So, I load up the washing machine in the basement with a light load, and go up to the kitchen to do dishes. I’m doing the dishes, and I hear a loud “thumpity-thumpity-thumpity” from downstairs. “Sounds like the spin cycle’s uneven”, I think to myself. “Except I just started it - it won’t be at spin cycle yet.” hmmm. I go downstairs to check.
As I’m going down the stairs, I start smelling something - smoking plastic smell. I turn the corner to the laundry area and there’s a light haze of smoke, floating around the basement. “Not good”, I think to myself. I go in to investigate.
Smoke-filled room. Noisy washing machine, banging away. And the stink! But, none of the smoke alarms have gone off…
I call Mrs. Piper. We unplug the beast, and start bailing out the water. Open the windows and screen doors - forget about the axe murderer who’s lurking out there (that’s another story). Turn on the downstairs fan, the kitchen fan, and call 1-800-got-junk to have them cart it away tomorrow.
Now, the whole house smells of burnt plastic, and the beast sits, sullen and damp, in the basement. Tonight is its last night in the house before the get-junk-guys dispose of it.
Any chance it will take the last opportunity tonight to burst into flames and bring the house down, Samson-like? Should I be sitting there all night, hose and bucket at the ready?