I got a text message this morning. It was from Car Girl. She’s found someone else. Well that’s bound to happen. She had disappeared from the screen of you reader and had to do something. It worked. Car Girl is back for the last time.
She was great, reader, she was. She was pretty, funny, didn’t seem to find me odd – good start. She lived in NorCal – less than ideal. Hence the text. She has found someone. Can’t say that I have.
What I do have is a new apartment in an area that would make Kate proud – we have extra blankets and I told my roommate that we could throw them over our balcony and they’ll land on a homeless person; point two, I have a balcony over looking the Los Angeles skyline, and on the balcony: a recently drained, pressure washed, disinfected, refilled, chlorinated, and heated hot tub; I have a new roommate, whom I haven’t discussed his feelings on appearing on this blog as a recurring character; and I have a washer/dryer unit that is anything but.
And that is why, Car Girl, I say to you, it turns out I’ve found someone as well: my washer/dryer unit. Much like the ladies, I don’t understand this washer/dryer. It has signs I can’t read. It requires constant attention and insists me spending the whole night with it. And similar to the perfect woman, it doesn’t work. ZING. I went there. Now let’s go back.
I know, reader, you’re so happy for me. Finally, you think, Jamie has found someone – thing – to occupy his time. It’s not as great as it sounds. Sure I was happy at first. This thing is a washer and dryer in one cube. I always thought that was a good idea! Just put them together. Why not? Save a shit ton of hassling unloading from one machine to another. Lock and load, that’s what I say. Plus it’s Italian. Hot. Hot for cars. Hot for women. Hot for hot food. Hot for washing machines, no. Italians are really not known for their master craftsmanship in the appliance market. What was the last Italian blender you used? Also, are Fiats really all that great?
Below, reader, you’ll find the dials I’m confronted with to work this seemingly perfect – yet, in realty completely flawed beyond romance – machine.
What the shit is this fuck? From right to left, let’s work together to decode my washer/dryer. Numbers nearly at random, 550, 600, 700, 750, 800, 850, 900, 1000. What do they mean? If you think we need Nick Cage to decode this wait until we get to dial #2.
0′ – 120′ mirror images of one another. Where to begin? Are we dealing with feet of material? If so, this is going to be a problem because my clothes are really best measured in square feet. Also what’s the blue v. orange about? I’ll give you one hint. I looked on line and it turns out those are meant to represent minutes. Of course, reader, you recognize them most notably from… that’s right, fucking longitude and latitude. My washer/dryer loves geocaching and doesn’t give a fuck that the minutes in locations is not a temporal unit. Dick.
Woosah.
Moving on to the final dial. Numbers increasing, but not in proportion to how much of the dial they represent – that’s aesthetically frustrating. More orange to blue. But this time also to BLACK. Apparently 8 is no man’s land. The dark beyond. Turn the dial past 8 and you’ll never see your clothes again.
Dials #2 and #3 can only be turned to clockwise, whereas dial #1 feel free to have fun with and turn any way you please. Doesn’t matter, really, they’re all just for show, the thing doesn’t work. Yeah, this is satisfying in the way a relationship with a girl would be. Totally.
- Jamie
Jamie, are you sure this isn’t a time machine? The dials would make much more sense in that case.
That would explain all the wet pairs of pantaloons.
I had one of these in Turkey. I thought it was indecipherable because of the Turkish, but I guess it’s a universal problem. Good luck.
This is already going in the direction of a co-dependent relationship.
I’m pretty sure that dial #1 represents the speed of the spinning cycle, which is actually awesome! Very key in good a washing machine. I think she sounds like a keeper. Be careful with this machine jamie, you don’t want it to be one of those “you don’t know what you got til it’s gone”.