MEMOIR
Laundry Day
The humor and banality of the everyday
It’s Wednesday, late afternoon, the crappy end of a crappy day. A really crappy day. I’m all alone, lonely, and I have laundry to do.
Our housekeeper, Rosa, was here to clean last Friday.
“I think there’s something wrong with your dryer,” she said.
This wasn’t the first time she mentioned it. She’d said something similar two weeks before. Of course, I hadn’t done anything about it.
The dryer was running.
“See? Feel the hot air here and here,” she said, indicating above and to the side of the dryer. “Probably the dryer vent is disconnected.”
I promised I’d get someone to look at it.
And just now, I remember my conversation with Rosa. I’d thought about it earlier in the week. I’d looked a little for a dryer repairman but hadn’t called anyone. Now, it was a problem. Since I wasn’t doing anything else, “someone” to look at it, might as well be me.
While heavy, the dryer isn’t impossible for me to move. So I start walking it away from the wall. Suddenly, “Sproing!” If the vent wasn’t disconnected before, it certainly is now. Crap! I continue to walk the dryer further from the back wall. But there isn’t room between the washer and dryer for me to get between them and look. I’m not able to see anything by looking from the washtub through the maze of plumbing and electric cords connecting the washer and dryer to the wall. The washer would have to be moved, too.
The washer is much heavier than the dryer. Much heavier.
Both the washer and dryer are on pedestals that have a convenient pop-out drawer (convenient for storing random items such as felt pads for furniture and other items stashed by our interior designer Hildegard years ago, and never relocated). While I can’t squeeze between the washer and dryer, I have enough room to reach through and grab the washer from behind. I start pulling on one side, intending to walk the washer away from the wall as I had done with the dryer.
The washer slides forward an inch. The pedestal does not!! CRAP!!! The washer is NOT attached to the pedestal, unlike the dryer. I curse. Loudly. Why on God’s Green Earth is it not attached to the pedestal?!!!
I push it back onto the pedestal, lower my grip, and pull again. An inch. I’m starting to sweat, and beginning to regret starting this whole project.
Alternating sides, I continue sweating, grunting, and inching the washer forward. Suddenly, the washer pitches again! SHIT!!! It’s a good thing the house is well-insulated. Otherwise, my neighbors would be certain some calamity is taking place in John and Rosie’s house. They would not be far wrong.
There is a drain on the floor of the laundry room. It is slightly below the level of the stone tile. The drain is an altogether good idea, except when the foot of the washer pedestal stalls over it, and the washer and pedestal suddenly tilt, scaring the bejesus out of me.
Relieved the washer is still on the pedestal, but with slightly less bejesus, I continue sweating, grunting, swearing, and inching the washer forward, and away from the dryer. Finally, there’s enough room for me to squeeze between the washer and dryer to inspect the back of the dryer.
The vent is disconnected. The floor and the walls up to about 3 feet are covered with ugly gray lint. Obviously, it had been at least partly disconnected for some time. That much lint couldn’t have been from last Friday alone. There is a short section of sheet metal dryer duct, made of small rigid sections some with bends connecting the outlet on the dryer to the inlet of the ductwork that goes up through the wall and out through the roof.
While I could squeeze through, there was no way I could perform the necessary gymnastics to get down on the floor to clean up the lint or attempt to reconnect the duct. The washer would have to move further. “Shit!” Quieter this time, so as not to disturb the neighbors.
Squeezing back out from behind the appliances, I resume walking the washer away from the back wall. Finally, there is enough room to work. But not, I discovered, to twist and turn my body down to the floor to reach the vent.
Thus begins a game of Limbo/Twister that involves climbing into and out of the laundry tub, stepping over and between various plumbing connections while bending backward to avoid clonking my head on the cabinets on the wall above the tub and appliances, and finally lowering my fat ass sufficiently to reach the dryer vent. I judiciously disconnect the electrical cords. “Electrocuted while repairing dryer vent,” is not how I want my obituary to begin.
Ordinarily, the ductwork is secured to the vent on the dryer with a screw clamp. I loosen the screw clamp and slide it off the end of the duct. Ok. Good. Now, I’ll slide it back on. Uh, no, I won’t. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and sigh. The curse remains unspoken. Opening my eyes, I find the screwdriver, loosen the screw some more. Now it slides back on, and the screw mechanism rotates inconveniently to the bottom of the duct. Another silent curse. The duct pipe is rigid and not very long. I have to get the dryer close enough for the pipe to reach the vent outlet on the dryer, connect it, and tighten the clamp. Then, I will walk the dryer back closer to the wall. But first, I need to clean the lint that lines the floor, and the back and side walls of the laundry room behind the dryer.
The dryer features a steaming feature to be used to remove wrinkles. It works ok. A short hose from a “Y” connection to the cold water tap for both the washer and dryer connects the dryer to the water line. I perform the necessary gymnastics to get back to my knees and start standing to fetch damp rags to clean the lint. The cold water hose is draped across my back. As I stand, I lift the hose. Suddenly, a spritz of cold water hits my back! I jump and am treated to a second spritz. The hose connection to the dryer is not entirely watertight. Shit! Again. But it’s not broken. Moving much more carefully, I maneuver my way from behind the dryer, avoiding any further spritzing. I clean the lint from the walls and floor.
Preliminaries over, it’s finally time for the main event. Sweaty, stinky, and dirty from lint detritus, I walk the dryer back to the ductwork. Thank god the dryer is light enough for me to do this without having to squeeze back and forth between the washer and dryer, or, worse, enduring more rounds of Limbo/Twister. After some grunting and swearing, I manage to get the duct pipe over the dryer’s vent outlet. Jiggling the screw clamp into position, holding it and the duct with one hand and screwdriver in the other, I begin tightening the screw.
Sproing! The last section of the ductwork attached to the dryer detaches from the rest of the duct. SHIT!!! I rattle the walls. Fortunately, it is now far enough into the evening that all my neighbors are safely within their own walls insulated from my outrage.
Sighing, I loosen the screw clamp. The misbegotten, detached section of duct springs off the dryer outlet and rolls out of reach. Closing my eyes in disgust, my head rolling back on my neck, I push the cold water hose with my head and receive a spritz of cold water in the face.
FUCK!!!
Collecting myself, I awkwardly get to my knees, stretching to reach the last section of the damnable ductwork. Working it back onto the rest of the duct, I test how it is seated. The penultimate section detaches from the rest of the duct but remains connected to the last section. The section clamped to the dryer is now detached and in my hand. I stare in disbelief at the section of ductwork connected to the wall, the section of ductwork in my hand, and the dryer vent with no ductwork connected to it at all.
I’m a great believer in the strategy “divide and conquer”. It comes from being an engineer. Often, complex problems can be solved by breaking them down into smaller problems, each more easily solved than trying to solve the whole thing at once.
I’ve divided. Now, I’ll conquer.
I attach the last two sections of ductwork to the back of the dryer, carefully tightening the screw clamp, avoiding a repetition of the ductwork demonstrating its spring-like qualities. It looks like I’ve got the piece of the duct attached to the dryer aimed so that it will connect to the rest of the ductwork projecting out of the wall. I walk the dryer within range of the ductwork. Gingerly, I work the ductwork from the wall over the piece connected to the dryer, holding my breath and moving the part on the dryer as little as possible. Slowly, methodically, in very small movements, I walk the dryer back to as far as ductwork will let me. I plug the power cord back into its socket. I squeeze back between the dryer and the washer. I start a cycle with high heat selected. I feel no rush of warm air over the top or around the side. I breathe a sigh of relief.
It seems to me that the dryer, before beginning this adventure, was closer to the back wall than it is now. No matter. It’s not moving again. Earlier, upon discovering the ductwork was disconnected, I texted Rosa to tell her that her guess was on the money. I text her again. “I reconnected the ductwork. Under NO circumstances, move the dryer. EVER!”
She sends a thumbs up and smiley in reply.
For some reason, pushing the washer back was much harder than pulling it out. Ultimately, I am reduced to bracing my back against the opposite wall, and using my legs (thankfully, the laundry room is narrow), I walk the washer back into place. careful to negotiate the washer over the drain. After all, I wouldn’t want my obituary to begin, “Crushed by falling washing machine.” That sounds like something out of a cartoon.
I’m drenched. I’m sweaty. I’m tired. I’m done.
Except for one thing.
I still have to do the laundry.
