Brave Little Toasters - Anthony Tamasi

I am a dishwasher. Everyday, the same group of people comes to me and puts these discs that they place food on inside of me. I feel so used, but I can not ever bring myself to say anything. The discs are disgusting, and sometimes they still have remnants of the food on them. Do these people have no manners? Don't they care about how I feel? Most days, at the end of the day, they press me in several different places. It tickles, and I am not a fan of it. But I can not move or resist because I am stuck under a countertop and between drawers. When they are done tickling me, soapy water floods my insides. I make noise to voice my displeasure, but it is a futile attempt. Nobody pays sounds of distress my the least bit of attention. However, the soapy water goes away after a few hours, and everything inside of me is squeaky clean. I guess every cloud has silver lining.