There are few domestic crimes more infuriating than the Laundry Room Hostage Situation. Twice in my life, I’ve had housemates who decided the washer and dryer weren’t shared appliances but long-term storage units. They’d toss in a load Saturday morning, run the cycle, and then… vanish. The clothes would sit there for days – sometimes a whole week – until the smell of damp cotton and passive aggression filled the basement.
At first, I thought maybe they were busy. Life happens. But after the third day of walking past their wet jeans fermenting in the washer, it became clear this wasn’t forgetfulness – it was entitlement. I think they assumed I’d move their stuff from the washer to the dryer for them. Maybe they pictured me as some kind of unpaid laundry butler, standing by to ensure their socks were fluffed correctly and folded. I wasn’t.
So, when Saturday rolled around again and the same half-dry pile was still lounging in the drum like it paid rent, I did what any fed-up housemate would do: I took action. Their laundry started appearing in unexpected places: neatly heaped on top of the dryer at first, then gently relocated to the floor when I ran out of patience. One time, I just left it in the washer. They’d gone away for the week, so I figured I’d let nature take its course. A few days later, I opened the lid to find a new life form thriving inside, as moisture, heat, and neglect had created a lovely ecosystem.
When I finally got tired of the constant hostage negotiations over laundry space, I went to the laundromat. It cost me a few bucks, but it was worth every penny to wash and dry in peace. No waiting. No “Is this yours?” No science experiments growing in the machine. Just the hum of clean clothes and the quiet satisfaction of not sharing a space with the chronically inconsiderate.
The thing about shared laundry rooms is that they reveal people’s true colors. Some treat it like a communal space; others treat it like an extension of their bedroom. I used to think dirty dishes were the biggest housemate problem – but no, laundry neglect wins. There’s something uniquely offensive about someone holding the washer hostage for seven days straight, like it’s a personal storage locker. It took several conversations and one threat of tossing his clothes in the backyard to fix the issue with him.
So here’s my rule: if you start a load, you finish it. Promptly. Not “eventually.” Not “when you remember.” The dryer is not a closet, and the washer is not a waiting room. It’s a simple system: wash, dry, fold, remove. Do that, and civilization as we know it just might survive another week.
John Berkovich Talks 