a christmas cleaning calamity

This morning I woke up early, with the thought that I would do my laundry in Ireland's apartment, eat some eggs that M gave to Ireland before she went back to France, and then, after I hung my laundry up, go to the beach. Seemed like a nice way to spend Christmas.

Except.

I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.

Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.

I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.

F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.

When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.

A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.

When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.

Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.

Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.

M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.

By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.

And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.

On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.

I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.