The Laundry Saga: From Quarters to Card Readers

“A wise woman manages her household with diligence.” — Christine de Pizan

When a forty-year-old washing machine dies, people say things like ……..“Oh, just take your laundry to the laundromat.”

Those people clearly have not moved a medieval quantity of linen and cotton. (Yes, China had cotton.) They have not attempted this while over the age of seventy.

Let me explain how this adventure actually unfolded.

Thursday evening, I loaded my old washing machine with my dirty clothes, a huge amount, even for me. It included all my undies except what I had on.

About 10 minutes into the cycle, it started making this awful noise. (I’ll skip the details about determining the machine was truly toast.) The washing machine had performed one last act of rebellion before its retirement.

I asked around the family for help, but their machines were decrepit, too. So laundromat it was. That meant preparing things so I could do that safely. That took some cash, and two online orders later, I had a cart I thought could work.

Then yesterday evening, I assembled my new laundry hamper.
It has wheels, a compartment, and the promise of effortless mobility—like the laundry version of a luxury SUV.

Then yesterday morning reality arrived. When I opened the washing machine, I discovered that the top layer of clothes was dry. And, the bottom layer was sitting in water.

Apparently, the machine had decided, “Spin cycle? Absolutely not.” In fact, it didn’t even get to that part of its routine. So my sorting began.

The middle layer went into the dryer.
The completely soaked clothes could not go into my brand-new canvas hamper because starting its life with mildew seemed unwise. So those went into a plastic cube lined with a towel.

At this point, my laundry arrangement looked less like household chores and more like a triage station for damp fabric.

Then came the stairs.

The hamper is supposedly detachable from the wheeled frame. In theory. In practice, once it’s full of wet clothing, it might as well be welded together.

I am not strong enough to lift the basket when it’s full. Full of my dry and semi-dry clothes, I dragged the entire contraption up the steps.

Not graceful, but effective.

Then I had to load it all into the car.

First, I had to crouch down and fiddle with the wheel locks so the cart would even start rolling. Eventually, I managed to get everything inside the car.

But the fancy cart was on its side. I couldn’t lift it as high as my SUV’s floor. You’d think I’d be better at this, given all the schlepping you have to do in the SCA.

Then came the rest of the supplies:

• the driest clothes
• the towel-lined plastic cube of soaking garments
• a basket of damp clothes
• detergent
• softener
• my charge card

So I set off to test the laundromat closest to my house, Laundromat 120. There, I discovered it was old school; quarters only.

It had no card readers. No machines that take apps. No helpful digital instructions.

It featured rows of metal washers and dryers quietly waiting. They were like sentinels from 1985, expecting a pocket full of coins.

I hadn’t brought quarters because I don’t use coins anymore. Therefore, that experiment ended quickly.

Naturally, this meant it was time for lunch. That is how I ended up at my Omaha favorite Dickey’s Barbecue. As I ate, I reflected on the strange places life takes you when a washing machine dies.

After lunch, I headed to Wash World. Finally, I discovered the futuristic wonders.

• Bright lights.
• Card readers.
• Attendants.
• Machines the size of small spacecraft.
• And free wifi and electric plugs everywhere.

Suddenly, I entered the future. You tap your card, and the washers roar to life like they’re eager to prove something.

And they are fast.

In no time at all, my linen pants were spinning happily in a huge stainless steel drum. My cross-collar tops and modern wardrobe joined them immediately.

The machines handled it beautifully.

Chapter II was the reverse of the morning. It involved getting everything back into the car. This included placing the dry hamper on its side and stacking the basket of folded clothes.

Today, the saga continues, but with aches and pains added. I have to put some things on hangers and fold some things. I also have to put some things in a dryer with a wet cloth to get the wrinkles out.

All this happened because a faithful forty-year-old washing machine decided it had done enough laundry for one lifetime.

At this moment, I am grateful for modern laundromats. They are strong enough to handle the wardrobe of a Ming dynasty healer. And that they can also manage its modern counterpart.

Yesterday I had to be ready to go to a kid’s evening birthday party at Pirate Putt in Council Bluffs.