Out of order

When I ran out of the rolls of quarters I moved out here with, I relied on the coin machine in my apartment building to do laundry.

But on Monday when I gave in to the chore, a bright orange light indicated it was out of order. Usually I wouldn't mind not having to do laundry. If you remember a post from a few weeks' back, I hate doing laundry and ironing clothes. But since that post, I hadn't done it. And dirty clothes have piled up. I had to wear the same socks I wore running yesterday to work out tonight (gasp!).

Today I got enough quarters to do two loads. I'm cheap, and I try to fit all of my clothes in two loads without mixing lights with darks. But the laundry gods appeared to be unhappy with me again. There was only one machine available, and it was the one that takes 10 minutes longer than the timer says. I knew it'd be a long night of washing and drying clothes ahead. At least I'd have something to wear tomorrow.

Forty-five minutes later, it was time for a new load to wash. I put my lights into the machine next to the one I had been using. It worked for the previous person, who had just put her clothes into the dryer. But after eating three of my quarters, an "ERROR" message came up on the screen. I tried to get my change back, but it wouldn't work. After three minutes, the message disappeared and all seemed normal. However, the machine had swallowed my precious quarters (I only had enough quarters for two loads). It wasn't about to throw them up.

I ran to the front desk and told the man working there that the washer was out of order. Here's a transcript of our conversation:

Me: Hi. The washing machine in the laundry room doesn't work, and it took my money.
Lazy guy sitting on his butt: I already took care of it.
Me: No, it's not the machine that already has a note on it that says "broken" on it. It's another one, the second washing machine from the door.
Lazy guy sitting on his butt: Oh. There's a number on the machine. Call the company, and they'll give you your money back.
Me: (Stunned, I slowly walk back to the laundry room thinking mean thoughts. Call the company? You won't take care of the cockroaches or manage the laundry room full of broken machines, yet have the audacity to charge me $65 a month more in rent).

I have to go. I need to put my clothes in the dryer.