I may have mentioned that I hate plumbing...

If I haven't, let me tell you now that I hate plumbing. I'm just not built for it. Although I do sometimes have a plumber's butt.

It's always tight spaces and wrenches that slip and things that drip and usually something awful gets in my mouth and I end up bleeding from somewhere. And I struggle with "righty-tighty lefty-loosey" when I am working upside down in the dark. It took most of a weekend to replace our kitchen faucet because I could barely fit through either door. I was tempted to Sawzall the divider. And I have replaced major components of each of our three toilets in the last few months. Most of time now I remember to keep my mouth closed.

Anyway, tonight, Rachel tells me that the washer is broken. This washer...
Well, not that washer, but one that looks just like it.

But so notice that it is a front load washer. This will matter a lot a little later in this story.

Anyway, it's broken. The water won't drain. And she checked on the internet and did everything they said to do and it still won't drain.

So I Googled it. And if you click here, you can too. "HE3 washer f-21 error"

And, after a few worthless pages, I found step by step instructions for what's probably the problem. I just need to unplug the washer, remove the front panel, and there staring me in the face will be a drain filter that I simply need to remove and clean. There was even a picture of how easy it would be...


"Rach!?" I yelled, not sure where she was.

"Yeah?" from upstairs.

"Did you take the clothes out, Hun?"

No. She did not. They weren't clothes either. They were 3 rugs that must have weighed 30 pounds each soaking wet. So I am soaked right off the bat just getting them out of the washer and in to the laundry tub. And the floor is soaked. Fortunately there were some dry dirty towels in the laundry room.

Not filthy towels, just, you know, gently used towels in need of a quick wash.

I do the smart thing, though, and get my Shop-Vac out to drain the water. And I am proud of myself for thinking of that. And I only thought of that after realizing there was no way I could siphon it because the laundry tub is higher than the bottom of the washer. So I use the Shop-Vac and it takes probably a half hour. I fill and empty it three times. That involves unplugging it, lugging it across the room trying not to spill, taking it out back and draining it. Because, you know, the 90 pounds of wet rugs were in the laundry tub.

Oh, and our rabbit chewed throught he power cord of the Shop-Vac way back when. And I cobbled it back together with wire nuts and electrical tape. And now sometimes you have to jiggle the cord to make it work. And that makes me uncomfortable standing in water on the laundry room floor.

OK, then I set about, still wet, mind you, removing the front panel screws - only guess what - they weren't screwdriver type screws they were nut-driver type screws. And I know exactly where my nut driver set is. It is spread about all over the house and also maybe in the car, and perhaps one out back where I assembled a patio table. Oh, and I think I lent one to a neighbor when we lived in Petaluma five years ago.

Oh, and on top of that, we had to get the pedestals. So, really, our washer looks more like this...
And those were a whole afternoon to put on and there is no 'f' in "weigh" I'm gonna be taking that apart - I'd need Jake's help and have to disconnect everything and move them out of the laundry room and I was just not up for that. So the three nut screws are about sort of in this metal trench. So I can't just prop up the washer on a wood block like the directions from the internet said. I need some sort of tool with very narrow parameters to fit in that little groove you see in the picture.

I manage to find a socket set. And it barely fits. I have like a centimeter of play, but only on the two outside screws. So I can noodle the side screws like one click at a time on the ratchet wrench.

Click...click...click...

"How's it going in there, Hun?"

Click...click...

"Fine, Shoog."

Click...click...click...

It will take like an hour each and I won't even be able to do the middle screw.

And I get frustrated and go for a walk.

OK, I went and took a dump.

That's where I do some of my best thinking and I had to go.

So like ten minutes I'm gone.

OK, like 15 minutes. And Rachel knocks on the door and says, "Thanks! It's working."

This gave me pause. All I had done was drain the water and look for a socket set. If what was wrong with the washer was what the internet told me was wrong with the washer, then I still had several steps to go yet before the washer would be fixed.

And even then, it still might not be fixed because, like I said, I hate plumbing. And I tend to not be very good at things I hate.

"But honey," I called back to her, "I wasn't done yet."

I tried to be optimistic. Maybe I had suffered enough. Maybe the Plumbing Gods took pity on me and something I did with the Shop-Vac did the trick. But I would have to wait 20 more minutes for the cycle Rachel ran to finish.

As it turned out, we didn't have to wait quite that long. The "F-21" error code showed up after only maybe 15 minutes. And I am thinking "F-21" must mean the odds are 2 to 1 that you are pretty much F'd.

So now I'm a little angry. And I open the washer door (and this is where it being a front load washer matters) and water comes pouring out. And in the split second it took me to realize that water was pouring out and shut the door, I found myself once again standing in an inch or so of water.

And so now I am really angry and I yell (because she was somewhere else again), "I wish you hadn't done that!!! Now the thing is filled up even more passed the window and I can't even open the door or find the flip-floppin' tools I need to get the panel off and the stupid pedestal is in the way and..." I trailed off as she drew near.

Only I didn't say "flip floppin'."

"And now I'm gonna have to suck the water out all over again but only more of it," I said calmly, quietly, politely even.

And she stood in the doorway and stared at me all flustered and soaking wet in a puddle and said, "I'm sorry. Does yelling at me make you feel any better about it?"

And honestly, it did a little.

"I wasn't yelling at you," I fibbed a little, "I just wanted you to know what happened and what I'm dealing with here and you were in the other room and..." I trailed off again.

And I added, "But you saying you are sorry does make me feel better, thank you."

And then we set about fixing the washer together.

This time it took five trips with the Shop-Vac.

Rachel stood on higher ground and jiggled the cord. And she didn't even say anything like, "You suck," but I imagine she thought it.

And when it was done and drained again, I set about looking anew in many of the same places for some tool, any tool, that could be employed to get the front panel off. I again considered the Sawzall.

And then on my third trip to the work bench, I saw our trusty DeWalt cordless drill with the screwdriver attachment on the end. And I thought, "No, it couldn't be this easy, could it?" I removed the screwdriver bit from the bit holder, took the drill downstairs and Halle-f-in-lujah, the thing fit- the bit holder was the exact right size.

And it was even charged!

The Plumbing Gods had made great sport of me enough for one day, I guess.

And also the thing not to miss here is that things generally go better when we do them together.

OK, so we got the panel off in like seconds, and the rest was realatively painless.

No more f-bombs.

And in addition to a good ten ounces of foul smelling blackish gunk the likes of which I had never seen and hope never to see again, here are some of the various and sundry things we found in the drain filter...

Yes, that is a "precision" screw driver.

And yes, that is an entire ball point pen in pieces, most of a pencil, some thread, several pieces of gum, a gum pack wrapper, some thread, a little pewter heart I gave Rachel long ago, nearly a buck in change, a handful of unidentifiable things, and as near as I can tell, a blister pack allergy capsule that held up remarkably well. Rachel took the filter upstairs to be washed while I investigated further.

I was all set to have a stern talk with Jake about emptying his pockets before laundry is done. But then I discovered the real culprit. Surprisingly, the washer ran fine with all of that stuff. But there was something else. Something soggy had gotten past the filter and was blocking the impeller causing the pump to fail. That rusted out screwdriver came in handy for fishing the thing out of the impeller. That grey patch you see is a suede Ray-Bans lens cloth.

And, OK, so I'm the only one with a pair of Ray-Bans. So in the end, I am wet, exhausted, and bleeding a little from one of my fingers, but feeling pretty good still because at least I didn't get anything awful in my mouth and the washer was probalby fixed. But I was also kind of upset to learn that I had pretty much brought all of this upon myself. And honestly, for a second, I considered hiding it. Just stash it in my pocket and no one would be the wiser. Just for a second I considered that.

OK, like maybe ten seconds. And aside from it just being wrong to lie, I was pretty sure that if I did, something awful would end up in my mouth over the course of re-assembling the washer.

Then Rachel appeared in the doorway again.

"Did you get it out?"

"Yes, Hun."

"What was it?"

"Well, I was all set to yell at Jake. But this lens cloth was the real culprit. So I'll yell at myself for a while and you talk to Jake about emptying his pockets."

Now, I have had a few washers over the years. But I have never gone through anything like this before. But I have to figure it happens to everyone. And all of you, and especially those of you with kids, will be very surprised at what you find if you ever check the drain filter of your own washer.

Remember to keep your mouth closed if you ever do.