,” Tom said.
The Westons continued to talk to Tom about Ireland, but he was thinking about the dishwasher. There’s a strategy that if a couple’s dishwasher breaks, they’ll start to hate the house. They’ll argue over the dishes. They’ll wonder what appliance will break next. They’ll stop using plates to avoid doing dishes.
They’ll want to move in the time it takes to get it replaced. This is especially true for couples who often move.
Tom was pretty happy when he went home until his wife met him at the door.
“Honey, our dishwasher is broken.”