The humbling experience of waiting for the repairman four days after the discovery that the washer is defiantly broken. Baskets of laundry are lined up for his appearance, hoping to impress upon him how dire the situation is. His arrival is greeted with minimal sound effects from the beasts: the kittens are cat-napping in my bedroom and the doggies have been sent outside. I know they will take advantage of my anxiety; the kitties will use my frail white duvet as a scratching post and the doggies will have at their favorite delicacy ... agapanthus roots. I race to the door to let him in and point at the machine, hoping he can do something.
He shakes his head and closes the washer door. Oh no. He needs to call his supervisor and retreats to his Sears van. He returns with what looks like a grocery receipt. Grimly I am told that many parts will arrive, probably at different dates. He thinks he can return June 15. This is all covered by my extended warranty which is good: the estimated total is over 884.00 and I think wildly of new machines. He discourages that, reminding me that if Sears can repair it, that will be the only solution. There is nothing we can do except wait. Just as he picks up his black bag, we both see further damage. He is rushing to leave and tells me he'll look at it later.
The laundromat is nearby and I throw things in bags and fill my car and its trunk. It takes sometime to drag it all in. Finally it's done and I realize that this is a pleasant thing to do, sitting still and waiting amidst the smell of clean laundry.