Dirty Laundry

Be forewarned . . . this is a super ranty post.  Much bad language within.  Proceed with caution . . .

Last Friday, our washing machine broke.  We realized this when it started making crazy buzzing noises and then would not drain a load of my au pair’s clothes.  My husband called to make an appointment to get it fixed, as we have a service contract we signed up for many years ago which covers service calls and repairs.  The earliest appointment they offered was for Monday, between noon and 5:00.  This would be problematic for a few reasons.  Number one:  it is a front loading washer and would not drain, hence the clothes and water would have to stay in there for 3 days and could not be removed or dried without an extreme soaking of the entire laundry room.  Number two: I always do all of my laundry on Sundays, so I would be unable to wash my sheets, towels or clothing until possibly Monday night.  Nevertheless, it was the best they had, so we had no choice but to accept it.  We arranged with the au pair for her to be around from noon to 5:00 on Monday, as my hubs would be out of town and I would be at work all day, and she was fine with this as she had no other plans.

So, Monday afternoon rolls around and I text the au pair, “has anyone shown up yet?” “No” is the answer I receive.  Hmmmm, ok.  Well, I guess they are going to be closer to 5:00 than noon. 

I arrive home around 5:30 and ask if they ever appeared.  I get the same response as before.  Well . . . crap.  So, I call my husband and inform him of the situation.  He immediately gets on the phone to the company and inquires as to what the fuck is going on.  He reports back with the information he received from the very “helpful” Filipino customer service representative . . . the tech is running late, but will arrive between 7:30 and 8:00.  Well, that is annoying, but I was going to be home, so I figured it would be ok.  The tech was just going to get to experience me in all of my pajama’d glory is all.  So, I fed the kids and settle in to wait for a pending arrival.  The au pair similarly waits, since she was going to get her clothes out (finally) and be able to dry them. 

As I’m waiting, I realize that he’s going to have to open the washer and that there are sopping wet clothes just floating around in a big puddle, and that they will need to be removed so that he can get in there and do his thing.  Figuring I have about a half hour before he will arrive, I decide to go to it.  So, I open the washer door . . . and encounter a gushing waterfall escaping from its confinement like a prisoner on release day.  So I close the door again, quickly.  I go into the garage to find some type of containment device, and happen upon one of my kid’s sand buckets from our ocean city trip.  Not finding any other appropriate receptacle, I figure that will have to do.  So, I go back in and open the door again, placing the bucket beneath the onslaught of water, and catch approximately half of it. 

Unfortunately, simultaneously with the spewing forth of liquid, I come to a horrible realization . . . water sitting in an enclosed space for three full days turns into the vilest smelling swampy liquid known to man.  It was horrendous!  So, I hand the bucket of sludgy brown water to the au pair, telling her to dump that mess outside, I grab some old towels to mop up the small lake that has formed on the laundry room floor, and proceed to breathe through my mouth as I collect the sopping towels and dripping swampy clothes, and put them all in a basket that I then take outside. 

Deserted island of swampy clothes.

Deserted island of swampy clothes.

I cannot stress enough the nasal attack that occurred when I was dealing with the innards of that machine.  It was like a shit and toxic waste filled swamp baking in the August heat of the Louisiana sun, rolled up in a baby’s poopy diaper, with a sprinkling of a peep show jizz bucket thrown in for a little extra flavor, and housed inside a gym bag filled with sweaty socks and cleats that have been sitting in a car trunk for a week straight.  Seriously vile, people. 

Do NOT inhale!

Do NOT inhale!

I opened the window, burned some candles, closed the door to the room, hung a car air freshener on the outside of the door, and prayed to anything that might be listening that the smell would stay inside (it didn’t).  I did not envy the encounter that service tech would have when he appeared soon after.

Except . . . he didn’t appear soon after.  Eight o’clock came and went.  And no tech.  So, I contacted my husband again, who called the service center and was greeted by another Filipino customer service agent who did not speak English very well, but continued to assure my husband that the tech was on his way.  He stayed on the phone with them pretty much non-stop, requesting managers, yelling, and getting hung up on numerous times.  Still . . . no tech.  By 9:45, the au pair and I decided to call it a night, knowing full well that nobody was coming and that it had all been a big, fat lie.  My husband assured me that he would get someone there the next morning, despite the fact that they were telling him the next available appointment was for Thursday.  My husband had obtained the CEO’s info at this point, along with the names and contact information for the entire board of directors.  He does this shit for a living, people.  They would rue the day, by the time he was finished with them.

In the meantime, I still couldnt’ wash my clothes.  Crap.

So, the next day comes, I go to work, hubs is still out of town, and the au pair is on call to wait yet again for the tech.  Many messages are sent back and forth from the hubs and au pair all day.  Bottom line . . . once again, nobody appears at our house.  The hubs and I are livid.  We are breathing fire at this point.  What. The.  Fuck?  This is a business, yes?  That wants to make money?  Je ne comprends pas!  How is this even possible?

The hubs once again goes on phone assault, but after another couple of hours of pointlessness, gives it up for the night, as he has to get on a plane to come home that evening, and also to escape the very real possibility of having a heart attack from his severely raised blood pressure resulting from the customoron service representatives.  He vows to continue his quest in the morning to get someone to our house to look at this damn broken machine. 

The next day comes, and we are both very busy at work.  By the time we touch base in the afternoon, he tells me that despite his best efforts, they are still saying Thursday, which is tomorrow at this point.  By now, we are both just beaten down by the absurdity and frustration of the entire process.  He tells me that he did actually contact the CEO, and good news . . . we are now Blue Ribbon Customers!  Well then, at least there’s that.

Here are some of the messages I received from the hubs during this process:

Can’t believe your husband went away this week.  He must be an A-hole.

Me:  (At 9:00 Monday night)  I’ll be in bed before they come!!  It’s utter bullshit that ANYONE is on their way!  Him:  I know, I have smoke all up my ass.  I am still on hold.  Now they keep hanging up on me!

Just told them I will fly to their headquarters if I need to and I fucking will.

Feel like tippin shit over.

I am an expert at this shit and they are making it hard for ME.  Can you imagine what normal customers go through with them?

(He’s not normally quite so profane, but BOTH of us were losing our fool minds at this point, and the F bombs were flying around like stink bugs!).

As of press time, we have still not seen an actual person appear at our home to fix this machine.  The really discouraging news is that once they do appear (IF they ever do), they most likely will look at it, tell us X is broken and that they will have to order that part, and that they will return in a week to install it once it is delivered.  This ain’t our first rodeo.  We know how this shit works.  And despite my demands to my husband that the tech better have every single part that could possibly be broken or installed into our machine with him, or he will have to go to the nearest Home Depot to get the part that day, I know that this will never happen.  Or as my husband would say, “you’re so cute.”  Hell, I’ll be shocked if anyone ever even shows up at this point!

I swear, we are going to OWN this company by the time we are through with them.  Lying, unreliable bastards.