The trouble with aging pumps

By Alan Linda | The Daily Journal

Published Tuesday, July 24, 2007

When last I went down into the basement to attempt to mollify some of the unhappinesses that seem to be running rampant down there amongst the Appliance Group, it seemed almost hopeless.

General Electric the Washing Machine is boss down there, as much as anyone can be the boss. Apparently with advancing age his hoses are getting soft and his water, as he puts it, "doesn't splatter the tub anymore." Along with that, of course, his guts have slowed down to such a glacial pace that the clothes which he sends to Lady Kenmore the Dryer aren't wrung out.

"I think I'm constipated," he blurted out during his spin cycle as I addressed these issues with him. He was grunting a bit as the load inside him seemed never to finish. It embarrasses him to talk about his ailments, I know it does. He flips up his lid and whispers to me in order that Lady Kenmore the Dryer won't hear what he's saying.

Lady Kenmore herself isn't any spring chicken anymore. In fact, she's right in the midst of dryopause, and has become pretty hard to get along with. That's something new for her, because all these years, with the exception of Sylvania the Kitchen TV, she's been the queen of the basement down there. "I was hot when I was young," she is wont to say. "I could handle men's underwear with the best of them." Then she could. Now, she's convinced that Mr. Williamson the Furnace is trying to incinerate her. "It's so hot in here," she says over and over as she keeps lowering the setting on her heating elements. I've had loads of laundry that would have dryed faster hanging outside in the rain.

General Electric himself isn't a young pup anymore either, and each year when I give him his check-up-I'm a registered appliance doctor-he gets more and more apprehensive about what I'll find.

When I ask him if anything in particular is bothering him, he'll say: "Nope. I'm as healthy as a horse." He'll snicker and then say, "Well, a half a horsepower, you know."

So, how is your motor, General?" (I know it's pretty good, but he feels good if I ask him.)

"It's good," he'll say, then he'll add: "I'm not as good as I once used to be." Then he'll snort and say, "But I'm as good once as I ever was."

You're feeling pretty good, then? You'd say? (He's stalling. He knows what's coming.)

"Absolutely. I'm battle ready."

Good. You know the drill. Flip your front cover up and bend over.

"Ooooh no. I didn't think you were going to do that every year."

Well, now you're over 50 in people years, it's recommended, you know, every year. Come on. Flip it up. Turn your head. Cough.

Lady Kenmore snickered and said, "That's nothing. You should have to put your feet up into some stirrups and see how you like that!"

Oh, I said, are you anxious for your annual oil smear, Lady Kenmore? (That usually shuts her door.)

General Electric the Washing Machine took a shot at distracting me by pointing out the window and saying, "Say, I think John Deere the Riding Mower is smoking."

I hate smoking. The General knows that. I looked out the window and The General slammed his inspection panel on my head. "Oops," he said. Yeah, oops. I rubbed the knot that was forming on my skull and said, "You did that on purpose." Over the years I've been sliced, pinched, slapped by belts.

"Ooooo, you've been slapped by belts?" That was Mr. Williamson, who has decided to come out of the closet. He also seems able to read minds. "Can I do that to you?" Then he said, "Will you do that to me? Belt me?"

Toshiba the 60 Inch Asian Television piped in about there by saying, "Can I watch?" He's turned out to be kind of perverted about stuff, and frequently, while I'm watching Discovery, he'll switch over to the Playboy Channel, to which I don't subscribe. All I see is swirling snow, but I can hear him humming happily to himself and saying things like: "Oh boy. That's a good frequency there, look at those sine waves, would you." I guess that means that he can see it.

"Look," I said to Mr. Williamson, "you'll get your belt when your old one wears out, or you know what will happen, right?" He knows alright.

The General said, "He'll have you by the nozzle if you don't watch out."

I hate giving physicals.

Alan Linda writes a column from his home in New York Mills.