ONCE I WAS A WASHING MACHINE

Once I was a washing machine.

Once I was a washing machine, all bright and shiny. Garbed in bubble wrap and encased in polystyrene.
The day came when I was dispatched from my nice safe warehouse to be transported to my new home. Number 25, Hollytree Close was to be my home on a recently built estate. I arrived safely and was pushed, pulled, tugged and twisted into a neat new kitchen. My wrappings were torn off unceremoniously leaving me exposed and naked apart from a small scratch on my gleaming surface, as a final insult I was manhandled into a dark recess beneath a mock oak working surface on a cold tiled floor.
That evening a gentleman opened my door without so much as an ‘excuse me’, he took out my hoses and roughly fitted them to my nozzles and connected me to the water mains.
Ohhh! It was a strange feeling having water rush around my nooks and crannies, then he plugged me in and switched me on, I was installed.

The following morning the lady opened my door and began to push her grubby washing into my pristine insides, the socks in particular made me feel quite ill.
I obeyed my technological commands without undue distress.
After my cycle had finished I was quite exhausted but my owner had no thoughts for me, she unloaded me and refilled me with lots of soft frilly garments. Hmmm! This is nice, soft gentle clothes gently stroked my stainless steel innards.

Wednesday had been a day of rest for me although from the size of the basket in the corner it was back to the same routine, wash, tumble, spin, wash, tumble, spin. It was such a mundane life sitting beneath that unit performing my pre-programmed tasks, my only companion a spider who had just moved in and spun its web against my outlet hose. An occasional sniff from the dog and trying to judge people’s character by their shoes were my only other entertainment.
From time to time when on ‘fast spin’ I would skid across the polished tiles and have a quick cuddle up to the fridge. She was very moody and cold, I was glad when they dragged me back. The days dragged into months and I began to feel neglected, no one gave me a wipe or cleared the choking limescale from my tubes so revenge was on the cards, I refused to go.
Serves my owner right really, I never did understand why she put me on fast spin and sat on me making those funny squealing noises.

The repair man visited and took off my side panel, he was very gentle, my belt was replaced and I was given a lovely wipe down – all over!

Bright and early the following morning I was again loaded and prodded, my buttons pressed and back to the usual routine, wash, tumble spin, wash, tumble spin.
Perhaps if there is an afterlife for washing machines, now I’ve been
scrapped, re-cycled, melted down, I can come back as something with more prestige or glamour. A highly engineered valve for a human heart would be nice, all shiny and sculptured. No more wash, tumble spin, just a gentle ‘whirrr’ helping someone to live and put my previous occupation behind me of just having been a mundane washing machine……until I’m re-cycled again.

© Terry Sorby