Loads of Trouble

First published February 6, 2009

Day 7 of a broken washer. Once I figured out the pictoral guide on the machine, I was washing and hanging and whistling a happy tune. I noticed that some water ended up on the floor and dismissed it as dripping laundry. After the third time, I had to admit something was wrong. Drips turned into puddles and puddles into a river. I stared intently at the 2 buttons and one dial. I wiggled the dial and pushed the buttons and tried again. It leaked and now I'm running out of towels which is a delicate situation because I only brought 6 to start with and there are 4 Mortons.

John looked at it, too, twisted the same dial, re-pushed the buttons, ran a load of clothes and more water out the bottom of the washer. He said we'd have to call in help.

I looked through my Arabic pocket guide and there were no tabs for broken appliances. I searched through a few guidebooks with no luck. I finally Googled the phrase, "my washing machine is broken in Arabic" and many posts came up of people living in Middle Eastern country with the same appliance woes as me, but no phrases to correct the situation. Arg!

Our security guard downstairs is a smiling man who knows two words in English, "hello" and "goodbye." I can't fault him I only know, "Salaam" (greetings) and "shukran" (thank you). So between our four words and an entertaining session of charades, we relented and realized we were getting no where. Laundry has been a depressing topic in my life before, but this time it was depressing with a scoop of frustrating on top.

A few days later we were able to have lunch with a fellow worker whose also a Westerner who spoke Arabic. We had a great time and were so grateful for her insight. Before we said goodbye, I sheepishly asked if she would please write down the phrase in Arabic, "My washing machine is broken." She gladly complied.

I felt empowered now as I arrived at our flat and handed our security guard our note. He read it and smiled. Then he motioned something to John that looked like he would call when the repairman came. So we went happily up to our floor and waited. Nothing happened. Not that day. Not the next. Or the next.

We were eating breakfast this morning preparing to register for our language classes when I announced to the family, "I am a woman on the edge. I'm starting school after being out of classes for over 20 years. My laundry is piled high and this is not how I wanted to start my academic career. I'm completely serious so take heed."

They all looked at each other and smiled knowingly. They've heard the "on the edge" speech before and knew to salt their words and deeds with kindness until further notice.

We went to register for classes and returned a few hours later. The regular security guard had the day off so his replacement greeted us. I had my handy-dandy piece of paper with me. John took the paper and said that he would take care of it while I ran another errand. What a wonderful guy!

Before I left the building a man happened by advertising laundry services. John siezed the moment and had me grab a few pairs of pants and shirts to be laundered. I placed 14 items in a laundry bag and handed it to John who in turn handed it to (guess!) Mohammed. Mohammed said that the clothes would be back tomorrow. It was a few minutes before I realized...I have no phone number. I have no business card. The only thing I have is a guy named Mohammed who does laundry. Great. I never prayed so ferociously over clothes before. I decided to go ahead and run my errands and let John figure out the rest.

I returned after 2 hours and asked John how his afternoon went. He said that he had been busy WASHING CLOTHES! Could it be? Seriously? I ran into the bathroom and watched the miracle of the spin cycle. I asked him what was wrong with it. He said the repairman came and opened up a little trap door and cleaned out a ton of lint and gross stuff. After he shut the door and turned the machine on, the water didn't run out the bottom but instead ran out the tube into the bathtub like it was supposed to.

Normally I would have been embarrassed at such a simple fix. However, nothing is obvious--not even a little lint door well-hidden on a washing machine. John paid him his 40LE ($8) and then opened the windows to let out all the cigarette smoke that came with the repair.

Now I have clothes once again dangling throughout the house and a load of sheets whirring efficiently in the washer. We'll see if our clothes really do return from the laundry man tomorrow, but for now I'm content and wonder if it would be too weird to hug my washing machine.