God as my witness...

Twas the week after Christmas
​And all through the house,
the washer wasn't whirring,
​the joy it did douse.

On the days leading into Christmas, my washer started making a weird noise. And like any self-respecting, overworked single mom with not enough time in the day, I decided to leave it until after the holidays. This, BTW, was the wrong choice.

My teenage son's fast food uniforms were soaking in the water that wouldn't drain on that final load, so I pulled one out, hand rinsed, wrung it out, and dried it so he could get to work. The second uniform I tossed in with the towels and we proceeded to make merry over the holiday.

After the holiday, the bin with the damp uniform started to emit the kind of stench that makes you power clean your refrigerator, so I drove to the nearest laundromat. Here's a little known fact. Laundromats aren't as common as one would think. We don't have one in our small suburban town, so I had to drive 30 minutes into Colorado Springs, but in the end, the laundromat was shiny, inexpensive, and quick. The clothes were clean, so problem solved, except...

The stench I thought was coming off the dirty uniform... remained.

I incorrectly assumed that having a male roommate would mean someone around the house to do this kind of thing, but in reality, he could go longer with dirty clothes than I could. I blinked. My son was at work, so it was up to me.

The water I had left to sit in the washer tub now had a slimy coating forming on the surface that looked like a mixture of grease, raw chicken, and sludge. We've been dealing with a series of unfortunate events, outside of and larger than the washer, so it didn't reach the top of my priority list until this morning. I drank my morning coffee while watching YouTube videos, and once I was sure I knew what I was doing, I changed into my least favorite athletic wear and set to work.

The first video I watched was this great 1 minute video that showed the control panel of my washer doing what it's been doing to me. Solid, it's a common problem, but... what do I do about it?

The next video had more info. The narrator, a thoroughly nice appliance repairman said merely to "drain the tub." Great, thanks for that, but if it *won't* drain--which is why it's broken--how do I do that? Is there a plug like at the bottom of my ice chest to drain? Nah, that would be too easy.

The next video was a DIY dad. Finally, someone my speed. He knows there are people like me, intelligent but mechanically inept, who need a play by play. His suggestion was to use a shop vac to suck up the water, as he proceeded to demonstrate. It was a beautiful thing; the only problem was that I don't own a wet-dry vac. Most days, I'm happy if my regular vacuum continues to suction the dog hair out of my carpet, and going out to buy a shop vac post-holiday is nowhere near my budget (see series of unfortunate events).

As an aside in the video, DIY dad suggested scooping the standing water out of the washer tub with a cup.

I've changed disgusting baby diapers and poo-filled undies during potty-training. I've cleaned up all kinds of gross kid-vomit, dog mess when someone fed the Neurotic Dog watermelon, replaced the seal attaching my toilet bowl to floor, and even drained the water from my hot water heater when it exploded. I'm relatively handy with tools, having renovated an old Victorian, and I've done my own handy work as a single mom for years.

None of those things prepared me for the smell as I leaned down and scooped cup after cup of water from the washer tub into my tiny bathroom garbage can. I make a living off words, but there are no words for the absolute disgusting stench as I lean into the tub to scoop more water. Putrefaction, today's word of the day, comes as close as anything. Scoop, scoop, scoop. Carry the water to dump down the toilet. Gag. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

On the video, DIY dad pours the contents of his wet-dry shop vac down a drain, saying "that's disgusting." What an epic understatement.

I finally clear enough water to remove the agitator and take it downstairs to rinse in the mud sink. Underneath the agitator is a series of strings, lint, something that looks and smells like poo, and hair. It won't just rinse off, so I leave it to soak. My daughter is in the living room, enjoying her coffee, and says "you're doing good, Mom."

At this point, it feels like she's trolling me as she holds her t-shirt over her nose. Upstairs, I scoop as low as I can, but there's a thin layer of water on the bottom that the cup can't reach, so I soak it up with last summer's beach towels. Maybe it was two summers ago. They cost a buck apiece, and they are now in the outside garbage can where our neighbors will think we've buried a decomposing body.

I'm afraid to tilt the washer on the floor as both the appliance repairman and the DIY dad suggest, because there's still a layer of water below the surface of the wash tub that I do not want on my floor. I don't have any disposable towels left at this point, so I tilt the washer back, hear the brackish water slosh in the subfloor of the washing tub, but once it settles, I can see underneath, which looks exactly like the video, but I don't have the upper body strength to twist the drain pump counter clockwise. Thankfully my son arrives home, and I tell him I need his help.

He looks up from the entry to where I'm standing at the top of the stairs and says, "Smells bad." No kidding. He suggests I open the window in the laundry room. "Gee, why didn't I think of that." Catching my sarcasm, he suggests a fan. And yes, he was right. I position multiple fans as my son climbs the stairs and says, "you know I have gloves, right?"

No, why would I know he has sterile gloves from work? He pulls on the blue plastic. I look at my hands, thinking they will never be clean. He twists the part as if it's the top of a soda bottle, and it comes off with grody strings attached. Still wearing the gloves, he takes it downstairs to clean out in the mud sink with the agitator.

The washer is 15-20 years old. I got it after my daughter was born, and somewhere around my son's birth, so it's lasted longer than expected and these hidden parts have never been cleaned. It had decades of human and dog hair wound around the drain pump. My son cleans it out, not even disgusted, and tells me I've obviously never worked fast food (thank God for that!).

Still, the stench is now all over the house. The dogs whine to go outside and stay out. My daughter has her t-shirt over her nose. My son wraps a scarf around his mouth and nose. I'm afraid my sense of smell has been burned by the putrid decay wafting off the laundry tub.

It's midwinter, cold, but every available window is open. My son adds a hanging car deodorizer in the laundry, lights a candle, sprays his body spray into the fan, and when those don't work, suggests lighting the body spray on fire (boys!).

The drain pump is clean and drying, night has fallen, the house is frigid. I used to think handymen and plumbers charged too much, but today was my Gone with the Wind, "as God as my witness" moment. I will *never* scoop putrified water again. I will pay the repairman what is a healthy wage for the type of work.

Some day. Today, I need to go disinfect my nose.

---