In other words, the nitty-gritty of de-icing a concrete block of ice designed by an imbecile and rendering my expensive, new fridge unable to make crushed or cubed ice.
The next day, after dreams overflowing trash cans, I awoke to the noxious odor of, let’s say, rotting brussels sprouts and some poly-chemically gas. Coffee cup in hand, I stood before the refrigerator. I swore vengeance, mixing languages inventively and causing my housemate’s mouth to drop open.
To task!
- Use a hairdryer to defrost the icemaker’s two sections. Put it away. Yank at the IceMax cover. A twinkling, okay, then a rip morphing into a mighty crack (like Thor’s baby hammer) splinters up the side of the back section. The bourbon bottle beckons from across the room.
- Use the hairdryer on the icemaker. Worry about getting electrified. Is standing in water dangerous? Will my homeowners policy cover this? Flip the breaker. Safe?
- Get creative. Attach two feet of cable cord covers (pinched from my office electronic doodads) to a dry (IMPORTANT SAFETY TIP) water bottle with the bottom cut off. Fit together with a twist tie. (Run free, little broccolini, run free.)
- Work at this for over two hours until you can pry off the decorative, innocuous-looking IceMax front. Stagger back from wafts of rotting brisket. Look longingly at the luscious-brown nectar.
- Have housemate shine an industrial strength flashlight into the IceMax. Give eyes two minutes to adjust to the brightness. Realize the glare is a reflection from a 9”x9”x18” block of ice.
- Use the hairdryer/water bottle/hose again. Twist tie gives up the battle. Use photographer’s clamps. Hairdryer groans, overheats, time to have one small drinkie.
- Chip away at the ice in the long tunnel to the back of the fridge. Use whatever. Housemate uses assorted cheese knives. I use my eighteen-inch-long screwdriver, flathead, and a small sledgehammer of unknown origin. Chunks of glass-sharp ice get chucked into a loaf pan.
- Back to blow-dryer/bottle/hose contraption. Water drips everywhere. Mop, mop. Do not slip. Eye your glass. You’re so close. Turn away, turn away from temptation!
- Back to the cheese knives/extra-long screwdriver/sledgehammer. Work for another hour. Realize you are getting close to a spinning ice cutter/crusher. Return to the blow-dryer et al. contraption. Tell the housemate to stop shaking the flashlight, strobing into the Hellpit.
- Keep going. Only another 30 minutes of alternating between electrifying yourself with the blow-dryer contraption or cutting off a finger/slitting a wrist on the IceMax’s metal parts.
- Shake out your arms and promise yourself lots of bourbon when this is finished.
- A long screech, and you realize you are at the plastic. Hoorah! Wash and dry the ice tray. Hold your breath as your wedge it back in. Surprisingly, everything lines up. Attach the mangled front cover with the Baby Thor crack.
- Expecting to need this again, store your paraphernalia for the next debacle. Clean the floor. Flip the breaker.
- Close the fridge and have that bourbon. Forget glasses. Pass the bottle as both of you slide down the wall, too tired to believe it’s way past midnight.
There you go. Don’t try this at home (although many readers said this is the preferred way to defrost this beastie).
Be safe. Turn off breakers/electricity.
Try not to think about the money you’ve spent on the machine, the money you’ve lost in food, the weekend you’ve lost to the project, or how much you want to march over to Samsung demanding a $300.00 rebate and a case of bourbon. Swear mightily. Wake up Thor. Drink some more.
OMG so surreal I feel a little guilty for laughing.
But I googled the instructions – those guys, those voices – and there are so many of them. My favourite was Ryan’s rescue – those guys, those voices – I wanted to slaughter them all.
My learnings
I’m so glad I don’t have “fat hands” (and who knew how important THAT would be on day, though still not sure why), and that I don’t have a Samsung IceMax Ice maker, also glad they don’t (cargo cult) sell them here) AND that I drink vodka and keep it in the freezer – though I once read a story (maybe it was a James Bond thing – or maybe an urban myth – or maybe a dream) about someone who died while drinking vodka straight from the freezer – froze their oesophagus and drowned.
I’d go for the rebate Trudi – if there really is a rebate – or the replacement – or more bourbon.
xxx