by Sarah Barendse

Created on: August 06, 2009

Where are my shorts? the question rings out in my mind as I run through what is supposed to be a fairly simple process. You put the clothes into the washer, insert the change, and sort through your now clean laundry... ALL your laundry, not just one red sock, one blue, and a miraculous five orange argyles which you have never seen before in your life.

But now, the damned machine has decided to get ambitious. A whole pair of shorts. Where the hell are they? The can't be stuck inside, I checked that. I know that they aren't stuck to anything else. Maybe I didn't put enough change in and my shorts have been taken in retaliation, to make up for this error. I don't care anymore... I just want my god damned shorts back. I kick the demonic machine.

Give them back! I growl. I know you have them and I want them back! You hear me you sonnavabitch? Give 'em back! I somehow manage to ignore the old lady in the corner of the laundromat who is watching me, wondering if perhaps I'll be after her next, maybe for a cookie recipe or something.

Come on! You think I'm kidding do ya? I shriek.

The old lady is looking around anxiously.

Herb? I hear her whisper. Hurry up Herb... You've left me in here with a crazy person. Dear god Herb!

I turn to her.

Herb isn't coming back! I yell frothing at the mouth a bit. The god damned washer ate him!

I turn and tackle it, one arm going inside and pushing it over. I start to kick, bite, and scratch at it. I hear the door slam, followed by the sound of a reedy old voice yelling Herb HERB! Call the police! There's a crazy man in there fighting a washing machine! Would you hurry up Herb!

I don't care. This washer has cost me hundreds of dollars in replacement clothes, and now it's going to pay back even if I break every tooth and bone in my body to make it.

By the time Herb and the Police actually arrive, I am so nicely stuck in the washer by my left arm, shoulder, and head, that I am actually happy to see them.

While I am being booked, I notice that I seem to have lost my watch in the struggle.

ironic, huh?

Learn more about this author, Sarah Barendse.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.