I decided to
wash some socks and underwear yesterday. My recollection is that washing
machines were simple devices back in the day. Either my memory is faulty or
I’ve gotten stupid or washing machine technology has gotten ridiculously
complicated. None of those choices are mutually exclusive; in fact, all three are
distinct possibilities.
I’m pretty sure
the controls of the Lunar Excursion Module were less complicated and confusing
than the controls of my mother’s washer. What’s really alarming is that the
controls consist of just four knobs. Lab monkeys and pigeons can be trained to
operate devices with four knobs; why am I having a problem?
Part of the
problem is that I don’t understand the choices. One knob on the washing machine
gave me the choice of cold/cold, warm/warm, warm/cold, and hot/cold. I think
the choices refer to wash and rinse temperatures, but they seem rather arbitrary
to me. Why can’t you have a cold/hot or hot/warm for instance? Is there some
law of nature―Bronstein’s Third Law of Washing Dynamics, for instance―that says
those choices are no good for clothing? I think this control was designed by
the Rain Man.
The second knob
is a straight forward yes or no choice of whether I want an extra rinse or not.
You would think this would be a simple choice. Maybe it is if you know what you
are doing, but I found myself going through a complicated logical analysis to
decide whether an extra rinse is good or bad. I reasoned that because it is a
choice it must matter whether clothes get an extra rinse or not. If it matters,
then there are ramifications if I make the wrong choice. I have no idea what the
actual ramifications are but it occurred to me that the possible universe of
consequences include the destruction of my tidy whities. Then I started
thinking that because it was a yes or no choice of an extra rinse that
means the normal washing process does not involve an extra rinse. So then the
question became whether underwear and socks should get a normal rinse or an
extra rinse. It seemed logical to me that underwear and socks merit extra
everything when it comes to washing so that’s what I picked. I wonder whether
Spock and Sherlock Holmes, two supremely logical characters, ever faced logical
quandaries like this in their daily lives.
The next knob
was “Final Spin Speed.” My choices were slow, normal or fast. I figured the
spin speed didn’t matter that much when it comes to underwear, so I went for broke
and chose fast. I would be interested to learn how spin speed figures into the
washing equation. How much can it matter whether your underwear undergoes four
or six G’s of centrifugal spin force? Perhaps the Air Force has done
experiments.
It was the
final knob on the washing machine that was the real stumper. The choices were
multiple and overwhelming: Delay Start, Delicates/Hand Washables, Regular/Permanent
Press, Pre-Wash, Final Spin, Power Wash. One of the sub-choices made no sense
to me. Under Power Wash the options were Heavy, Medium, and Short. I don’t
understand how a range of choices can include heavy and short. To me that’s
like asking someone to choose between hot and bright or light and long.
Not only did I
not understand the choices, but I’m embarrassed to admit I did not understand
how the control worked. It spun freely around 360 degrees. If I put it on Final
Spin, did that mean my clothes would be spun but not washed? How does one pick
Regular/Permanent Press and Power Wash at the same time since they are on
opposite sides of the dial? In the end I did what most red-blooded males do. I
kept spinning the dial and pushing and pulling it until something started to
happen. As I sit here now, I’m not sure my clothes were washed. All I know is
that when the machine stopped, they were damp and pressed against the side of
the drum like a pancake.
Not only am I
doing my own washing, but I’m doing my own cooking. In typical bachelor fashion
I am making sure that I am eating a balanced diet consisting of the four main
food groups: pizza, fish sticks, Wolf Brand chili and beer. I am a
discriminating food shopper. I won’t buy a food item unless the package says
instant, minute, or microwavable. I figure that if can’t prepare a meal in
under 15 minute, it’s not worth eating. Actually, my diet is an incentive to
get my mother’s issues resolved in the shortest time. It’s a race between
taking care of the problem and malnutrition.
I’m dealing
with medical staff, administrators and doctors while I’m here. On the theory
that it’s important to let such people know that I’m reputable, intelligent,
and have some wherewithal in the world, I brought some nice clothing, ties,
shoes and a sports coat. I don’t want them to think I’m an ignorant country
bumpkin. Interestingly, I find that when I wear my cowboy hat and cowboy boots
they pay more attention to me. I think they think that I might be dangerous
dressed that way.
As luck would
have it, on the way down my truck’s grill started to shake loose. I know I
should have fixed the grill after I ran into our farm gate last winter but I
was operating on Georgia time. Besides, who the hell am I trying to impress in Fannin
County? At any rate, I had to stop just north of Atlanta and buy some duct tape
to tape the grill down. So now I’m driving around in my farm truck with a giant
wad of duct tape across the front. That should impress the hell out of them.
And to think that I used to be somebody.
On a more serious note, things seem to be moving along nicely here. With any luck I’ll be able to head back to Georgia in a week or so. I thank everyone for their kind words of support and encouragement.
On a more serious note, things seem to be moving along nicely here. With any luck I’ll be able to head back to Georgia in a week or so. I thank everyone for their kind words of support and encouragement.
