WASHING MACHINE
By John Allison
Load I. Joe the tree guy.
Stinky Joe, professional bum in Aldan, PA, woke up at 4 am to a crash. Joe, like all bums, had a special talent. He had the ability to sleep anywhere - on his side, standing up, or sitting. The big lower branches of the old oak in front of city hall served him well during the summers. He opened one eye to see a washing machine, sitting in the grass not ten feet from said tree. It was sitting in the grass, running. He looked for a plug or extension cord. Seeing none, he shimmied down for a closer look. He was sure he could sell it.
“What’s your story?” he said aloud.
Thinking the query was directed towards him, the washer replied, “I’m doing a load.”
“A load? Here? Why?”
“Ever heard of a lending library, Joe?”
“Yeah. We got one over there,” Joe said, pointing.
“I’m sorta the clothing equivalent, Joe. If you see something inside that you like (take the shirt, take the shirt) you may have it, but you must leave something.”
Deciding to give it a try as the first one here, Joe opened the top. It seemed to have an infinitely large load, but the shirt on top was very nice, sporting a pair of ruby cufflinks. It was even his size. He took it out, wrung it out, draped it over his arm, and headed back to the tree.
“Uh, Joe?”
“Yes?”
“It’s take one, leave one.”
“Sorry, washers don’t tell me what to do.”
“Did you notice I’m a Kenmore?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And, funny thing, my name’s Ken.” (Ken was unaware that every Kenmore washing machine was named Ken.)
Joe replied, “Sorry, I don’t really care.”
Ken asked, “Did you see the diamond studded jeans? They are your size…”
Joe stopped mid-limp (his only choice), returned, and reopened Ken. He saw no jeans but started digging. Eventually, two legs appeared, the cuffs decorated with diamond chips.
“Damn, Ken,” Joe said.
“Some say I am, Joe.”
He pulled on the first leg, which wrapped around the shirt and pulled it back into the load. The second did the same with Joe. The lid closed. Ken started back up again and headed down I-95, out of town, heading North.
Aldan, PA never saw either one of them again, but no one knows that but me.
Load 2. Hanging out in a crowd.
Ken was rolling down 15th street in Philadelphia late one night and came upon a little old appliance store. A few machines waiting for repair or sale sat out front. Ken rolled in-between two of them and took a selfie. He started to roll out to leave but was pushed back. A worker locked his wheels, mumbling about not wanting a runaway machine to injure a passerby.
“If I ran over anyone, I’d clean it up,” Ken said.
“Oh, you guys are so automated you talk now, eh?” Worker said.
“Um, I guess so.”
Worker didn’t notice Ken wasn’t plugged in. No one ever does. Worker moved on.
Later that morning, a family of three, still in their church clothes, stepped up and checked out each used washer.
“So, for our anniversary, I get a used washer? Seriously?” Mom said.
Ken whispered to the young daughter, who said to her parents, “Well, this one don’t have no scratches on it like the others.”
Ken whispered to her again. She promptly wandered into the shop, then back out. “The guy inside said he’d give you a good deal, but first he wants to put a new motor in,” she lied.
Dad stuck his head into the shop fifteen minutes later. “I’ll come back tomorrow for that washer after you put a new motor in.”
The kid inside said, “New motor?”
“That’s right. Can you try to do that now?”
“Uh, OK mister, sure.”
“Thanks, I’ll be here at noon.”
“Motors go in fast; it’ll be ready then.”
The young worker-bee found a used Kenmore motor in the back and installed it in about ninety minutes.
When the shop closed, the boy ran a chain through each frame and locked all the ones outside together, all except for Ken. As he was about to pull the chain through Ken’s frame, Ken said “Not that one.”
Not even looking up, the kid did as he was told. That evening, Ken rolled out of his spot, said his goodbyes, hitched a ride on the back of a trolley car (#11 line), and rolled toward Darby.
Man, that new motor (new to him) felt good!
Load three. K-Mart.
Long story, but Ken was in Maine and the State Police were looking for him. He decided to hang out at a truck stop. A big rig was gassing up, and Ken decided that such trucks are all probably leaving the state, so he attached himself to the back, having once seen a boy on a skateboard hitch a ride on the back of a pick-up. Hours later, states away, Ken and his truck pulled into a K-Mart lot. Ken decided K-Mart could be fun, let go of the truck, and rolled into a parking spot. It was 4:00 a.m.
Four teenage boys - Pat, Tim, Alan, and Tim - were retrieving shopping carts. Apparently, a shopper had dropped his treasures, didn’t realise his bag had ripped, and his new K-Mart clothes dropped out in a line across the parking lot. Tim saw the line of duds and picked them up as long as they were close. The other three ignored them. Tim’s trail passed by Ken. He was surprised to see Ken running. Not wanting to deal with the lost/found objects paperwork, he opened Ken’s top, threw the clothes in, closed it, and moved on.
This was a very new sensation for Ken. His top opened and the Tim clothes all flew out, followed by an enormous wet load. (The Kenmore version of throwing up.) Then a small woman popped out, naked. She was not alive but was well-preserved and very clean. Out the people came, piling up around Ken. The last was Joe, naked, with a nice set of cufflinks in his mouth.
Ken called 911. They hauled the bodies away and they called refuse collection to pick Ken up. Bristling at the word “refuse,” he decided to hitch another ride on the truck he came in on.
Load last. Ken.
All in all, Ken had had a good life, and decided to write an autobiography, THE TRUE STORY OF KEN, KENMORE25132: 4.3 cu. ft. Top Load Washer w/Triple Action Impeller - White. Suddenly, every old appliance felt they had a story to tell, though Ken was the first. There were some excruciatingly boring Mr. Coffee tell-alls. Just what you’d expect from plastic.
Ken found a used bookstore (the books were rare, the store was just a dump), a rarity. He went in and asked the owner, Jake, if he knew anyone who could help him with his autobiography. Ken felt he could talk through it, he just needed someone with a computer to record it. Jake said he could do it, so the Kenmore and the blind store owner met every day (he didn’t sell blinds, he just was). The chapters were as follows:
Chapter 1. My first day. (Ken talked about being built, being surprised at the price they put on him, and the friends he made on a truck to Sacramento.) Jake, not really listening, typed as fast as he could.
Chapter 2. I am adopted / my first family.
Chapter 3. Serving my country in the army.
Chapter 4. My experiences with parts that are not Kenmore stock – buyers beware.
Chapter 5. My decision to tour the country.
Chapter 6. Planning my trip to heaven.
In the Army, Ken worked for a chaplain and listened to hundreds of GIs and their questions, so he was educated in religion and hoped to go to heaven when he was no longer useful, his final adventure.
He noticed, coming into town, a huge crane. It was easy to find, it was so tall. He got into line, but no one was talking. Probably praying. Two hours, and it was Ken’s turn. A large disc-shaped angel came down from heaven, landing on his top. He heard it was called “Magnet” but didn’t understand the word. Suddenly, his feet left the ground. He was going up, thank God.
It was a beautiful trip. Excited, he kept yelling, “Higher! Higher!” And someone was listening. He was so high up, he could see the bridges across the Delaware and even City Hall. The crane stopped.
"Pretty high, but not yet heaven,” Ken thought. An airhorn blew loudly. “Probably trumpets,” he thought.
Stinky Joe, professional bum in Aldan, PA, woke up at 4 am to a crash. Joe, like all bums, had a special talent. He had the ability to sleep anywhere - on his side, standing up, or sitting. The big lower branches of the old oak in front of city hall served him well during the summers. He opened one eye to see a washing machine, sitting in the grass not ten feet from said tree. It was sitting in the grass, running. He looked for a plug or extension cord. Seeing none, he shimmied down for a closer look. He was sure he could sell it.
“What’s your story?” he said aloud.
Thinking the query was directed towards him, the washer replied, “I’m doing a load.”
“A load? Here? Why?”
“Ever heard of a lending library, Joe?”
“Yeah. We got one over there,” Joe said, pointing.
“I’m sorta the clothing equivalent, Joe. If you see something inside that you like (take the shirt, take the shirt) you may have it, but you must leave something.”
Deciding to give it a try as the first one here, Joe opened the top. It seemed to have an infinitely large load, but the shirt on top was very nice, sporting a pair of ruby cufflinks. It was even his size. He took it out, wrung it out, draped it over his arm, and headed back to the tree.
“Uh, Joe?”
“Yes?”
“It’s take one, leave one.”
“Sorry, washers don’t tell me what to do.”
“Did you notice I’m a Kenmore?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And, funny thing, my name’s Ken.” (Ken was unaware that every Kenmore washing machine was named Ken.)
Joe replied, “Sorry, I don’t really care.”
Ken asked, “Did you see the diamond studded jeans? They are your size…”
Joe stopped mid-limp (his only choice), returned, and reopened Ken. He saw no jeans but started digging. Eventually, two legs appeared, the cuffs decorated with diamond chips.
“Damn, Ken,” Joe said.
“Some say I am, Joe.”
He pulled on the first leg, which wrapped around the shirt and pulled it back into the load. The second did the same with Joe. The lid closed. Ken started back up again and headed down I-95, out of town, heading North.
Aldan, PA never saw either one of them again, but no one knows that but me.
Load 2. Hanging out in a crowd.
Ken was rolling down 15th street in Philadelphia late one night and came upon a little old appliance store. A few machines waiting for repair or sale sat out front. Ken rolled in-between two of them and took a selfie. He started to roll out to leave but was pushed back. A worker locked his wheels, mumbling about not wanting a runaway machine to injure a passerby.
“If I ran over anyone, I’d clean it up,” Ken said.
“Oh, you guys are so automated you talk now, eh?” Worker said.
“Um, I guess so.”
Worker didn’t notice Ken wasn’t plugged in. No one ever does. Worker moved on.
Later that morning, a family of three, still in their church clothes, stepped up and checked out each used washer.
“So, for our anniversary, I get a used washer? Seriously?” Mom said.
Ken whispered to the young daughter, who said to her parents, “Well, this one don’t have no scratches on it like the others.”
Ken whispered to her again. She promptly wandered into the shop, then back out. “The guy inside said he’d give you a good deal, but first he wants to put a new motor in,” she lied.
Dad stuck his head into the shop fifteen minutes later. “I’ll come back tomorrow for that washer after you put a new motor in.”
The kid inside said, “New motor?”
“That’s right. Can you try to do that now?”
“Uh, OK mister, sure.”
“Thanks, I’ll be here at noon.”
“Motors go in fast; it’ll be ready then.”
The young worker-bee found a used Kenmore motor in the back and installed it in about ninety minutes.
When the shop closed, the boy ran a chain through each frame and locked all the ones outside together, all except for Ken. As he was about to pull the chain through Ken’s frame, Ken said “Not that one.”
Not even looking up, the kid did as he was told. That evening, Ken rolled out of his spot, said his goodbyes, hitched a ride on the back of a trolley car (#11 line), and rolled toward Darby.
Man, that new motor (new to him) felt good!
Load three. K-Mart.
Long story, but Ken was in Maine and the State Police were looking for him. He decided to hang out at a truck stop. A big rig was gassing up, and Ken decided that such trucks are all probably leaving the state, so he attached himself to the back, having once seen a boy on a skateboard hitch a ride on the back of a pick-up. Hours later, states away, Ken and his truck pulled into a K-Mart lot. Ken decided K-Mart could be fun, let go of the truck, and rolled into a parking spot. It was 4:00 a.m.
Four teenage boys - Pat, Tim, Alan, and Tim - were retrieving shopping carts. Apparently, a shopper had dropped his treasures, didn’t realise his bag had ripped, and his new K-Mart clothes dropped out in a line across the parking lot. Tim saw the line of duds and picked them up as long as they were close. The other three ignored them. Tim’s trail passed by Ken. He was surprised to see Ken running. Not wanting to deal with the lost/found objects paperwork, he opened Ken’s top, threw the clothes in, closed it, and moved on.
This was a very new sensation for Ken. His top opened and the Tim clothes all flew out, followed by an enormous wet load. (The Kenmore version of throwing up.) Then a small woman popped out, naked. She was not alive but was well-preserved and very clean. Out the people came, piling up around Ken. The last was Joe, naked, with a nice set of cufflinks in his mouth.
Ken called 911. They hauled the bodies away and they called refuse collection to pick Ken up. Bristling at the word “refuse,” he decided to hitch another ride on the truck he came in on.
Load last. Ken.
All in all, Ken had had a good life, and decided to write an autobiography, THE TRUE STORY OF KEN, KENMORE25132: 4.3 cu. ft. Top Load Washer w/Triple Action Impeller - White. Suddenly, every old appliance felt they had a story to tell, though Ken was the first. There were some excruciatingly boring Mr. Coffee tell-alls. Just what you’d expect from plastic.
Ken found a used bookstore (the books were rare, the store was just a dump), a rarity. He went in and asked the owner, Jake, if he knew anyone who could help him with his autobiography. Ken felt he could talk through it, he just needed someone with a computer to record it. Jake said he could do it, so the Kenmore and the blind store owner met every day (he didn’t sell blinds, he just was). The chapters were as follows:
Chapter 1. My first day. (Ken talked about being built, being surprised at the price they put on him, and the friends he made on a truck to Sacramento.) Jake, not really listening, typed as fast as he could.
Chapter 2. I am adopted / my first family.
Chapter 3. Serving my country in the army.
Chapter 4. My experiences with parts that are not Kenmore stock – buyers beware.
Chapter 5. My decision to tour the country.
Chapter 6. Planning my trip to heaven.
In the Army, Ken worked for a chaplain and listened to hundreds of GIs and their questions, so he was educated in religion and hoped to go to heaven when he was no longer useful, his final adventure.
He noticed, coming into town, a huge crane. It was easy to find, it was so tall. He got into line, but no one was talking. Probably praying. Two hours, and it was Ken’s turn. A large disc-shaped angel came down from heaven, landing on his top. He heard it was called “Magnet” but didn’t understand the word. Suddenly, his feet left the ground. He was going up, thank God.
It was a beautiful trip. Excited, he kept yelling, “Higher! Higher!” And someone was listening. He was so high up, he could see the bridges across the Delaware and even City Hall. The crane stopped.
"Pretty high, but not yet heaven,” Ken thought. An airhorn blew loudly. “Probably trumpets,” he thought.
Silently, the angel holding Ken let go, and he floated down, into a magical doorway, called the crusher - and he was. Ken was now the size of a microwave oven. Another angel picked him up and added him to a pile of crushed cars. Ken slowly blacked out, conscious for the last time, thanking Kenmore for an absolutely beautiful life.