It is nice to have my own washer and dryer, to no longer hoard quarters like they are some precious gem pulled from the earth through great toil and sweat to be guarded and stashed away from lecherous fingers. I laugh when I walk by the huddled masses in their laundromats and wonder wistfully that I, in my youth, carried clothes down a creaky flight of steps into the basement to fight spiders and mildew for the right to wash my garments. This was one of the small aspects of home ownership I most looked forward to.
Of course, there was a problem. The set up is in the kitchen, which is fine if not a bit odd. I would not have minded at all, but the dryer had this quirk. It buzzed. Most dryers do, when they are done. But most dryers allow you to turn the buzzer off. And my dryer buzzed at random intervals preceding the finish of the cycle. Something like, "Hey, here's your 15 minute warning!" and "Seven more minutes until hot, dry clothing!" Even that might have been tolerable, but it would be impossible for me to express how long and loud the sound was, like mini 747's taking off from from the kitchen with gremlins clinging to their wings, touting air horns and pulling the feathers from a goose.
One night, the dryer finished up a final cacophony of heart stopping nonsense and I grabbed my screwdriver.
This little guy was the culprit. How could so much noise come from something so small?
The dryer still runs, silently. Somehow, I manage to anticipate when the clothes are done.
