The worst one ever was my ongoing brawl with the washer in my apartment. Commence, as my friend Merry put it, the harrowing tale of Noor versus...
Unfortunately, I wash everything... together. Which I know isn't good for your clothes, but whatever. No one's complained to me yet and I've been washing my clothes that way for years. Sadly, that goddamn washer back in Brazil was not having any of my shit.
So, the first time I did laundry was about... oh... a month and a half after I got there. That was the point at which all my clothes had been worn, most of them multiple times, and I was out of money to buy more clean underwear. At that point I figured, "alright... I'll do my laundry, GOD."
I walked up to that mechanical beast and promptly shoved all of my clothes in there and then proceeded to pour an obscene amount of detergent over them, because that's how it works, right? Anyway, Mr. Washer was doing his thing, and I went about my day.
|I like Atlas symbolism.|
There I am, biding my time, minding my own business when the washer beeped, telling me my clothes were so fresh and so clean, clean. I hopped up, went over to it, peeked inside and saw that it was still full of water. I thought nothing of it, closed the lid and waited for a few minutes. When I opened it up again, it was still full of water.
"No matter", I thought, and turned the knob a little to see if maybe it just forgot to drain.
It did not.
It never drained.
... ... ...
|Mad doesn't cut it, bro.|
|Idk, my bff Pail.|
Needless to say, uncle Noor was pisssssssed.
|Pictured: The Sea of Bullshit. Yeah, it's real.|
You know what else my supervisor told me, when I told her I was afraid my clothes might get all moldy because of how soaking wet they were? "Oh, you should probably hang them up to dry near a window."
Anyway, even after I reminded my boss and supervisor about this dilemma about, oh, 17,845 times, they never sent anyone to fix it. So every single fucking time I had to laundry, I had to repeat that stupid fucking process of wringing out my clothes individually, then hanging them up to dry for days because they would be so wet still. AND empty the washer with a bucket.
"Well why didn't you just go to a laundromat?" You may ask. Ha. I wish. Those don't exist in Buttfucknowhere, Brazil, sweet cheeks.
And the best part? Well, I still communicate with these people every once in a while, and recently my former supervisor told me "You were right about the washer! It was totally broken. We just thought you didn't know how to use it. It's fixed now."
|No caption needed.|