Rage Against the (Washing) Machine

The subject matter today is trivial: my washing machine. But the underlying principles are probably worth considering.

We got our first washing machine a few weeks after our middle son, Economic Sphere, was born, when we moved into our first home, which we rented (for considerably more than we pay for our house payment now, since this was in California). We bought the washing machine and the dryer as a set. Somewhere along the way, maybe after 16 years or so, we needed to replace the dryer, because the heating element gave out. But the washer kept going.

It did a good job. For both boys I did cloth diapers, and all the other grime that goes with growing boys. I don’t mean to minimize the work, but it was doable to put dirty diapers in a pail of water with bleach, and then do wash two days a week. I used a pre-treater, and a detergent with a low amount of allergens. When we didn’t have a water conditioner, I added that, plus a fabric softener.

I had good luck with stains coming out, especially if I caught them before they went through a dryer. Really, I thought I had the laundry task relatively well in hand, all things considered.

Then, a few years ago, the machine gave out. Wouldn’t drain anymore. Wouldn’t agitate. It was pretty much dead. And, after 23 years of service it seemed like time to say farewell.

By this time, the machines on the market were all “high-efficiency.” This word does not mean what you think it means—it does not make doing laundry more efficient for the homemaker. It is supposedly more efficient in use of electricity per load and water per load.

Many of these new washers are front load, but when I listed my essentials for a new machine, I didn’t want a front load. The thing is, almost every week I start a load, turn around and find a sock on the floor or remember a towel or something that needs to get added. If I don’t get it in that load, that item has to sit in the hamper for another week until I get to the next load of that type (whites, light colors, dark colors, reds, and maybe some special load for sheets, blankets, etc.) So I wanted to be able to turn around and add an item in those first few minutes of the cycle—therefore, top load.

We got one. It’s high efficiency, a reliable brand, good ratings in the studies, etc. But while it’s a top load, it still thwarts me. The lid locks. If I find that late sock, I have to press an escape button, hard, hold for several seconds—and hope the machine gets my message. If I’m lucky, it will stop the cycle and unlock. This ends the cycle. I have to start the load over; it doesn’t pick up from where it was.

This is not an improvement.

I used to be able to do a load in the washer in about 40-45 minutes, ahead of the dryer batch, which takes about an hour, maybe 70 minutes for heavy loads. I used to be able to listen for the dryer to end; it signals. Then I would haul the next load upstairs to the laundry. But this new “high-efficiency” machine takes on average 90 minutes for a wash load. So I have to wait, and hope I remember to get upstairs when it’s done. Sometimes I’m still too early, and I’ve made a trip upstairs for nothing.

I don’t know how a machine can function for 90 minutes and use less electricity than the old one did for 45 minutes. I am doubtful that it does. But if there is an electricity savings, I doubt that it’s sufficient to cost me double the time to do laundry for every load the rest of my life. Is my time not worth a few watts of electricity which we pay for?

Then there’s the water problem. Until recently we have been going through what is considered a drought here in Houston—in the range of 42 annual inches of rainfall, rather than 52. We used to live where there was a mere 6 inches of annual precipitation. Under Houston conditions, it’s hard to be overly concerned about using enough water to rinse my clothes. Here’s the thing: the new washer doesn’t believe in using enough water to wash out the detergent.

That white stuff is detergent left after double rinse.

I kid you not, the operation manual says not to be concerned about parts of clothing that seem dry coming out of the machine; they’re still getting clean, it says. Um, no. If no water has soaked into an item of clothing, it is not being “cleaned” just by virtue of being near fabric parts that are getting wet. Not only that, fabric that comes in contact with detergent, conditioner, or fabric softener, but doesn’t get rinsed thoroughly comes out with chemicals on it. See the photo proof.

These particular jeans are a detergent magnet. Maybe because denim is a heavier fabric, I don’t know, but practically every time I wash these pants, they come out with detergent smeared all over, rather than rinsed out. I then have to put them in for another cycle—without adding more detergent. A full cycle, all by themselves, or with a couple of other affected items of similar color.

The machine offers options for smaller size loads. And I can optimize the “high-efficiency” by using less water. But I’ve found that every load must be given the full load treatment, or there is no chance it will get fully wet. Also, there are options for “heavy” load and “extra rinse,” which are essential—every time, without exception. The result on these pants in the photo, smeared with detergent, is after the heavy load, extra rinse option. True also when I find parts of shirts that are still completely dry.

So, not only do I have every load take twice as long as with my old reliable machine, I always use the maximum allowed amount of water. And then I frequently have to double electricity and water yet again by having to re-wash items that didn’t get cleaned. My guess is that, whoever decided I had to buy this kind of machine for the sake of the environment is wrong about both the energy and water usage. My old machine was more efficient. And it was a lot more efficient for me personally.

I complained about this the other night while folding laundry. Mr. Spherical Model kind of rolled his eyes and said I should just always plan on doing a second wash on those pants. Ignore any efforts for efficiency, and just adjust to what is.

That is the practical way. The less practical and more quixotic way, which I am prone to, is to work toward less government interference. Get rid of the regulators. Organize for laundry freedom. And toilet size freedom. And lightbulb freedom. Get government out of my house!

Mr. Spherical Model is sensible in that, if a person is going to make a living, serve in the community, and spend time with family, there’s not a lot of energy left over for raging against the manifold outrages of an overreaching government. Still, to say nothing seems like consent.

I don’t know what the right balance is. For today, I’m giving evidence here, in writing, that government regulators simply do not know as much about the most efficient way for me to do laundry as a woman who has been involved in the ongoing process for several decades. And the Constitution should not be construed to assume I have given my consent.

Let There Be Light Freedom

Regulation is one of those words that have changed through misuse. At the time of the writing of the Constitution, it meant “to allow to be regular, to be expected.” That was what it meant in reference to a well-regulated militia and regulating commerce between the states.

Now it means something more like “rules imposed through government coercion.” I’m against that. I grow more against it with further examination. Even well-meaning regulations (and aren’t they all?) that do not cross my personal choice tend to decay overall freedom (for example, because I don’t smoke, I am not much affected by regulations against smoking).

Here are the facts about today’s regulations:

·         They exceed the proper role of government.

·         Everything that exceeds the proper role of government causes negative, unforeseen consequences.

·         The negative consequences of government regulation almost always result in the exact opposite of the stated purposes of the regulation.

So, whatever your opinion about the utility and value of certain types of light bulbs, government coercion is wrong.

I’m mentioning this now, because January 1, 2014, marked the latest (final?) phase in the imposition of the light bulb control regulation that was signed into law in 2007. You may or may not have already realized you can no longer buy incandescent bulbs 75 watts or larger. The 1-1-2014 phase now includes 60-watt and 40-watt bulbs, the ones you’re most likely to be using around your home.

Soon to be anachronistic incandescent bulb
photo by James Bowe

Technically, you as a consumer are not breaking any laws by buying or using the banned bulbs. So if you Google one of those “myths about light bulbs” articles, you will be told that’s just overreaction by ranting bloggers such as myself. However, they are stopping the manufacture and importation of the banned bulbs. So, you can buy still buy them—as long as the supply lasts, or for about six more months, according to Home Depot, which stockpiled supply more than most. But once the supply runs out, the de facto result is that you as a consumer no longer have the option to buy the cheap, incandescent bulbs you’ve been using all your life.

There are alternatives—expensive ones, but possibly cost-effective, if the bulbs last longer and use less energy. That’s the stated purpose. (To those who accuse me of being a ranting blogger, I would like to calmly point out that the government’s stated purpose includes the insistence that my personal use of incandescent bulbs has a direct effect on the temperature of the planet and the viability of various faraway species like polar bears, whose numbers are climbing. Just saying.)

It doesn’t matter whether alternatives are superior. What matters is—it is not the government’s prerogative to make my consumer choices for me. The light bulb legislation is a classic case study.

Incandescent bulbs are cheap, reliable, and useful. They create a warm glow, and pleasant color. But they are not particularly efficient. The frequently stated percentage is that 90% of the energy is wasted while the useful 10% creates light. Wasted is a relative term, however. The other 90% creates mostly heat. If you had an Easy-Bake Oven as a kid (I did), you can see that was a good thing. Light bulb heat is also useful in incubators for hatching chicks and for some indoor gardening. It’s not a terrible thing in a home otherwise requiring energy for heat.

Are those uses significant enough to override the government mandate? Yes, actually.

Ask the question another way: Is the government’s purpose for controlling purchasing decisions important enough to override valid consumer needs/demands? There shouldn’t have to be a weighing on a scale. As soon as something is placed on the consumer demand side, it outweighs the invalid government purpose—unless the government purpose is rationally recognized as assuring protection of our rights to life, liberty, and property.

I’m trying to connect the dots for government’s role in deciding which current science to honor as sacrosanct enough to require sacrifices from the citizenry. I can’t do it. (Maybe especially when it’s been 23 degrees this week—in subtropical Houston! I know that doesn’t qualify for sympathy from the rest of you suffering from what’s being called the “polar vortex.”)

What I see is that, compared to me, government is really bad at making decisions about what I should purchase. I’m all for innovations, some of which we’re seeing with LED and halogen bulbs. (Here is a good comparison article.) Some of these are still very expensive, but the market, not government coercion, is the best path to innovation and affordability. And way too much of the government coercion has steered us toward compact fluorescent bulbs.

Here’s what I have against fluorescent light bulbs:

·        They’re ugly. The twisty, neon-looking knot is not esthetically pleasing. The light emitted is unpleasant—that’s one of the reasons I hate shopping, because everything looks ugly when the lighting makes your skin look a harsh greenish-purple. I can avoid shopping in fluorescent-lit department stores most of the time, but I can’t avoid my home. I don’t want that unpleasantness surrounding me in my nesting place.

·        They hum. The hum isn’t noticeable to everyone, but it’s enough to be distracting—especially when constant—with some highly sensitive individuals. It’s enough to cause distraction for young kids in schools, interfering with their learning. (Sometimes they get misdiagnosed as ADD and get medicated, when all they really needed was separation from the ugly humming lights.) In adults the hum leads to migraines. The humming is worse if you try to use a dimmer switch. With improved technology, you can now mitigate the dimmer switch hum—if you replace your switch and pay a lot more for the bulbs.

·        They’re expensive. Supposedly they last longer. Unless they’re not upright. Hmm. I have a couple of lamps that use upright bulbs; all the rest of the bulbs in my house are horizontal or slanted downward from ceiling fixtures. Even the porch light, which conceivably could tolerate a squiggly fluorescent bulb, is upside down. So, for me, the costs would not be mitigated by longer lasting bulbs.

But here is the big, main problem: they are dangerous hazardous waste when broken. Sometimes the argument is about how small the effect of mercury would be in the environment in total, compared to the current mercury production from coal-based electricity use. But my concern is about the inevitable breakage in my home. I couldn’t count the number of incandescent bulbs we’ve broken over the years. There was a time, when the boys used to play full-court basketball in our 8-foot-high family room, and the light fixtures were a constant casualty. Cleaning up an incandescent bulb is a relatively small thing: pick up the large glass pieces, vacuum and/or wipe up the rest. Done.

Broken CFL
photo from epa.gov

Compare the clean-up instructions for fluorescents (you can read the actual government instructions here; my abbreviated and only slightly embellished version is below):

1.      Evacuate all living beings, except yourself, whom you have self-appointed as expendable.

2.      Open windows and doors, and then evacuate yourself for 5-10 minutes.

3.      On your way out, shut off central air system. Leave it off for several hours.

4.      While you’re out of the contaminated area, collect the following supplies (which hopefully are not located in the contaminated area):

a.       Cardstock, duck tape, wet wipes, jar with lid or Ziploc bag in which to seal hazardous waste.

b.      Hazmat suit including disposable gloves.

5.      Remove all traces of debris, using your listed supplies, and seal debris and clean-up supplies in container that you will transport to containment facility, so it doesn’t continue to contaminate your home with mercury vapor.

6.      If area is carpeted, follow the clean-up procedure by vacuuming, carefully, with windows still open, and immediately dispose of vacuum cleaner bag as hazardous waste. Follow this procedure (including turning off air system, opening windows, and disposing of hazardous waste vacuum cleaner bag) when vacuuming this area over the next several months.

So, let me explain about Houston. No sane person opens the windows and turns off the air between April and November (pretty much never during the other months either). The humidity is overpowering; a typical day is over 90% humidity. It’s much cheaper to maintain indoor temperature and humidity than to spend hours overtaxing the system to recover non-liquid air. So a single broken bulb is going to wipe out the annual energy savings of the stupid bulbs. (Not to mention that a single presidential vacation easily wipes out the savings of the bulb switchover for a typical small city.)

And apparently the government, so concerned about my safety that it can’t allow me to use incandescent bulbs that might contribute in some incalculable way to the fragility of the planet, is perfectly fine with my being forced to use mercury vapor in my home that I must clean up myself following inevitable breakage—just follow the easy clean-up steps and then simply plan to die early.

We can count on government to make personal consumer choices badly. So, while this law is headache-inducing on that level, what is more difficult to understand is how we—the American people, with liberties guaranteed in our Constitution—have elected officials who pushed this through in the first place and then failed to repeal it before it took effect.

Failing a full repeal, I request (demand) a personal exemption.