My Epic Laundry Day

This week I did laundry for the first time since the holidays. My laundering task started with the inevitable desire to not go through with it… to put it off just one more day. I would have gotten away with it had I not confessed to my friend (via BBM) that I was going to do so. She gave me the best motivating response ever…

“Do it now and you won’t have to think about it again for another two weeks…”

I don my thoughtful face.

“If I do my laundry NOW, I won’t have to…” *insert explosion noises here*

Mind. Blown.

I have honestly never thought of it that way. Although in my case it’s more like three or four weeks, until I’m down to my last pair of socks and undergarments – but that’s down the street and around the corner from the point. I suddenly found myself very committed to completing my laundry. So I told my friend:

“Will keep you posted on my progress… cuz I’m sure you’ll be on the edge of your seat in suspense!”

“Yes I’m literally sitting on the edge of my couch waiting for news” she replied – she’s the most awesome person, ever.

Since I just KNOW you all want to hear about it, here is what I sent her throughout the evening. Enjoy!


When did I acquire so many clothes. And towels. And sheets. It seems too much for a single person. Too much. The weight of my laundry hamper nearly pulled me down the stairs. Luckily, they were narrow; I kept my shoulder on the wall for balance and support.

Half way to the laundry room I felt the familiar twinge in my ankle again. It has been twinging since that fateful Thursday game when I took a blow to the leg. I stopped a goal, but my leg never really got over the betrayal. It was paying me back tonight, methinks. Somehow I managed. Somehow I made it down the stairs with my dreadful burden and my vengeful leg.

I walked through the cold brick hallway; the lights flickered, eerie. There was a dull humming noise. It increased in volume, overcoming my sense of sound – though not my sense of smell which I regretted a bit upon passing the garbage bins. The humming buzzed through my skull, louder, more violent the closer I got to the dark, cement room at the back of the garage. I could vaguely make out the sound of water dripping as I slid the key into the lock.

I turned the knob and dread filled me.

I know what that noise is, I thought. That’s the sound of the machines. Someone is in there. They might be malicious or violent or worse… They might want to talk.

There is nothing worse than having to make polite conversation with someone while you’re in your laundry day clothes – yoga pants and an over sized, frumpy shirt. The cleanest things you own – at least you think they’re clean. They don’t smell at least.

I pulled the door open, my trepidation intensifying with the hum. Light poured onto the garage floor. I peeked around the door and relief flooded me. It was empty.

Sliding inside, I checked the machines for the source of the humming. Both dryers whirred, the robotic machine noise amplified by the hand-made cement walls. The room was obviously a later edition, but that’s a side thought to be discussed another day.

My hamper whuffed against the floor. The muscles in my arms shook from the strain and emotional tension.

It’s my lucky day, I thought, eyeing the empty washers and my overloaded hamper. I may not have to make two trips.

I loaded the washers without incident. I don’t even think I thought about what I was doing. It’s possible I forgot to put detergent in one of them. Though I’m sure I didn’t forget. But I might have – either way it’s too late now. My trip back upstairs was just as unmemorable, which is a good thing. It means my vengeful leg was pacified yet again. It seems I was also immune to the humming. As I sit here and write this entry in my laundry journal, I realize though that I forgot to note the time I loaded my laundry. I fear that the experience will go poorly from here on out as I try to hazard a best guestimate of when my laundry will be ready for drying. We shall soon see.


This trip down was much the same as the first. Only instead of a heavy laundry hamper I was burdened with two arms full of recycling. Though lighter, the cumbersome nature and inflexibility of my load made navigating corners quite treacherous. My leg and ankle protested again, which leads me to believe that weight is not the problem. Stairs are. Those vile, flat monsters require a dexterity of the joints that my ankle simple cannot provide. I am starting to suspect that both of my ankles are in cahoots with one another, hatching some evil scheme to destroy their nemesis. I am afraid whatever plans they follow through on will only end in tears. Probably mine.

In any case, I made it to the basement without incident. The silence was unnoticeable at first. But as I dumped the recycling in the appropriate blue bins… I noticed. My laundry must be washed, thought I as I traversed the garage floor with light feet and a light heart. Perhaps I will not need to take the stairs much more. But alas, this was not the case. The dryers were still full. Done, but full.

I hesitated. The moral quandry that haunts every resident of a building with a laundry in the basement (or other place) – do I taken the clothes out and put them in this strange person’s hamper or do I return. My mind drifted back to my previous laundy day, oh so very long ago. I had opted to remove the clothing myself. The owner had returned before I’d finished loading my clothes into the dryer. The embassassment as I explained what I had done was too much. I never want to relive that. Thus, tonight I have opted to wait. But it is ok dear reader, whoever you may be, for I have to take out my garbage as well. I will give this dryer hog 10 minutes before returning. Then I will empty the dryers myself.

On another note – it seems it is always best to leave your hamper in the laundry room. Especially if you’re using the dryer. That way the next person will put your clothes in a hamper instead of on the floor or another dirty surface.


As I descended the stairs, stinking and rotting garbage in hand, I knew that my fears were true. My ankles were conspiring against the stairs. Or at the very least, me. Both ankles twinged simultaneously in the stairwell. I would have gone flying but, as I mentioned, the stair well is narrow. I cannot fathom how these ankles of mine do not understand that harming me will harm them.

As I dumped the garbage into the bins, covering my mouth to block the smell, I noticed the humming again. Despair flooded through me… Again. Only this time it was couple with disbelief. A machine is running.

I hurried through the garage, my footsteps echoing over the dull hum. Dismay continued to grow inside me. The key – lock – turn – pull combo was a split second in comparison to that first trip. I entered the well lit room and stared at the dryer. It was running. The dryer hog was still using it.

This is what I get for being nice.

I stood there, contemplating my next move. Frustrated, I moved the first load from the washer to the dryer. I tried to cull the herd, so to speak, removing the lightweight clothes – soccer jerseys, shorts, and blouses. But it wasn’t enough. The dryer was much to full.

It’ll have to do, I told myself as I pushed the button to start the machine. The humming came to life, following me out of the room with my arms filled with wet cloth. Those poor, abandon clothes will not feel the therapeutic warmth of the dryer. Instead, they hang limp and damp.


This will be my final entry. My final trip down was met with stumbles and stabs of dull pain (more discomfort, but for the sake of drama I exaggerate). The journey is a hazy mist of monotonous repetition. One foot, then the next. Stumble. Shoulder held against the wall for support. No man should be up at midnight doing laundry. No woman either. It’s inhumane. It’s barbaric.

Next time I will not procrastinate.

Next time I will do it the next day.

When I arrived in the laundry room, I could tell that my clothes were ready to be evacuated from the dryer. Except. They weren’t. The feeling of cold, damp cloth is the worst, especially when you expect the cloth to be warm and soft – the kind of warmth you could just wrap yourself in and fall asleep. Alas, this was not meant to be, not for me. Not tonight.

The combination of my legs’ plans coming to fruition and the disappointment that has arisen from all of my laundry still being damp is too much. I can no longer bear to be conscious right now.

This is the end.

So, for future reference – never agree to be kept posted by writer while they do mundane tasks. You WILL get a story and it may or may not be hilarious.