That’s what we get for buying a cheap washer.
And from the very first day I’ve regretted it.
Including every day I wash a load of clothes.
The bi-polar machine has sat in our laundry room now for two years and eleven months. Maybe the bottom-of-the-class rocket scientist engineer guy who designed this model had a mom who did all his laundry for him…
Some math and science geek who understands algebraic theories and scientific formulas—
but nothing about cleaning clothes.
Or customer satisfaction,
or preserving peace and harmony in my home.
When the washer starts spinning,
it sounds like an airplane preparing for take off at the end of the hallway.
And when the spin cycle is done,
the clothes are a confused, chaotic mess
inside the state-of-the-art stainless steel tub.
Any piece of clothing that’s loose and long
will get caught
and most likely will end up wrapped around the agitator—
or in between
or all of the above.
And when it gets out of balance,
it sounds like I live at a wrecking yard.
And I run to the laundry room to stop the machine
from banging into the wall and dryer
and the pipes protruding from the wall
and the shelf underneath the window.
Maybe the floor is crooked (no surprise in this house that Jack built),
Or the machine isn’t level.
Whatever the reason, I am not alone.
According to other owners of modern laundry room appliances,
their machines shake, rattle and threaten to roll right out the door, too.
I do realize it could be worse.
So I try to be grateful for my modern inventions.
When people get out of balance
anyplace where folks congregate for any length of time,
things can get lopsided, top-heavy,
spinning way too fast,
people slipping into spots they shouldn’t,
refusing to make room for others,
and everything getting tangled.
Because something isn’t level,
isn’t set at right angles,
or is uncomfortably crooked,
weaving a giant tangled, knotted mess.
Like the clothes in my washing machine from you know where.