My Recent Appliance Agonies...
- Marilyn Gardner Woods
- 7 days ago
- 2 min read
My gleaming new washing machine and dryer, so white they’re almost fluorescent, stand side by side in the laundry room. Straight and stout with the gentlest marshmallow curves on top at the front on either side.
Not a minute too soon.
Six weeks ago, I began to notice spots remaining on some of my laundry—soap pod smears randomly spattered on pieces of clothing occasionally, make-up smears on hand towels, and a general dullness to the brights and whites. When I noticed spaghetti sauce on my yellow napkins, I changed detergent. I altered water temperatures, changed cycles, and changed outfits less frequently vowing to do another run-through load on the less-than-clean pieces when I had time.
A month or so before the washing machine decided to misbehave, the ice maker in my refrigerator had also faltered, refusing to do its job of making ice cubes. I made do with a bag of crushed ice occasionally from the corner market.
When I had finally run out of unmarked clothing, crushed ice, and patience, I called my appliance repair contact and explained that I had not one, but two appliance problems and could they please send someone who could repair both. I was savvy enough to know that I would not get away with one visit charge.
A formidable man of about forty came to my rescue. Dark and husky, he looked like Bluto, Popeye’s nemesis, and sounded somewhat like Borat from Kazakhstan.
“I’ll be in my office. Just call me if you have questions,” I offered leaving him in the laundry room.
Fifteen minutes later, he did.
It’s difficult to describe the look on his face as he stood facing me next to the washer. A combination of a smile, a sneer, and a snarl. Dismissiveness accompanied with a full-chested sigh. He crooked his elbow and with an open hand gestured to the inside of the machine which was filled with water, motor chugging, and the agitator standing stone still.
It took me a few seconds to realize that I had been putting my dirty laundry in my fifteen-year-old washing machine, turning it on, and letting the load sit without movement through the wash cycle, moving onto the rinse and spin cycle successfully, and finally transferring it to the dryer.
Without agitating.
Less than clean.
Major agitation on my part.
He moved on to the icemaker. I didn’t even make it back to my office before he called in an even more condescending tone, “Ms. Woods.”
Again, that face as he opened the door to the refrigerator side and pointed to the lighted chart across the top. The ice maker section, unlit. With an exaggerated motion, he touched it turning it on, and I heard a soft crank from the ice maker as it began once again to make perfect cubes.
Now it was time for my facial expression.
Blush combined with nervous giggling as I reached for my credit card.
Life can be so challenging sometimes. Thanks for your good humor about these expensive annoyances. And... aren't we fortunate to have such machines. When I put a load of laundry in my washer later today, I'm going to tell it how grateful I am for its service all these years.