Nothing frustrates me quite like having to hand wash dishes next to a running dishwasher.

If the items are fragile or hand-wash only, that’s on me; I knew what I was getting into when I bought them. But if the items are dishwasher-friendly and I’m only hand-washing them because I didn’t plan well enough – I’m both humbled and embarrassed.

Yet I never know when to run the dishwasher. If I wait too long there’s not enough room and I end up either cleaning too many things by hand or having to wait hours to cycle in another load, which inevitably won’t seem like enough to run on its own.

If I run the dishwasher when just the dishes section is full, I won’t have enough glasses to fill up the top shelf, or vice versa. And please, don’t clean out the refrigerator all at once. I have very strict limits on tupperware items per load.

Once a section gets away from you it’s hard to maintain balance between the top and bottom shelves. I’ve been known to go without food or drink I otherwise would’ve had just to maintain harmony.

Utensils don’t concern me; they’re never the first to run low, except for occasionally the forks. It’s never the spoons. My spatula situation can sometimes spiral out of control when Jenny’s on a baking kick.

And what’s going on with wooden spoons? What sadist is still putting these out into the world in 2018? They can’t be cleaned. They either destroy my sponge by leaving splinters within the threads or destroy themselves by becoming waterlogged and gross.

Despite my shelf-space symmetry struggles, I consider myself an advanced dishwasher user. I pity the households who still bicker over simple matters like whether knives should point down or up while I’ve moved on to more advanced practices.

I was tutored in dishwasher technique by one of the greats. My two-minute apprenticeship with the repairman who told me I needed a new dishwasher was life-altering.

Since then I’ve only used the very best dishwasher soap sold exclusively at home repair stores for a whopping $3.98 per bottle.

This is not your mama’s Cascade. It’s such a well-kept secret that I normally need to wipe a thick layer of dust off the top of the bottle before purchasing it. I refuse to say the product name here because the price-point and packaging suggest they may have stopped producing it in the 1970s.

I expanded my dishwasher knowledge with my next mentor, Guy Lowe’s Sent Over to Install My New Dishwasher.

He taught me to adjust my detergent amount based on the dirtiness of the load, which for me is usually close to spotless. I’m an O.G. dishwasher so my dishes are basically hand-washed before I load them into the machine.

Guy also taught me that filling the intake cup all the way to the fill line was overkill. He trained me to both save money on soap and extend the life of my machine.

Learning proper detergent-portion control was a seminal moment in my life. I’ve had far less streaking on my glasses since putting aside my youthful excesses.

Dishwashing is a lonely game, but I have many tactics to break the loneliness. I’ll save audio-friendly TV shows to listen to off of my DVR or put on an audiobook or podcast.

Sometimes Jenny keeps me company and I regale her with stories from the years when I went pro, back in my prime, at People’s Choice Pizza.

Other times, I’ll use a soaker (dishes, pots or pans where grime has gotten stuck on) for a respite from the madness. A four-soaker night in a two-sink kitchen can play out for hours, sometimes even days.

Some things in life shouldn’t be rushed. At least that’s what I tell my wife to justify a few extra pots and pans sitting around longer than she’d like, “Dish soap’s strength is awe-inspiring. Appreciate magic when you find it in your life.”

If you enjoy my humor writing, please subscribe below.

If you want to syndicate this column, you may contact me here to discuss the details.

You may notice that I’ve disabled commenting on this post. I’d love to hear your thoughts by email at [email protected].