How do any clothes survive that cruel world that we purposefully throw them into, known as the washing machine? I've just watched my clothes be beaten into a pulpy, wet mass, thrown about hodgepodge for forty five minutes.
The best thing about laundry, when you're in your own home, is cleaning that lint trapper thing on the dryer. Pulling that solid sheet of fluffiness out in one go is so satisfying. The worst thing about laundry, when you're not in your own home (communal w/d), is cleaning that lint trapper thing on the dryer. Reaching out with trepidation, touching as little as possible, and tentatively trying to get that gross, generic grey mass out of there, thinking, I'm only doing this because probably no one else will, and if no one else does, then eventually mysterious horrible things will happen to this dryer, and as much as I hate these godforsaken communal machines that leak oil onto my clothes, I still don't want to walk all the way over to the next building.
And so, you clean the lint thingie on the communal dryer.
There's a little timer thing on our w/d, that let's you see precisely how many minutes are left. I used to think this was very handy in comparison to the vague dial, which you look at and know that there's only a little bit left til it reaches the end, but who knows how long that is, and that spot at which is turns off is a sort of vague, indeterminate land, with no clear boundaries. So who knows when that thing is finishing.
Anyways, I used to think that the minute counter thing was handy, until I realized that it means absolutely nothing. Should I say jack shit, there? 'Cause it really seems to fit so well. "...until I realized that it means jack shit." I don't even know what "jack shit" means. Let's find out. All of urbandictionary.com's definitions are very boring, except for a comical one that involves the genealogy of "Jack Shitt." Check it out if you care. Anyways, I used to think that minute counter thing was handy, until I was sitting around today, waiting for the washer to finish to move my clothes over, and it said five minutes left. "Great," I thought (foolishly), "I'll just burn five minutes on the computer and then switch them over. Well, four minutes were over in about ten minutes, and then the washer continued to run for I am not kidding you fifteen more minutes with that 00:01 staring me in the face. So that five minutes ultimately lasted about 25 minutes. What liars.
While I stood staring at the washer, waiting for the 00:01 to reach 00:00, it finally reached its final spin cycle thing, where it whirs about really quickly. I've heard this in the house, as it goes crazy, but never really watched it before. And let me tell you, that thing is impressive. The entire washer wiggles about with the force of its spinning. It reminded me of the jet engine things on planes, whenever something bad is happening. I was afraid that just standing there, I was going to be sucked in a la nameless guy in Lost episode one or No Capes! guy in The Incredibles. Luckily the jet engine that is this house's washer limited its death spin to my poor clothes.
How about this, eh? A post that has one uniform theme throughout. Amazing!
