After all, who wants to deal with a washer full of sopping wet, but still dirty, clothing? The notion of having to pull all those clothes out, dripping wet, and put them in a bucket, and tote the heavy, wet mess to a laundromat, made me drop the lid and then give it a stern whack with my fist.
Which must have, well, agitated the washer in a whole different way, because it started working just fine.
A temporary fix quickly became a permanent one. It was just too easy to look at the baskets of laundry and think, all right, just get through these mounds of sports clothes, muddy hiking pants, everyday clothes, bath towels, dish towels, sheets... and then we’ll research how to actually fix the agitator.
Or hire someone to fix it.
Or buy a new washer.
It was easier to hope that we were just one washer-whack away from the washer fixing itself.
Of course, that didn’t happen, so we kept whacking the washer lid. And the washer kept starting.
After awhile, washer-whacking began to seem, well, normal. Even appealing, if one had had a bad day at school or work.
Stressed out by heavy homework load? Impending tests? Job deadlines? Uncertain results? Just do the wash!
There’s something so basically satisfying about whacking a washer in those circumstances. No one can accuse you of throwing a temper tantrum for hitting an appliance if it’s just to get the washer to start, right? Right!
I can’t speak for my family members, but during a particularly frustrating week, I rather wished other appliances would go the route of the washer.
Even when no one needed to work out frustration via washer-whacking, we were able to rationalize not bothering to actually fix the washer. After all, if we weren’t working out frustrations and ready to pounce on the washer with a good whack as soon as the washer filled with water, then it might be awhile before we washer-whacked. Which just meant that particular load got a nice, long pre-soak.
So, overall, not fixing the washer, and letting our temporary whacking fix turn semi-permanent, netted less stressed family members and cleaner clothes.
But then, the inevitable happened. Whacking the washer stopped working. We tried finding another sweet spot on the lid to whack. We pounded until our fists were bruised and our detergent bottle dented.
And finally we had to admit that calling in a professional was the only option.
One repair visit and a hundred bucks later, the solution was found. The hinge on the left side of the lid was out of place. The repairman fixed the lid so it is properly hinged. And now... we can run the washer. Without whacking it.
And I’m grateful.
I think.
Sharon Short’s column runs Monday in Life. Send email to sharonshort@sharonshort. com.
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