fridge

Restoring this house has taken me on many long obsessive adventures. The most annoying has been the question of appliances.

When I was young and poor my only stated life goal was to own a refrigerator that worked. Have I ever accomplished that? Why no, I have not. The reasons are myriad and too boring to recount.

One factor is that my standards were low, given that my parents did not have a working fridge for most of my youth. I also lived in England for twelve years, where standard appliances are very small, so even if they work on a functional level they do not provide lavish storage space. British people do not buy large quantities of lettuce. They do not keep their eggs in the fridge.

But a couple of months ago, as I scraped out yet another load of ruined groceries from the shoddy machine abandoned in the Brooklyn house by a previous owner, I freaked out and decided that I could not live with a capricious fridge for even one more second.

Trouble is, the standard US machine literally cannot get through the door on the kitchen level of our house. The machines have been getting bigger, as the house gained internal divisions. Anything big has to come through the double doors on the main level, and then down or up through the internal stairwells. I couldn’t even begin to think about a new fridge before I ripped out some walls.

Finally, oh glorious day, the dividing walls were gone. But even then there were obstacles– the company we previously bought a washer from would not deliver a fridge until they did a site inspection, and the sales rep would not talk to me at all because I’m female (true story). Coordinating between two contractors, a husband with a job out of state, a delivery crew, and a misogynistic sales rep is not my idea of fun. Especially not for an ordinary object like a fridge.

I grew up in a gas station: I have strong opinions about customer service. Poor salesmanship should translate to poor sales. If I’m unhappy with service, I take my money elsewhere. I had to find another solution.

Research led me to Gringer, a store that is way more than a beautiful neon sign. The people on the sales floor were professional, courteous, knowledgable, and willing to discuss my tricky space problems. They helped me figure out the best option, made the sale, and delivered promptly as promised.

It took 30 years, 3 careers, and 22 moves across 2 continents– but I finally own a functional appliance:

 

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