Victory!
I think it's time to coin a new phrase and seeing as how this blog reaches literally handfuls of people each week, I can't think of a better place to do it. I propose the phrase "Swiss victory" with the following definition:
Ah, laundry. The white whale to my Captain Ahab; the Captain Kirk to my Khan. My quest to achieve a minimally acceptable laundry situation started the first day I moved into this apartment, and honestly, I would have bet on it outlasting me and leaving me a bitter, destroyed man. Instead, due to a small bit of luck and a bold move on my part, I can now declare victory -- or at least Swiss victory.
Last week, I was doing my laundry in the usual way: I waited until 10 o'clock, then snuck down into the basement to see if the (the, as in, the only one) washing machine was available. Fortunately for me it was and I was able to get one or two loads in before midnight, which I figure is about the latest that I can open and shut the loud basement door without pissing off the neighbors too much. Of course, doing laundry this late at night means that my clothes don't have time to dry -- no real dryer, remember, just a weird hot air blower -- so I end up bringing the wet clothes up to my apartment and then splaying them out on my furniture overnight. On one of my trips to the basement, I happened to see the laundry schedule on the door and I noticed that there was an unusual amount of whiteout and new ink on it. A cursory glance revealed that every other Friday night was now available! Wait, what's that? All day every other Tuesday was available as well? I ran upstairs, got a pen, came back down and boldly wrote my name in.
Fig. 1: The evidence. Why our laundry schedule has a picture of a sick teddy bear is beyond me.
You'll notice that after a couple of days, the concierge (or someone) came by and whited-out my name from the morning time slot, yet didn't actually bother to fill that time with anyone else's name. I'm not sure why she thought I wasn't worthy of the whole day -- plenty of people get a whole day -- but seeing as how I only took the morning out of pure, unadulterated greed, I don't really care that I lost it. Forgetting this minor disappointment, I anxiously awaited the big day.
Thursday evening, I left work (relatively) early and got ready for an all-evening laundrapalooza. This would be my first time using the laundry room without fear that someone would come and chew me out, or without having to worry about working around other people's stuff. It would be glorious! So, I got my first load, headed down the stairs and found ...
Fig. 2: The offending items. I would like the reader to notice the acres and acres of empty space in the laundry room which is curiously unencumbered by washing or drying machines of any type.
somebody's crap all over the room. All the drying lines were taken up with pants, shirts, etc., the drying rack was loaded with socks and underwear, and a bunch of socks and underwear were sitting wet, in the washer. Hooray. To make a long story short, no, no one ever came down and got their stuff, and I never got to confront anyone about violating the newly sacred laundry schedule. I even looked up the French word for "disrespectful" with the hopes that I would catch one of the culprits in the act, but no such luck.
So, seeing as how after my victory I still had to deal with other people's clothes, the only real benefit that I gained by getting an assigned time was the sense of moral righteousness. Now I'm the one who's being inconvenienced by scofflaws, whereas before, I scoffed in the face of those rule-abiding schedule followers and did laundry when I wanted and how I wanted, by god!
Although I finally reached my goal of getting a useful, assigned bi-weekly time to do laundry, it's hard to say that my situation has really improved. Swiss victory!
- Swiss victory, n., something achieved only in the barest possible terms; an undeniably positive result which still leaves much to be desired.
Ah, laundry. The white whale to my Captain Ahab; the Captain Kirk to my Khan. My quest to achieve a minimally acceptable laundry situation started the first day I moved into this apartment, and honestly, I would have bet on it outlasting me and leaving me a bitter, destroyed man. Instead, due to a small bit of luck and a bold move on my part, I can now declare victory -- or at least Swiss victory.
Last week, I was doing my laundry in the usual way: I waited until 10 o'clock, then snuck down into the basement to see if the (the, as in, the only one) washing machine was available. Fortunately for me it was and I was able to get one or two loads in before midnight, which I figure is about the latest that I can open and shut the loud basement door without pissing off the neighbors too much. Of course, doing laundry this late at night means that my clothes don't have time to dry -- no real dryer, remember, just a weird hot air blower -- so I end up bringing the wet clothes up to my apartment and then splaying them out on my furniture overnight. On one of my trips to the basement, I happened to see the laundry schedule on the door and I noticed that there was an unusual amount of whiteout and new ink on it. A cursory glance revealed that every other Friday night was now available! Wait, what's that? All day every other Tuesday was available as well? I ran upstairs, got a pen, came back down and boldly wrote my name in.
Fig. 1: The evidence. Why our laundry schedule has a picture of a sick teddy bear is beyond me.You'll notice that after a couple of days, the concierge (or someone) came by and whited-out my name from the morning time slot, yet didn't actually bother to fill that time with anyone else's name. I'm not sure why she thought I wasn't worthy of the whole day -- plenty of people get a whole day -- but seeing as how I only took the morning out of pure, unadulterated greed, I don't really care that I lost it. Forgetting this minor disappointment, I anxiously awaited the big day.
Thursday evening, I left work (relatively) early and got ready for an all-evening laundrapalooza. This would be my first time using the laundry room without fear that someone would come and chew me out, or without having to worry about working around other people's stuff. It would be glorious! So, I got my first load, headed down the stairs and found ...
Fig. 2: The offending items. I would like the reader to notice the acres and acres of empty space in the laundry room which is curiously unencumbered by washing or drying machines of any type.somebody's crap all over the room. All the drying lines were taken up with pants, shirts, etc., the drying rack was loaded with socks and underwear, and a bunch of socks and underwear were sitting wet, in the washer. Hooray. To make a long story short, no, no one ever came down and got their stuff, and I never got to confront anyone about violating the newly sacred laundry schedule. I even looked up the French word for "disrespectful" with the hopes that I would catch one of the culprits in the act, but no such luck.
So, seeing as how after my victory I still had to deal with other people's clothes, the only real benefit that I gained by getting an assigned time was the sense of moral righteousness. Now I'm the one who's being inconvenienced by scofflaws, whereas before, I scoffed in the face of those rule-abiding schedule followers and did laundry when I wanted and how I wanted, by god!
Although I finally reached my goal of getting a useful, assigned bi-weekly time to do laundry, it's hard to say that my situation has really improved. Swiss victory!
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