Purchases that keep on giving #3: Gratitude for convenience
Everyone takes you for granted, sweetheart, but I don’t. You take all my dirty, sweaty, food-smeared clothes and make them smell like a fresh summer’s breeze while I swan around the apartment wasting my time as I please, or even leave you in order to go off drinking, sportsing or socialising.
Before I got you, things were a lot more difficult. I had to forage for 50 cent pieces and hold onto them for grim death. I was that annoying person the supermarket line who just needs to pay 50 cents more. “There!” the cashier would say, “You’ve got one there!” “No!” I would holler, clenching my fist around it and counting out pennies. “I need that! That’s mine!”
I wasted countless beautiful Saturday hours dragging a stuffed suitcase to the nearest laundromat (either a 25 minute walk, or a train and then a bus!). Then I had to sit – usually between a fat, smelly man and a dying pot plant – reading terrible German gossip magazines from 1997 while all my friends were at the beergarden.
In winter, I had to pull that suitcase through snow and wind. And that same fat man and those same bad magazines were there. I couldn’t do more than a carry-on’s worth of washing per weekend, which meant I really had to think about what I would be wearing a week or two in future. There was none of this “Oh, I’ll stick it in the machine and it will dry overnight.” No, not like the heady days I am experiencing now.
Sometimes I would sacrifice a weeknight to washing, and that would be worse. Colleagues would see me pulling my battered little trolley and assume I was off some place. So many times I had to reply “No, nowhere special, just the laundromat.” Do you know how they looked at me?
Or there were pitched battles in the bowels of the apartment complex. Names on rosters booking out the two common machines for days on end. People forgetting their clothes in there and me having to haul them out of the machine’s mouth like so many dead mice.
But no more! I say a silent thank you every single time you yield up my towels, clothes and sheets to me fresh, clean and sweet-smelling. You never complain, you never give up and you need so little in return. It was a happy day, Mr Washing Machine, when I was finally able to afford you after moving here. And I will never, ever take you for granted.
Seriously though. How fucking good is having your own washing machine?