133. the washing machine is possessed.


People yell at me for a number of things. With my family, it’s centered on Getting Into A Good College, and laundry. Laundry is actually, by a slim margin, more annoying than college.

There is a reason I wait a longish while before I do laundry. One, I have an absurd amount of clothing, especially underwear. Two, the washing machine. Oh, the washing machine.

Today it became crystal clear, without-a-doubt, certificate of assurance certainty that I am not imagining things. It hates me. Hates. It will not work for me.

The dial-board of the machine is broken. If it is so much as turned, it will flip out and ask to be cleaned, with bleach, NOW. Fuck your clothing. It wants bleach, and refuses to clean. There is a loophole! If you hit the power button, then wait a few seconds, you can hit the start button and it will wash your clothes on the normal setting. (warmish water, a certain speed, ect.)

I put in my desperately-needing-to-be-cleaned clothing in. Plug it in. Put detergent in. Press the power button, then the start. BEEP. CLEAN WASHER NOW, the little green light proclaims. Oh, shit. The loophole isn’t working. I play with it for ten minutes, growing more and more frustrated. I end up screaming like an angry German child, and my mom walks in.

“Its brain is scrambled”
“I KNOW. It works for dad though! I saw him do laundry yesterday!”
“Okay, let me try”

She unplugs it, plugs it back in, then does the exact thing I’ve been doing. Only, it works! I thank her, and go on my merry way. Until I realize, seconds later, that the contents of my bag, including clothes, have been covered in a deodorant that exploded in my bag. SHIT. I quickly stop the machine, and through the clothes in, hoping it will still work. I curse as it doesn’t.

Another five minutes of beep. beep. BEEEP. unplug. replug. beep. beep. BEEP. I try varying speeds, pressing things fast and slow, changing the plug. I do exactly what my mother does. She’s standing there, laughing. Angrily, I push her in front of the machine.

“It won’t work! We’re pressing the same buttons!”

beep. beep. Blip! The washing machine hums smoothly. We stare at it in disbelief. It works just fine, apparently. As long as I’m not the one pressing buttons. I’m still debating if it’s a demon spirit, or a washer-goblin responsible.


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