With all of us being under a “shelter-at-home” order of some type at the moment, I wanted to take this opportunity to talk about an important issue: laundry room etiquette. After all, clean clothes and linens are a core component of good hygiene, which is of the utmost importance right now. Those of you who own your home or rent an apartment with an in-unit setup, you don’t know how real the struggle can get. For those of you who have to use a laundry mat, your struggles are different and I feel you. I’ve been there.
For the rest of us: What the fuck is wrong with some people? I mean fucking seriously. Adults that expect other people to pick up their dirty duds need to move back into their parent’s basement and stay away from civilized society.
Let’s begin with the function of a washing machine. A washing machine is designed to, wait for it, wash your nasty ass clothes. You put in the detergent and softener, select your cycle, and it cleans your shit (in the case of skid marks this is literal). It’s magical like a fucking unicorn. Do you know what the function of a washing machine is not? It is not a storage unit for your damp, musty clothes. You see that display on top of the washer that has numbers that count down? That is called a timer. The function, as the name implies, is to tell you when your clothes will be done with phase one of doing laundry and are ready for phase two, which we will get to momentarily.
The timer is here to help you. The timer is your friend. Set the alarm on your phone, or look at a fucking clock so that you know when to go back downstairs and move your shit. This is not hard, and if you don’t know how to read a timer or a clock, you have no business adulting on any level. And the fun privileges of being adult (booze, sex, not living with your parents) are hereby revoked.
Moving forward, my action plan is gonna be to piss all over your clothes if you leave them in the washer. Since they are damp you won’t know. And to be clear I eat a lot of asparagus and broccoli. And I use a fuck ton of garlic in my cooking.
And I’m gonna chug an extra hoppy IPA just to get the flow going.
This also means that when you do magically find the dryer, you’ll just be baking that shit into your clothes and sheets. In some cultures this makes me your Alpha.
While we are on the subject of the washer, what the fuck is it with y’all and over stuffing it? Do you really think this is saving you money? If so, you are a fucking moron. Almost as bad as the people who can’t tell time. One of two things will happen, neither of them good for you. The spin cycle (the thing that makes your clothes less wet before they go into the dryer) will be stagnant and ineffective. This will make your clothes wet instead of damp which means they will take more time (ergo money) to dry. This is the better of the two scenarios.
The second possibility is that you break the fucking washer, meaning not only did your clothes not get clean, but you ruined it for the rest of us. And trust me, if you break a washer in a multi-unit complex we will find you and deal with you accordingly. And seriously, you would rather deal with a few angry residents than the maintenance man if he finds out you broke his shit with your stupidity.
Now that fear, intimidation and shaming have taught you how to use a washer, let’s move on to part two of the tutorial.
As with the washer, let us start with the function of a dryer. The function of the dryer is to dry your damp (not wet unless you overstuffed the fucking washer) clothes. As with the washer, it is not a storage unit for your now urine tainted (you’re welcome) clothes. The goal here is to transport the clothes from the washer to the dryer in a timely fashion, toss in some dryer sheets unless you’re a heathen, select your cycle and push start.
The dryer is also equipped with a timer, which will once again tell you when your shit will be done. If by now you don’t know how the timer works, you need whatever the hooked on phonics equivalent of reading and understanding numbers is. And for the love of god don’t procreate.
If you leave your clothes in the dryer after they are done, I am not moving them for you. That would be rude. What I am gonna do is dutch oven the fuck out of them. Remember when I said I ate a lot of asparagus and broccoli? I forgot to mention Brussels sprouts. Can’t get enough of ’em. Oh and they are in the cabbage family in case you didn’t know.
In case you think I won’t do it, I should tell you that both I and others say that I am a man-child and have a Peter Pan Complex (that means that at times I can be puerile, that means childlike). I have no fucking problem farting on your clothes. I will, however, be Febrezing the fuck out of the dryer before I use it. Because I am an adult, and I practice good hygiene habits.
Now that your clothes have, for all intents and purposes, been turned into a used diaper, I will sit in the laundry room and wait patiently while reading my kindle. Don’t worry, I won’t stare shame you when you finally come get your shit. I will casually watch with curiosity to see if you notice that anything is off. Your response doesn’t matter, either one will please me. More than anything I will be curious to see if you recognize me as Alpha.
But you better believe I’m gonna snap if you don’t clear the lint trap.