I should call this whole blog "Vent;" that's what it is half the time. But hey, it helps my sanity, and that's the important thing.
Living in an apartment complex has its drawbacks. Living in an apartment complex with no built-in washer/dryer connections is a pain in the tush. We live right in the middle of our complex, which normally means schlepping the laundry to the top or bottom of the complex to one of the two not-quite-ample laundry facilities that the management company was kind enough to grace us with. These are equipped with those commercial washers and dryers, which are operated with a makeshift credit card that you add money to. Given the colorful diversity that makes up my neighborhood, these machines have seen better days.
We'll now pause for a moment of irony: my apartment HAS built-in washer/dryer connections. The complex put them in months ago and then proceeded to appropriate the dough for the machines toward the renovations that are occurring on the entire complex. We can't put in anything ourselves until the city inspectors come to look over the work. In other words, we should be moving out next April before that happens. I asked the assistant manager yesterday about the washer/dryers; she just started laughing before she could help herself.
So it was with sunny intentions that I went down last night to start 2 loads of laundry. Had plans to do 4 loads last night. I start one washer fine, then the other. The 2nd one, it turns out, is out of order with no sign posted on it to this effect--it's not agitating. Terrific. So I add detergent to the next machine in the hopes of transferring the load from the bum washer. Slide the card in--Card Error. Try again, same response. Examine card, must've gotten it wet. Dry it off copiously with my shirt, not an easy thing since it's 110% muggy in that laundry room. Try again. And again. And again. Try another machine. Start to get those giggles that you get when your frustration is reaching sub-human proportions, kind of like Denis Leary's character in The Ref.
Ok, fine, the 2nd load just won't spin; at least it'll get a good soak and rinse. Hope it burns out the f*ing motor on the damn thing. I hop back home to inform husby of the difficulties and wait out the wash cycle. Elect not to bring down any more wash, because of the sinking feeling that the card ain't gonna work for the dryers either.
Hate it when I'm right. Have you ever tried carrying 2 loads of WET laundry up a flight of stairs? I hoisted it onto my shoulder waitress-style (discovered the ease of carrying laundry baskets this way quite recently...been living without washer/dryer for oh, 10, 11 years now ::sigh::), and I still sounded and felt like I was re-enacting the training scene from Rocky IV. Les jumped into action and we rigged a clothesline from the bathroom to the closet for the light stuff, and put the heavier stuff on hangers. Given the dynamics of our apartment, it'll take a solid day or so for everything to dry.
Now I get to go to my management office and sweet-talk them into giving me a fresh card and my money back; I had nearly $15 on that card, so I anticipate a song-and-dance about them not having enough petty cash on hand--it's happened before. But what can I do? It's an inconvenience; nothing more.
Except dream of SC, where our next abode, be it apartment or rental house, will HAVE f*ing washer/dryer connections that we can operate!
graphic courtesy of http://web.mit.edu/seagrant/edu/res/nemo/index.html#peach
2 comments:
You *think* you are moving.
Our washer broke the night Lena had her first big puking episode. We had a wet load of puke-covered linens when we woke the next morning. Luckily, we could use the neighbor's W/D in the basement, so we were lugging wet laundry DOWN.
As for carrying things more easily, I picked up the habit of carrying things on my head. The Egyptians, and lots of Africans for that matter, carry huge bags on their heads hands-free, balanced by a little cloth ring, like a bandana rolled up and then into a circle. I hold on to things with one hand, switching hands when I lose circulation.
And I agree with Ruthee.
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