The day the washer died

It's been acting rather quirky of late.

First, it gave off a rubber smell whenever it got into a spin. Then, over the weekend, it got nasty, behaving like a prima donna, acting as if it had a mind of its own. It began to leak and "piss" all over the spot where it has stood faithfully for the past six years.


I'm talking about my washing machine, of course. When the machine broke, I contacted Mr Fix-it for some advice. I asked if he had any lobang for a washing machine servicemen. That man took a day to answer my sms, and only to tell me to get a new machine when he learned that the one I have back home is almost a museum artefact.

I wish money could juz grow on the money plant in my balcony. Maybe the the problem is as simple as replacing a loose screw? Who knows? Anyway, Mr Fix-it finally gave me a number he found in one of the flyers in his mailbox. It's one of those "fly-by-night" operators going round our heartlands making a killing out of the pockets of the ill-informed or igorant heatlanders. As a parting shot, Mr Fix-it wrote: "use@ownrisk".

At my wits end, I called the number. And the man said he would turn up today. Well, the man came, the man tried to fix the washer and the man gave up. He told me to call the agent, saying that the condition of the washer is pretty grave (or was the tool man complaining about his tools?) Anyway, I called the agent for an appointment scheduled tomorrow. But in the mean time, I juz have to do something to the laundry which is piling up!

Man, it's tough when your washer died on you. Trust me; you could survive without a fridge (well, you juz have to store them in your stomach), the air-con (juz sleep in your birthday suit) or the television (there's always the Net), but you juz can't do without a washing machine, for you'd soon realise that you'd run out of clothes to wear. Not unless you resort to washing your clothes the old-fashion way, like what our mothers used to do in the past, when the washing machine was a luxury only the well-heeled could afford. Yes, you hand wash them, like what I did today!

This is no joke, I tell ya, squatting in the toilet, body all bent scrubbing the dirty collars of the shirts, especially those darned white school uniform of my son! (Now I appreciate my mom more!) You need pails and pails of water, rinsing the clothes back and forth several times. The worst part of the ordeal is having to wring the clothes dry. And that requires lots of effort and strength.



That's not the end of the woes, though. After the clothes have been washed, you've got another worry. Where are you gonna hang out the clothes to dry? Now, no matter how hard you manually wring the clothes, it would never be as dry as those done by the washing machine. So, if I were to hang them out of the windows, I'm sure the water would soon start to drip onto the neigbhours’ clothes below, and I've no intention to be like the neigbhour from hell upstairs who has no qualms whatsoever putting out her wet and dripping clothes out of her windows, regardless or not if the people living below her are drying their clothes.

Well, I really haven't much of a choice. The only thing to do is to wring the clothes, let them "stand" in a pail for an hour or so, hang them up on the poles and put up the poles on the pole-hangers WITHIN THE HOUSE, and when they are no longer dripping wet, hang them out at the windows. See how considerate I am?

And what did I get in return? Another heap of clothes waiting to be "hand-washed". Sigh .....



Category: Musings