When I used to live at home, my parents would frequently battle over the loading of the dishwasher. My mother would rinse the dishes and place them where there was space in the dishwasher, while my father would sterilize the dishes and arrange them scientifically in the dishwasher in accordance with a carefully prepared schematic that was designed to maximize space and rinsing capability. My mother and I thought he was insane, especially when he would approach a nearly full dishwasher, remove ALL of the dishes, and start rearranging them.
But this morning, I was placing a single drinking glass in the dishwasher when I noticed that the other glasses already on the top rack were a bit cluttered. So I moved them into neat rows. And then I saw that the bowls were on both the top and the bottom rack, so I put them into an orderly row as well. This arranging prompted me to notice a bit of sauce dried on one of the dirty bowls, so I scrubbed it clean. And then I checked the other dishes for food remnants that needed to be removed, because surely the dishwasher cannot possibly be expected to WASH THE DISHES.
And then I had myself committed.