Washer #12

The story of the events witnessed by a washing machine.

As the red streak lit up the building washer number 12 vibrated on the floorboards, with more than just the high-powered jets of water cascading onto the clothing inside of her. “What was that?” she wondered to herself silently.  Maybe dryer number 07 was on the fritz again. He never did well with those new dryer bars the humans kept insisting on using. She pondered the thought silently to herself. Well of course it was silent, washing machines could not talk. Washer number 12 rolled her gray dials at the thought. If only the humans knew. They seemed to think that all machines like her, were there simply as means to assist them, which very well could be true, but she had to believe she was there for more than that. That’s when he walked in.

 

A golden and red shining god stepped through the doors like he owned the place, and judging by the intense glimmer of his bolts, he very well could have the money to own it. The red casting of light that lit up the building earlier seemed to be coming from the jets of his boots, and his robotic eyes glowed blue. Washer number 12 was immediately wooed by the incredible reflections being cast all over the room. The top of this strange machine glowed like the sun with his golden details. Washer number 12 fluffed up the clothing rolling around her basin. This robotic man walking around the laundry mat surely was one hunk of metal.

 

With his strong, mechanical arms he reached up and grasped at the metal faceplate that set a top his shoulders. Just when she began to spit up the suds and liquid, when the machine started to remove his head she saw what was beneath it…and it was hideous.

 

This machine was no steal God; instead he was nothing more than a human man in robotic clothing. He was dark haired, pink and fleshy, and the worst part, she was sure he had real blood rushing through his system rather than dark oil and lubricant like she herself did. Washer number 12 had always prided herself on not being judgmental, but fawning over a human…if her mother washer number 05 had ever found out…she’d be even further rusting at the junkyard. It so was not going to happen.

 

She watched the human fiddle with his clothing, obviously having no real idea of what he was doing, and then ever condescendingly he shouted out,

 

“Does anyone have four quarters and change for a hundred?”

 

Her type really had no concept of money; they mostly just ate the metal discs the humans shoved inside them in exchange for the washing services. It was pitiful how her and the other washers were treated so cheaply. With that however, she still believed the human was acting most tacky, even in such a horrid place as this.

 

A small bald human walked up and helped the man, masked in metal, and washer number 12 could swear she saw the man trembling. And before she knew it the robotic human shot up into the sky, leaving the wisps of jets and the smell of fuel in the air. She was about to continue on with her duty of washing, when she noticed the once gorgeous, metal faceplate sitting on a dryer in front of her. Washer number 12 hummed along with her fellow machinery as she dreamed about the day, when somehow and some way, her true robotic knight in shining steal would come. Until that day, however, there was always washer number 13, sure he was a bit run down and could use a deep cleaning cycle, but hey…she did always love bad boys…