Laundry Wars

For those of you that don't know much about me, I live in a triplex in the basement apartment.  Stu and I moved in here two years ago after my mother-in-law's cancer diagnosis.  She owns the building and lives in the second floor apartment with my sister-in-law.  The main floor apartment has housed some of the "special" people in the world, including a fraudster, an inconsiderate couple and their child, Stampy, and our newest tenants - a family of four that happens to include two small children, one of which has tantrums for the bulk of the time that she's home.  The small spawn of satan hits her parents and screams at them - a lot.  I think she's about five years old.  She also beats up on her younger brother. 

Anyway.  We can hear a lot of what goes on upstairs, and it's surprising to me that there seems to be a new trend of hanging out in the master bedroom as opposed to utilizing the living room as a play space.  Now, their apartment can not be classified as small.  It's a 3 bedroom, with an eat-in kitchen and a fairly large living/dining room.  When I was ill (and there's no way that the parents were unaware, the IV stand with all the stuff that goes along with it - except my saline/gravol bags which were in the fridge, was kept out in the share basement area.  They would have seen it when they came downstairs to do laundry) they were really inconsiderate - they let their kids scream in the master bedroom directly above mine, where I spent the majority of my days.

Now, before they moved in, Stu and I had told them about the problems we'd had with the previous tenants and their use of the bedroom for playtime for their kid when we were trying to get some sleep so we could be functional for work the next morning.  They totally agreed about the necessity for consideration for other tenants and promised that they wouldn't do that.  In return they asked that we be cognizant of the fact that the husband worked shift work.  Stu and I said that it would be no problem, and we meant it. 

So, they totally lied.  And despite my desire to blast the tv in the bedroom at 3am, I just can't do it.

However, I can fuck up the wife's laundry schedule. 

The wife, let's call her... Bertha, does laundry throughout the week and has a tendancy to leave stuff in the washer for 3-4 hours before switching it over.  This might not be a problem if it was a private residence, or if there was another washer, but neither are true for this story. 

Last Sunday, while my SIL was doing her laundry (Bertha had commandered the washer/dryer all day Saturday), Bertha snuck down and took my SIL's wash out and popped her own stuff in, despite the fact that my SIL still had a basket of unwashed linens in front of the washing machine and a load still going in the dryer.  Cheeky, no?

As soon as my SIL's laundry was done in the dryer, I took it out and popped the stuff that Bertha had unceremoniously dumped on the dryer in.  When Bertha came down to put her wet clothes in, she was laundry blocked, because I had also removed her stuff from the washer and put my SIL's next load in. 

Here's where living in the basement comes in handy.  It's very easy to open the door and hear when the dryer has stopped.  So, when my SIL's laundry had finished drying, I got her wet linens in and started it up again.  This is what happens, when Bertha takes too long.  I secretly delighted in the door slamming and huffing that went on every time Bertha came down to put her laundry into the dryer.  Stu told me not to take pleasure in such things, but I couldn't help myself. 

I managed to block Bertha from getting a load of laundry finished until 10pm.

I know that I shouldn't feel proud of myself, but I kind of do.

I kind of felt like it was some sort of vindication for all the beastliness that I have to put up with from them on a day to day basis.

Also?

I will totally do it again.

Don't cross me, bitches! I will own your laundry! 

ps. I may or may not have imbibed a few beers while writing this and apologize if I rambled, or things don't make sense.