The Book of Genesis: And then on the eighth day ... God created the laundry pile, and it was bad. It did stinketh and didst attract many flies and insects. And the pile didst not ever grow smaller, and the people were afraid, and ran from the unholy pile ... " -- Dana Tellier
For many years, people have been doing laundry. I think it started long ago when people noticed their clothes smelled bad.
It is complex observations such as this that led me to realize that I am truly a laundry expert. A laundry god, if you will. Of course, like all great achievers, I had humble beginnings. I might even admit that up through high school, my mommy did most of my laundry. (Ok ... all of it. She seemed to enjoy it, alright?)
But now I have fulfilled my dream ... I am at one with the laundry, I am at peace with Bounce and Tide with Bleach Alternative. I was talking to my best friend from home, Dana, just the other day. He gave me the inspiration for this particular piece. We discussed our particular clothing stratagems and tactics, and I discovered what a wily old fox Dana is. He admitted to having no less than 22 pairs of boxers and 18-19 pairs of socks at college, for the sole purpose of avoiding the laundry room for as long as possible.
Dana is right in some aspects, though -- laundry is truly a religious experience (see opening quote). There is a certain beauty and continuity to the act of washing one's clothes. It's something you will have to do over and over, for the rest of your life. Until you're dead.
Unless in the afterlife, there still exist lines and lines of holy washing and drying machines, in which case you will be doing laundry forever and ever, Amen. Laundry was, is and ever shall be. Eternal salvation, without lint.
Now, far be it from me to expose anyone's dirty laundry except my own. Therefore, I shall tell the story of when I truly obtained my laundry godhood. It happened a mere week ago, when I realized that I had piles and piles of dirty clothes as high as an elephant's eye (a grown-up elephant).
The time: 12:30 at night. The place: Woodward laundry room. I dragged all of the soiled articles of clothing into the room, and filled the washers. Then I turned them on. That moment crystallized and will remain in my mind forever: God spoke to me through the ice machine. He said, "Jeff ... do you realize how many loads you have running simultaneously? That's four by my count ... three dark, one light. Do you know what this means?"
"Yes, Father!" I cried. "It is my sacrifice to you, my feat of miracles. Few mortals have the ability or the opportunity to run four loads of laundry at once in a college dorm ... but I, I did it for you, O Lord!"
It was then that He bestowed the title of laundry god unto my head. I am but a minor god in the hierarchy, but the title does have benefits. Any sock that you lose becomes mine. Every time colors bleed and you end up with a pink brassiere, or your tightie whities become tightie something else, it is my bidding. Behold, I am a jealous god. Thou shalt not use Bleach, only Bleach Alternative. Thou shalt not neglect thy running washers and dryers, lest thine neighbors become agitated and throw thy laundry upon the floor when thy load is finished running. Thou shalt not mix Whites and Colors, lest my wrath will smite thee.
As you can see, the raging debate over evolution vs. creationism has no relevance whatsoever. Laundry is the only path to salvation, the only explanation for our existence. Wash, rinse, spin, repeat. Take the clothes, swipe the card, run it, spin, spin, spin.
Pain, war, disease, misfortune, death ... these do not exist within the laundry room. The holy machines make no effort to explain the ills of the world, they merely make your clothes new and pure. They are powerful. They are omniscient, benevolent. They make things bright and clean.
Wash, rinse, spin, repeat.
