In my work at a design/build/handyman firm, I’ve come to regard icemakers—the kind that sits independently, under a countertop, for example—as Public Enemy No. 1. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had a variation of this conversation:
“Hello, this is Carrington.”
“Yes, hi, I’m calling because my hardwood floors are buckling.”
“Do you have an icemaker?”
“How did you know?”
I know because, well, fool me once, shame on you, Icemaker. But fool me twice, and shame on me. Because, to paraphrase Taylor Swift, Icemakers gonna leak, leak, leak. Then hardwood floors gonna buckle, buckle, buckle. And basements below them gonna mildew, mildew, mildew. It’s the cycle of life with an icemaker.
Inevitable leaking is why I don’t have an icemaker. That, and my affection for old-timey ice trays. But mostly inevitable leaking. You couldn’t pay me to have an icemaker.
My husband wants an icemaker…
So, if I end up chewing my words and installing such a demonic appliance, I’ll at least take steps to minimize the foreseeable floor damage. That is, I’ll put a metal pan, with sides at least 3/4-inch tall, under it, with a hole for a gravity-fed drain. (My icemaker will not have a pump drain. Pump drains gonna fail, fail, fail.) Then I’ll prop the icemaker on blocks, about 3/4 inch off the floor of the pan, so it won’t stew in its own juice when it inevitably leaks.
When your icemaker inevitably leaks, call me and I can talk you through it. Or I’ll pour you a glass of whiskey, neat, and give you one of my old-timey ice trays.