~Two weeks past: just after running a load of laundry, I notice a vast puddle of water on the basement floor. When Don goes to inspect the hose connections, he gets a minor zap from the admittedly sketchy electrical setup. We call Sears (with whom we have a service agreement) and an electrician. Both agree to come that day. The electrician arrives not long after. He and his wife fix our entire basement electrical system (near enough, anyway) and are completely awesome. The Sears repairman, however, is feeling unwell. That call is rescheduled for the following Thursday afternoon.
~A week ago Thursday: I leave work early and cancel a phototherapy session to be certain I'm home for the service call. the Sears repairman shows up. He is unable to find a leak, but in his explorations has noticed a problem with the timer. The part is ordered, another call is set up for the following Friday. Of course, he can not guarantee the afternoon time slot. I'll just have to hope for the best. And possibly reschedule.
~This Wednesday past: The part arrives. This bodes well.
~This Thursday past: Sears leaves an automated message on my machine reminding me of the service call and indicating that the technician will arrive between one and five p.m. That's good. I don't need to reschedule.
~This Friday past, aka 'yesterday': The technician is running a bit late, but he calls me from his other call to let me know he'll be there around five. He replaces the timer and lets me know he also found - get this - a leak! He tightens the loose hose connection, gives me a receipt, and takes his very polite and decidedly curly-mulletted self off into the sunset. Excellent.
~Today, about half an hour ago: I take a hamper full of rather pungent laundry to the basement, pretreat my jeans and sports bras and turn the washer dial to the beginning of a normal cycle. Nothing. I try again. Double check that the water is turned on. Try again. And again. And faster now, 'cause I figure maybe I can trick the washer into working. Don hears the frantic clicking and comes downstairs. He pokes about a bit, then unplugs the unit and, after a few moments, plugs it back in. This time, the machine starts up - mid-cycle. When we open the lid to see what the bloody hell, the drum slams to a halt, slewing to one side of the machine. HARD. This experiment is repeated thrice with identical results.
We call Sears. That is, Don calls Sears. After navigating the automated phone system, he connects with a person. She tells him she can have someone out Friday. Don is understandably peevish. "That's another week without a washer. Which, by the way, was working fine - except for a leak - until your technician worked on it." She makes noises about replacing the unit entirely, and transfers him to another department that is only open Monday through Friday. He calls back and eventually connects to an entirely different person. After considerable explanation and haggling, he gets a service call. For next Friday.
I'll be going to the laundromat Monday directly after I finish teaching. I intend to get a receipt and present it to Sears. Not that it will necessarily come to anything, but there's little else I can do.
*kicks ineffectually at the air*
*flappy sissy arms*
I have sports bras and one of my ClubKO shirts (which I am required to wear when I teach) soaking in a big bowl in the sink. I have to agitate them, I suppose, and then rinse them thoroughly. Or as throughly as I can. I have visions of sweaty Kelly being covered with soap suds before I even get to the bag work.