Washing Machine Mayhem

This lovely blue Sears van has been in my drive-way, not one, not two, but three times in the last month. And this van will appear once again because I have come to the only possible explanation possible, my washing machine is demon possessed.

A few months ago I stuffed the machine packed full in the same manner I always do: jeans half-inside-out, socks still shoved in pant legs, red t-shirts, dryer sheets still in the bottom of the basket, molding towels. I whipped the dial to heavy load, deep clean, fabric softener diluted and slammed down the lid.

The next day, when I couldn't find the jeans I wanted to wear, I remembered to put the clothes in the dryer. To my dismay, they were still soaking wet. This certainly won't do for a girl who is such a perfectionist when it comes to laundry, so I immediately phoned Sears Repair and they sent out a repair tech. Since my husband has a more flexible schedule than I do, he was happy to have his morning coffee with John and the spin cycle.

John couldn't find a thing wrong, except the too strong coffee my husband made, and was on about his day. I was thrilled to come home and again find my machine grinning at me, its button eyes glaring, mouth open wide "The better to eat you with my dear." Of course, as you might have guessed, next couple of loads...soaking wet skibbies.

For the next repair visit, I scheduled it for a Saturday knowing that two men together just aren't capable of understanding such a domestic discrepancy. Apparently, John is off on Saturdays and his partner Groucho Max was thrilled to witness the spin cycle with this desperate housewife. Again, I didn't know what to tell Max when, as he and I stood there, the machine was purring like a kitten in front of a warm fire. He convinced me my shameful over-loading was the problem and I needed to determine not how many jeans to wash, but what size jeans my washer could withstand. After some tricky mathematical repair-man manipulation, I had now increased my washing time from a simple thoughtless act to a complicated "fill the machine only to this dot line, watch the top item for five seconds, if it's still a floating--you're a overloading."

After this tricky technique failed to work and an all-out screech became evident during the spin cycle I was convinced my machine had seen its last days. I once again called Sears repair, put the phone inside the washing machine to prove my point, "See can you hear that???" and promised the customer service professional that when the man came back out it would be broken.

Today, right after John handed me the bobby pin stuck in the bottom of the machine to stop the screeching, the machine again reared its innocent act in front of the repair personnel. He had me load it up and the towels came out drier than a worm on the sidewalk. He walked out, shaking his head and I could practically hear his inner-dialogue calling me a cooke.

After dialing 888-4-REPAIR for the 4th time, the customer service agent sarcastically asked me, "Let me just get this straight. So what you're saying is when the repair man is there the machine works and when he leaves its doesn't work. Is that what you're saying?" "Well, ummm, yes that's right," I casually agreed. "Well, the best I can do is have him come out again on Wednesday."

Does anyone have the number to a washing machine exorcist???? I'm beginning to think I need a exorcist with a hurse, not a repair man in a blue van.