Life of the Lone Washer
"I wonder what kind of life it had," John says with a puzzled look. His bushy eyebrows can be seen, even through the thick goggles and bug-like mask covering his face. John's friend, Kevin, stops putting a dusty, ancient, but salvageable cassette player in his bag to address the odd statement John just proposed. "What do you mean, man?" he says, taking a moment to lean back on an antique washing machine. John walks over to Kevin, gently moving him off of the washer. "This, I mean this. It's hundreds of years old. People back then actually washed their clothes in these things," John says with wonder in his eyes. Kevin, unamused, inspects his artifact find. "This is even older, why don't you care about this?" Kevin is a giraffe in his demeanor. He dangles the cassette player over John. John looks up to him, "That thing is cool and all but those made a resurgence a few decades ago, they were an inefficient, stupid way to play music. The tape only lasted so long, they couldn't leave them out in the Sun; whoever invented the cloud was a mastermind. Cassettes are plain boring, Kev. But this beauty has actual history." Kevin puts the cassette player in his bag, playfully offended by David. He says, "I think these things are cool. Besides, inefficient, those washers were terrible for the Earth; just look at the parts, dude."
He walks to the back of the washer reading the various warnings the creators put forth. He reads and says one summarized statement, chuckling, "Look, it even says, "may cause cancer," on the back: it's trash. Don't even get me started on the water waste." David stares in bewilderment at the technology before him. Kevin, uninterested, continues, "It's almost sundown, are you cool with this haul?" David says, "No, I want this, get the truck." Kevin rolls his eyes, "Seriously dude? It's not worth it. Although rare on the market, those things barely sell for 10 reqs; that's less than a drink from Burger Heaven. Which, that's really saying something." David, unmoving due to his new love, says, "I'm serious, get the truck." Kevin begrudgingly gets in the car and brings it to David. He gets out of the truck after grabbing the anti gravity magnets. He places them on the washer, and guides it onto the truck bed. He removes the magnets and asks John, "What are you gonna tell your wife about this? She doesn't even know we salvage."
"David, what the actual, 'you know what,' is that thing?" David stands outside of his house door with a prideful stance and tells his wife, Diana Rushmore, "It's an antique from around 200 years ago, people used to wash their clothes in them, isn't that cool?" "No. That's disgusting, can you imagine the germs? They'd shove clothes in that hole?" she says, looking at it in disgust. David shakes his head yes rapidly in complete zeal. "Where the?" Their child races around the living room and outside into the yard. Their daughter interrupts Diana's sentence with a hug. Diana smiles at her, and continues, "Just tell me, where did you get it?" David tells her all about his scavenging adventures, and Diana completely opposes it all. But, in order to not let something go to waste, she tells David he can keep it in the garage. She also scolds him and says he can't go salvaging for antiques anymore. “That stuff is illegal, just keep this and stop going from now on.” David, happy with the treasure of a lifetime, jumps like a child on Christmas morning. He floats the machine into the garage, and closes the door to be alone with it.
"Finally," he says looking at the washer. He inspects it in all its glory. The white paint has nearly faded completely, but a logo can be made out on the front panel. A metallic knob also rests on this front panel, next to a variety of protruding buttons. The whole unit has a unique feeling to it; regardless of its worn down condition. It's a workhorse who is now old and it's prime is long gone. But, that spark within it still remains, the soul of a warrior pushes on inside of it. The lack of paint, the scuffs, the broken buttons, all are scars of the life it once had, fighting on the battlefield of life.
David double taps his right temple in a quick succession. He opens up the camera in his retinas and snaps a picture of the enigma by blinking. He thinks of the question, "What is this?" The search engine in his eyes quickly finds a result. He's immediately informed about how the washers used to clean clothes by filling the drum up with water. "The user would have to put soap inside, and it would spin rapidly." His smile is even further widened. "Based on your brain pattern, you seem to be excited about this WASHER. Would you like me to access the archive and play you a video of one?" Cass, the AI in his head says. David sits down on a stool next to the washer and says yes. He watches hours of videos, he watches the clothes go in, he watches it spin, and every time is a new opportunity for a miracle. How could the humans of yesterday miss out on such a wonder? Diana after around 6 hours comes out to demand that he come in for dinner, and much to his chagrin he eats a meal with only one thing on his mind.
The next day at work all he can think about is the washer. However, work is essential to keep a family alive. After much thinking, he can’t take it anymore, so he decides he must rush home to see it again. He works at a boring office job, but thankfully he's the boss. He needn't tap his foot in anticipation, he needn't make any excuses, he could just leave to be with his new friend. He calls in his assistant and tells him he has to go home for an emergency. He rushes home, faster than the speed of light. Thankfully, his wife is at work, and his daughter is at school; he has time to sit with the washer. David laughs at the ridiculousness of this moment. To go home early for an old piece of technology? But it's not just any piece, it's something with history.
He hurries into his garage and stares at the washer yet again. He pops open the lid as if he's disarming a bomb. He stares at the metallic drum and imagines it spinning. He's transported to a world of pure imagination. He imagines the life it had all those years ago. He imagines it spinning it's heart out washing the throw up off of a drunken man's shirt. He imagines the fights it must have heard, the reconciliation it must have been a part of. He imagines the baby clothes being thrown in, that quickly turned into adult clothes nearly in the same cycle. He is there in these memories as the washer itself. The objects they must have placed on it, the job it must have sworn it's life to. He can see the movie nights, laundry day, spaghetti night, and even family generations go by using it. It's history is rich, but no one ever paid it any mind. They only saw it as a machine, a tool. But what about its service to them? Why didn't they care? They just discarded it as if it didn't spend its whole life with them. It was born and it died in the service of humans. It may not be efficient, or sleek, but it had a life. His bewilderment fades and turns into a more mature respect. He stares at the washer and thinks about how although it helps us, we discard it so quickly. We toss the carcass away and with technology we buy a new this, or that. Which, David knows to be a slight necessary evil, but appreciation goes a long way. "We're just so wasteful, and everytime we throw something away, a memory goes with it," David thinks. That's why he joined salvaging in the first place; to relive memories untold.
David stares at the washer and gets an idea. He can't repurpose it for anything grand, but he can't let the old girl die. He takes it apart, admiring the shoddy building job. These things really were held together terribly, but somehow that adds to the charm. It's representative of humans. He takes it apart and decides to sell most of the knick knack pieces. He keeps one though: the lid. He hangs it up outside on the front of his house to stand guard. He smiles in adoration, admiration, and respect for the warrior now honored.
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