The Stacker

Stacking dishes: an underrated skill

As far as opposites attracting, Holt and Olivia were made for each other, in every respect.

Take the dishes, for example, Holt was about as chaotic as a person could get. Before the dishes got shifted to the dish washer, he would stack them in the sink, not in an orderly way but as they arrived. If a bowl could be balanced on a tall glass with a plate and a bowl on top of that, what’s the problem? Keep the silverware in the bowls and on the plates and it’s just another masterpiece of stacking, artwork even. As long as everything didn’t come crashing down, he was good with it.

“Holt, I don’t know how you do it, but you managed to stack all of our plates, bowls, cups, and glasses so they’re six feet high. How do you expect me to do the dishes if they’re so high?”

“Stop exaggerating. They’re not six feet high, though I wouldn’t touch anything but the top item if I were you. I’m practicing my circus act on a high wire, you know, juggling sticks of fire while balancing knives on my nose, all while walking on a tight rope from pole to pole.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s a total waste of energy because I still have to use the 10-foot ceiling ladder to remove the top dishes so they don’t come crashing down just so I can rinse them.”

“Now you’re exaggerating. Is that your way of asking me to do the dishes?” Holt asked.

“Oh, would you, Honey? Thanks.”

Holt looked at the stack he created and strained his neck searching for the top. Today was definitely a rinse-into-the-dishwasher job, but remembered they ran out of dishwasher detergent the last time he ran the machine. The detergent never made it on to his to-buy list so they had none. That meant he had to do them by hand because he wasn’t about to go out again tonight. The thought did cross his mind to use laundry detergent, but wasn’t in an experimenting mood tonight.

Many times in the past year, he promised himself not to stack the dishes so high, but he couldn’t help himself. Becoming tidy and organized was just not in his DNA. He tried it once, but it zapped him of all his energy.

Holt admired the way his wife stacked dishes, bowls, and glasses on each other, each to its kind. If a dish came in and the stack of bowls were already on top of several dishes, she’d lift the bowls, place the dirty dish under the bowls and set the bowls down. In theory, she could stack all their dishware and still have room to maneuver in the sink.

With Holt’s way, the dishes needed to get done much sooner rather than later.

“Liv,” Holt called out from the kitchen, “Is the ceiling ladder still in the garage?”