Hope and Coin Laundry

Coin laundry. 

It's like that bully who makes you hit yourself with your own hand saying "Stop hitting yourself stop hitting yourself."

Or like those paper grocery bags with little paper handles that break leaving your groceries splattered on asphalt. 

Maybe those examples are far fetched. Maybe a better way to describe coin laundry is like, when aliens abduct you, and you ask what's going on and they say, "Uh, we don't know, we thought you knew?" then they take your wallet and drop you back off at wherever they abducted you leaving you broke with a lame story no one wants to hear. 

So yeah coin laundry is one of those things we have to deal with until we reach the dream of owning a place in the burbs with private laundry a white fence and a golden retriever named Bailey. 

Til then, if we even get there, our only defense against the coin laundry disaster robots is a 1-800 number that you have to find somewhere on the machine. It is the only chance of getting any sort of justice with these things, and it's a slim chance. But it's a CHANCE.

Maybe you have zero idea what I'm talking about. That's cool. 

Basically what coin laundry does is you give it money then there's about a 50% chance of the machine fulfilling it's end of the deal - to wash or dry your clothes. For many units, it's just too much to ask. This isn't unique, other machines periodically don't work: vacuum cleaners, dishwashers, guitar amps...but with those machines you have a decent shot of getting it fixed if it screws up. You can read the manual, YouTube "How To" videos, ask someone who might know, call a pro, etc. 

With coin laundry you have nothing. Because no one cares. No one. The machines they eat quarters and laugh at you. They stop working mid cycle, they can't catch their breath they're laughing so hard.

At $1-2 per load, it might seem like not that big of a deal. But here's the thing: It's quarters. Quarters are the hardest thing in life to come by. You can get them from a bank (if it's your bank) and those places are open like 3 hours a day. Maybe get them at customer service at a random grocery story, which is usually harder than a bank because definitely no one will be at the customer service counter, and when someone finally gets there, they need to call someone else to get the key, then those 2 people have to slap each other twice, then you once, in order for the drawer to open, then you might get some quarters, if they have any left. 

So you finally get your precious stones, these magic holy quarters, and you're ready to go. So you put in your 6 quarters, it doesn't take them. Frustrated you do it again. Wow that time it worked. 12 quarters cool neat.

For years I've brushed it off as one of those things in life you can't do anything about, like loud talkers (HI! HELLO! WE'RE STILL ON FOR TEN?! OK GREAT SOUNDS GREAT HOLD ON MY GARDENER IS BEEPING IN *click* HI JULIUS HELLO HI QUACK QUACK QUACK). 

Anyway. You can do one thing. 

Like I said earlier, you gotta look on that piece of junk for a 1-800 number. And it may or may not be there. It's probably supposed to be by law, but it's like in Deliverance where they're running for their lives trying not to get raped and killed by mountain thugs and they start arguing about legalities and Burt Reynolds says, "The law? What law?"
I'm not sure if that reference even makes sense, but point is if the number is there you're in luck, if not, what are you really going to do? Nothing. That's what you're going to do. 

Few weeks ago this one P.O.S. machine I use took a bunch of quarters like it always does (poor me) and wouldn't spin or drain leaving my clothes in a giant vat of dirty water. "Cycle complete." ?? F u! The repairman had been out twice, I guess to sit on top of the machine and listen to Korn then empty the coin vault and go buy gummy bears.

I find and call the 800 number again on this circa 1972 crude nightmare trap and:

"Hi I was calling in reference to a..."

"Is this Mr. Summers?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Summers a technician has been called out. The machine has been fixed."

"The machine has definitely not fixed all my clothes are in there now and..."

"Mr. Summers our expert technician is very busy right now not fixing machines listening to Korn eating gummy bears whilst sitting atop said broken machine feet dangling watching Frasier on his phone going 'Huh huh huh ahhh huh huh huh.' I can send his holiness back out to take a look at it but it won't be until tomorrow or the next day."

Take a look at it? Like stare at it?

I had nothing. There was just this weird silence of an adult phone standoff over a couple bucks and my rapidly mildewing laundry not really making any noise but somehow making the silence more intense. Then out of nowhere, a voice. The same voice from before, but with a sliver of...hope.

"Mr. Summers?"

"Yes?" 

"How much money did you lose in the machine today?" 

I didn't know what was happening. I just went with it and reflexively spat out, "3 dollars. In quarters." I I felt the need to add that it's quarters (obviously) to hint like "It's not just any 3 dollars, it's the most prized kind." 

"And is your address still..."

She said my correct address. 

"Ok Mr. Summers. We will send you a check for $3."

WHAT? Wow! That's cool. But I couldn't enjoy this small victory. My mind raced, I wanted all the money I'd lost in my entire life to this godforsaken machine. I didn't have an exact amount, more than $30 less than $60? So I just went for the whole enchilada. It bears noting I knew this attempt would be futile. So why do it. Because practice. I didn't want to get in the habit of not trying/settling/etc. Career? Relationships? Yeah maybe. This coin laundry fleecing scheme? Hell no. 

"Ok, great, but I've lost I'd say around $50 to this machine over time. Can you..."

"No, Mr. Summers, we only pay for what you said you lost today, which you stated was $3, not $50."

It will forever haunt me not knowing if I'dve said $50 if it would've worked. Probably better I didn't. I'm really bad with lies, especially weird trivial ones. Here you could argue the ends justify the means, but technically it's still be a lie, meaning I'd start stammering and hyperventilating.  

I'd almost forgotten about all of this until look what Mr. Summers just got in the mail. 

So? What's the point? 

There isn't one. This is just trashy fluff reading. Like Kim and Kanye stuff. But opposite. But kinda same. This is like, you know, who cares. Kim and Kanye, they're like, you know, who cares. Except a lot of people do care about them. Look, the only thing separating me from Kim and Kanye is 150 - 200 million dollars. 

Where were we. Oh yeah. Goddamn swindling washing machine. Mafia. Bullcrap. It's all rigged man. Follow the money. Especially quarters. Precious devil pearls. 

You gotta call that number.
You gotta gripe.
Be a bitchy mom.
Because. 

Bitchy moms get stuff done. 
We don't. 

They do.

Life will destroy you handily unless you summon the bitchy mom within.

Whatever it takes.

Grab a visor. Some bad shorts. A keychain bracelet. 

Just squawk up a storm till the a-hole realizes they're dealing with Bitchzilla and they can either surrender or get blown out of the solar system by way of asking for that person's manager's personal phone number. 

"But, but his wife is having their firstborn as we speak!"

"Screw them! What hospital? What floor? I'll deliver the baby! He can fix the washer and do his job for literally once. What hospital?? Spill!" 

It probably won't get to this point. But it might.
You need to think about this stuff.
This is real life. 

- Clay Chamberlin Summers