Die Wasche

Ok,

So the Swiss are serious about the laundry. Well, they are serious about a lot of things, but on the domestic front, laundry is one serious fucking issue.

Here is the deal. Public laundromats are rare and based on an unscientific sampling (of one), nasty, expensive and poorly maintained. Must not be much money in it. Every apartment building here seems to have a special room in the basement with a washing machine. They do not use dryers, at least in the ones that we have been in, instead they have a bunch of lines strung to hang dry.

The better places have a dehumidifier and fan arrangement that dries the laundry quite quickly. Other places (the one we are in now) just have the lines strung up, so in a damp winter it is at least two days til dry.

So the entire building has the use of the laundry room, but there is no interest in sharing it. Times and dates are assigned for each apartment and a schedule is posted in the laundry room. Woe unto you if you:

1) Do laundry out of turn.
2) Leave any sort of mess.
3) Forget to turn off the water, turn off the power, clean the filter in the base of the machine, forget to leave the little drawer for the detergent in the closed position.
4) Leave laundry up past your alloted time because it is not dry yet.

There must have, at some time in the past, been a nationwide rash of laundry theives, or maybe laundry perverts, because there is a key for every laundry room that hangs on an appropriate hook. When it is your turn, you are supposed to take the key and lock the door. This prevents anyone from stealing your tighty whiteys or sniffing your panties, which is clearly a risk in the safest, most law abiding country I have ever visited.

Based on another unscientific sample, if you are over 45, you will probably take the key and lock the door, thereby protecting the family jewels or something. Younger people generally could care less and tend to be much looser about doing laundry out of turn.

In every place we have stayed, laundry has been a big deal. It was the biggest deal when we spent a month in Hönng. At this place they had all the bells and whistles, and I would feel quite comfortable eating off the floor. Spotlessly clean. So we came in like typically clueless Americans (in our defense, we had just gotten here and had no clue). In this place, 8 apartments shared the wash room. So things were strict. You have from 6pm the night before until 6pm the evening of your turn to get yo shit washed.

The first wash, I was late getting the drying laundry out. It made sense to me, yeah the stuff was on the line, but we were only taking a small portion of the room and it was really close to dry, needed maybe another hour. The washers here are super slow, so it was at least an hour before a load could be done. No dice, we get a knock on the door. I tried to explain my position in my pidgen german, but I was told in no uncertain terms to get my nasty cloth out now so that the woman whose turn it was could "let me do my thing" which sounded really funny when she said it in english.

The second time, Jill did the down comforters, as Sofia had a little incident. She neglected to clean up some feathers and the filter on the machine. We get another knock on the door. This time at 7am.

So now we have moved into a new place, the wash room is shared by only 4 apartments, which makes it easier, but the schedule is set up so you have half a week every other week. Well, everyother week is pretty tough when a) you have been traveling for the last week, your clothes are dirty and you missed the first turn cause of the schedule. b) you arrived here in suitcases that you took on the plane and only have enough underware and socks for about 8 days. c) you have a very active 1 year old, who is growing out of half her clothes, is fascinated with ink pens and anything else dirty and has no real control of bladder or poop functions which leads to "incidents".

Well, since we actually have a lease and are here in this place on an official level, I made it my mission to bring about some changes.

The big deal is Frau Prousser who has lived on the second floor for the past 30I years. Not only does this woman have nothing to do, and thus is in your business all the time but she expects her wash days every other week to remain completely unchanged. She also speaks no english.

We had just moved in after travelling to Venice and staying in another apartment. We managed to get some wash done, but a week into the deal we were in pretty desperate shape. The laundry door was locked, someone had the key, we were recycling underware, not a good scene. So I talked to the woman whose turn it was (a perfectly reasonable couple underneath us who have yet to complain about Sofia slamming heavy objects on the floor randomly and late) and she said she was almost done and we could step in on her turn and get our laundry done.

Great, saved by the bell. So I am down there like the dutiful Hausmann that I have become and doing laundry. Frau Prousser comes down to chat, and we try to find some common ground. I suggest, since the end of the year is coming, that we need to change some things. Maybe a little bit of flexibility, maybe we could share the room on occasion or something.

She doesn't like this and complains to the neighbors. So now the neighbors are up in arms, worried that she will complain to the landlord. Typically American, complaints to the landlord scare me about as much as bannana pudding, which is to say not much. Now Frau Prousser's complaint is not based on anything other than the perception that we might do something wrong. Of course, in between loads, we had neglected to leave the little detergent drawer open, which is a serious offense in the world of Frau Prousser. Why she is going into the laundry room when it isn't her turn is anybodies guess, nonetheless, she complained to the neighbors, who felt is so serious that they had to come with a bottle of wine to discuss the serious situation developing in Die Wasche.

Ok, whatever, groovy. We got our laundry done, we have some stuff still hanging in the room, but by now it has moved into our turn and we would even have the right to take the bloody key and stop Frau Prousser from sniffing our underware. The old woman comes and knocks on our door and wants to make sure that come mid-day tomorrow when our turn is over (more than 24 hours away at this point) that we would have our shit out of the laundry room.

She was very insistant and repeated several times to make up for my bad german, how important it was that she have the laundry all to herself exactly as scheduled at noon. Man, they even complain if they think you might do something wrong, and they are not bashful about telling you. The Swiss are all about "trust but verify".

Right on.