High efficiency woes

I’m not convinced that the “free” washing machines these devices are in my best interest.  For me, there’s nothing free about risking the safety of your valuables each time you trek down the hall to stuff your dirty clothes into one of these high efficiency machines.

            At home, I waddle down the stairs to the basement, overflowing basket in hand (or arms, I guess) as I swerve for the lounging cat and my brother’s Nerf gun. Flipping the washer on and dumping in a generous amount of detergent, I heave in my inside out and crinkled clothing, stuffing in as much as I can while never admitting to my mother that yes, this probably should be two loads instead of one. I then amble up the basement stairs to collect the trail of socks and running shorts that flew out as I dodged a sleeping Fluffy. Moseying back down to the unheated laundry room, I take off the socks I’m currently wearing, intent on making this exhausting process worth it as I pop them in even though the machine is well into its second cycle.

            From my experience here at Gordon, washing my clothes must be a timed process. I have quite the aversion to the idea of someone getting to my washed and dried clothing before I do, for fear that they’ll take little care dragging my sweaters out of the dryer and dumping them on top so that there is the chance that they could slide off and hit the dirty, soiled tiles. In effort to avoid such a ghastly situation, I plan it out: 31 minutes for the wash and around forty-five minutes for the dryer (fifty to fifty-five minutes if I really crammed in the clothes). The tricky part about this process is even if you shuffle down to the laundry room when there is one minute left on the washer, this last minute always takes about three times that long, so therefore I sometimes estimate it to be longer than the proposed thirty-one.

            Now, the real predicament: when you shut the door, there’s no turning back. Once you punch in either “white,” “bright,” or “color,” that door locks and you’re out of luck if you accidently dropped those spare socks or underwear on your way down the hall. They’ll have to wait two weeks in your hamper until you brave the next washing experience. This also causes quite the anxiety attack when one realizes that maybe their ID or phone is thrown in there as well, forgotten when he or she quickly pulls off that sweatshirt in an effort to squeeze in one more possibly dirty item. From my observations, I see no “stop machine” or “emergency!” button in clear view, and as I’m squinting into the circular glass, I think of how my valuables could be spinning in there for at least thirty-one minutes.

"DOOR LOCKED"