Laundry Room Redemption

Doing laundry at my apartment complex is like gambling.

When I drop my precious quarters into the slot of a washing machine, I never know if the machine will actually wash my clothes, or if I just threw away six precious quarters. A dollar fifty here, a dollar fifty there... GONE.

Quarters are hard to come by. There is a change machine in the laundry room, but it was broken for quite some time. It was a dark time for me, those weeks. I refer to it as the laundry famine of winter 2010. I'm still trying to forget....

I struggle with laundry. Not laundry in general, but apartment complex laundry. Communal laundry rooms down in basements. I spent a whole post outlining my personal laundry cycle. And the time I almost got shanked in a laundry room.

All the distress builds up. Every quarter lost. Every washing machine that doesn't start. Every frustration, every grumble and every single moment of sorrow until it all forms into what can only be described as a dark mountain of emotional LAUNDRY ANGST that weighs down on your soul. It builds and builds until you snap.

And then, my friends, you end up right where I was today.

After putting my detergent and my bedding into a washer, I headed over to the change machine with a pretty little dollar bill in hand.

RRRRrrrrRR.....RRRRrrRRR..... RRrrrRRR.... duddudududdddhh...

It. Got. Stuck.

Nooooooooooo!!! I didn't have any more quarters. And now the change machine was going to be broken for weeks to come. And I was going to become "the girl who broke the change machine and ruined everyone's life."

the enemy

That was the moment that the mountain of emotional laundry angst came crashing down and something within me turned from "innocent college girl" to "vicious beast of dollar bill redemption who would sacrifice anything to get my money back." I couldn't lose one more dollar. I just couldn't (cue weeping).

I looked into the machine, and saw my dollar bill crumpled up and stuck in the slot. Only a little corner was sticking out, but it was too far in for my fingers to reach.

So I yanked the bobby pin out of my hair and went at it.

Digging and maneuvering, I worked at that corner until I pulled out a little more of the crumpled bill. Grunting and sweating, I worked, pushing and angling that tiny little bobby pin. The dollar bill would come out more, then crumple in further. But it was still too far for my fingers to reach. I needed some way to grab onto the bill to pull it out.

Ten minutes passed, and it was time to reach inside for my inner McGyver.

It came to me, like a light bulb of laundry room heroism. The gum I was chewing! I quickly spit it out of my mouth, stuck it on the end of the bobby pin and poised myself for the most risky laundry room maneuver thus far.

If it succeeded, I got my dollar back.

If it failed, I would not only be that girl who broke the change machine by getting a dollar bill stuck, but I would have also ruined it by getting a piece of gum jammed up there as well.

There was no going back. Perspiration dripping off my forehead, I carefully pushed the gum-covered bobby pin into the slot and, with the precision of the surgeon, attached the gum to the dollar bill, and pulled. The result?

SWEET RESTITUTION!!!

Joy overcame me and I clutched my dollar bill to my heart, jumped up and down and pumped my fists like a giddy six year old. I was so happy it was almost ridiculous.

Okay laundry room. You're used to winning. But today? Victory was mine.