We recently had a bit of a laundry pile up which coincided with the perfect night to actually do the laundry. I had all of it gathered and sorted and loaded the first load into the washing machine. It was especially not unpleasant to do the laundry as I recently finally cleaned the laundry room up a bit.
Have I mentioned that I'm not a plumber? It almost seems as if that's come up lately, and it remains true. Another thing I'm not is an electrical mechanic. I'm not without a very basic understanding of electricable type stuff and things, but . . . yeah, not a mechanic.
I knew I had a problem as I opened the lid. The funny, almost oily smell in the air hadn't immediately clued me to the possibility of a problem, but afterwards, I was able to at least find corollary possibility. The clothes were still soaking wet in the washer indicating that the spin cycle hadn't been quite sufficient for whatever reason. And the smell wasn't a horrid burning smell kind of smell you might expect when something electric doesn't do its thing, so it wasn't like anything too crazy could have happened.
I tried the usual, reset the spin cycle being my first stab. That didn't work so I cussed a little bit. I checked the plug which was where it should have been. This should very likely have been the limit of my checking, looking, working on, maybe checking the fuse.
All of that leads to today, the day I finally got a chance to open it up. I want to be able to fix something like this, and I'm certain that I could. It took enough time, made a lovely mess and gave me reason to actually wonder, how the fuck do you get spiral pasta behind the washing machine?
I really have to wonder why the fuck I did open it. It's not like I have any idea what all the shit inside there is, though I do at least know the difference between water parts and electric parts and to unplug it and turn the water off before fucking with it. I knew going into the back of it that I couldn't do anything with whatever I found unless there was a sign or maybe a note from the broken part explaining what the situation was.
It's all especially amusing when I point out that we have a newer washing machine in the garage. We got an aging washer with the house, so we kept the one we had when we moved in and stuffed it into the garage. I very likely have changed those bitches out a couple of nights ago before I touched the damn tools, but alas, I have no handtruck nor other conveyance.
And with that I remember that I need to finish drying some things. Momma was nice enough to take the most necesary of our piles to her mother's. I will take advantage of that to not write anymore tonight about my appliance issues. Damn suburban hell. Damn goshamighty fuck!