HUMAN WRECKAGE

It’s a Wash

Eventually you get around to sitting down at the kitchen counter and doing the math. Ann and I had become almost intimate with the gentleman who maintained our 30-year-old Maytag washer and dryer set. The washing machine leaked transmission fluid and sometimes water. But it was a top load with a proper agitator and immense capacity. The gas dryer’s igniter failed frequently which meant, if we weren’t paying attention, the machine would spin forever without heat.

Facts must be faced. After our repairman threw up his hands for the final time last week, he suggested a stacked unit on sale at an appliance store which extended additional discounts to his customers. After he left, Ann and I rushed out and bought his recommendation. Neither of us slept that night because we both had doubts about the viability of a tall, low capacity condo unit jury-rigged into the defined spaces of a bungalow constructed in 1955; we agreed we had made a poor decision in haste.

The salesman understood when Ann phoned him in the morning and cancelled our order. “Better now than after delivery,” he told her. Trouble was, we’d have to go back to the appliance store, and some days hell for me is shopping amid the company of strangers. Following a burst of online research including Consumer Reports, we returned to the store and settled upon an energy efficient washer and dryer finished in very fashionable graphite tones. They were on sale and also qualified for a modest government rebate. They would also fit into their allocated spaces.

The trouble with modern appliances is that all their electronics make old fashioned, mechanical repair moot. Front loaders become immense mouldy Petri dishes if they’re not cared for properly. Our salesman was forthright: “I’ll tell you right now that these won’t last 30 years.” Swell, consumer durables are disposable but at least they look cool.

After the new appliances were delivered and we'd re-hung a couple of doors (an inch matters), we phoned our repairman to book their installations because we trust him and, anyway, we helped his kids through college. He said to me, “Don’t tell your wife but you’ve made a big mistake.” He added, “And don’t ask me to repair these. Ever.” Finally he pronounced that the 220-volt socket above the dryer emitted only 110 volts and consequently our new dryer had no heat. Swell, right back where we started. “You should’ve kept the gas dryer!”

“But, you said…” You know what? You flicked the switch on this whole, maddening merry-go-round! You know what? I’m much happier when my day-to-day routine isn’t disrupted! You know what? I don’t like milling about appliance stores! You know what? I’ve got other things on what’s left of my mind, like trying to get my third novel on press!

The circuit breaker panel in the Crooked 9 is just off the kitchen, conveniently situated behind a bookshelf which is anchored to the wall. Before the electrician arrived I cleaned off the shelves, removing my plastic, spring-loaded American eagle jumpsuit Elvis, a cheesy, frowning tiki (wisdom and patience) purchased at a Maui souvenir stall, a Bob Marley Exodus lighter I bought in Bridgetown, a tin of AC/DC Australian hardrock beer with Black Ice artwork (brewed in France), Ann’s cookbooks and my bird books. All of this labour for a fix that took an expert less than five minutes.

With everything finally working, and the house to ourselves, Ann and I washed the laundry room floor. It sparkled the best it could. The new haute mode machines looked good. But didn’t the walls, the window sill, the trim, the door now seem worn, tired and drab? Of course they did. Best to repaint a dreary basement room before spring arrives and the days get long; best to keep that big, hellish, ball of disruption rolling downhill while the momentum is still palpable. What’s another few days of agitation?