A Scary Place

A couple of days ago, I went where no man has dared to go before, at least no man in this house. Well, to be honest, no woman either. I got behind the clothes dryer!

For several weeks, months actually, I had noticed that whenever I had the dryer on, the temperature in the room rose to levels required for an egg incubator. It occurred to me that I might do well to get some fertilized eggs and hatch out a clutch of chicks in on the washing machine. Well, it was a passing thought; off the table before it really got traction.

Of course, I had peered over the back of the dryer to see if it was venting to the outside and it looked okay. I even asked “Mr. Fixit” if he would check it out, explaining that sometimes it got so hot in the room that the smoke alarm came on. “Looks fine to me.” He pronounced following his inspection. With this cursory investigation behind me, I felt justified in mentioning it to an electrician who had come out to give me an estimate on a small rewiring project in the living room. He promised to thoroughly examine it when he came back in a few days and I began to fantasize about a new dryer.

Barley eats in the laundry room. A week ago, after I fed him, I turned the dryer on, shut the door, and then wandered outside where I became engaged in a conversation with my neighbor Kim. By the time I made it back into the house, Barley was barking frantically while the smoke alarm did its thing – emitting an insistent cacophony, at once irritating and frightening.

Having stressed out the dog, I was now galvanized to get serious with this dryer situation. I explored some more exotic explanations for what might be ailing my dryer – a faulty thermostat as an example. Finally, I concluded that the most obvious explanation was that the machine wasn’t properly venting. First I tackled cleaning out the vent from the outside and replaced the existing trap with a piece of panty hose. Then I moved inside. I pulled the dryer all the way out from the wall and discovered that the duct tape was not doing its job. Appearances are so unreliable.

What a scary place the backside of a clothes dryer is, particularly one that has been the final resting place for bleach bottle lids, clothes pins, gum wrappers and old tooth brushes, all cocooned in enough dryer lint to fill an ottoman. This odd collection of detritus can be understood only if one accepts that my laundry room/pantry is the place of last refuge for many items that originally lived someplace else in the house. We don’t brush our teeth in the laundry room but I never throw away a used tooth brush because they are the perfect tool for reaming out crud filled crevices. Of course, as long as they are hanging out under the dryer, the crud continues to accumulate. Regrettably, none of the mates to the solo socks that I am holding onto made an appearance.

Once I shimmied under the utility sink, cleaned off the floor and the back of the dryer, it was clear that there was a gaping wound in the duct tape, allowing heat and lint to escape into the room at large. I cleaned it out, found a wire spring loop to put over the pipe and the outside vent, and then wrapped new duct tape around the connection. I moved the dryer back in place, put in a load of towels, set the dial for “heavy duty/all cotton” and watched with some trepidation to see if my “fix” would hold.

Well it did and the accomplishment made me giddy! Buoyed by my success, the next day I moved the piano away from the wall in the living room. It was so dark back there that I needed a flash light to really appreciate the collective horror the move revealed. What kind of slob lives here, I asked myself as I probed with the vacuum cleaner, sucking up dead Christmas cactus blossoms, fly carcasses, tooth picks, and other stuff I didn’t bother to catalogue. Now I peek behind the piano whenever I go into the living room and, when I sit down to play, I am convinced that it even sounds better, though that may be the product of an over active imagination coupled with my “exceptional hearing.”

There are other scary places just waiting for my attack, I am on a roll now and plan to tackle a few more before the winter lethargy sets in and the motivation is lost. I have to watch myself, however, as cleaning behind the piano is the very sort of task I tend to take on when I know that guests are on the way and what I really should be doing is plumping up the sofa pillows and clearing off the coffee table. Still, I live by the motto to “do it now” because even though the mess will be there tomorrow, I know that the impetus is ephemeral.

Be advised. If you come to see me, don’t take offense if I entertain you in the pantry or seat you behind the piano. Right now, they just happen to be the most pristine places in the house. On the other hand, if you show up and can’t find me, try looking under the sink. It’s next on the list for reconnaissance.