Gag. I did it. I drove back into the heart of civilization, or at least its suburban edges. Shopping didn’t need to be done, and yet, the want was strong. My tiny house is outside a small town, which seems big compared to where I lived until recently, but such small places don’t have appliance stores. I wanted a washer/dryer. That went well, so far; a bit pricier than I expected. I learned a few things. I also solidified two stereotypes. Compare and contrast: someone who enjoys their work, and someone who seems to think showing up is sufficient. An interesting day, and one when a salesperson missed out on a $1,000 sale. The helpful one got a >$2,000 sale.

For those interested in the tiny house life, I’m chronicling mine on one of my other blogs, https://www.mytinyexperiment.com/. Can a man over 60, over two feet tall, and over 200 pounds live in a tiny house? Duh. 

Yeah. But, it doesn’t have a washer and dryer. My house is tiny, but barely so. In Jefferson County (WA), the cutoff seems to be 400 square feet. My house is 391 square feet. There’s enough room for a washer/dryer, but one hasn’t been installed. The house was built in 2006, so I guess there’s a good chance that there have been lots of laundromat trips since then. That’s a lot of quarters.

That’s what I’ve been doing since I moved in almost five months ago. It is fine, or at least fine enough. So, I don’t Need a washer/dryer, but it would save me a lot of time when all I want to do is wash my clothes after a hike or before a dance. Ten minutes there, ten minutes back, an hour and a half in the middle for the cleaning, and dollars in quarters. Then, of course, in the autumn of 2024, the laundromat is a central point for the pandemic, politics, and a slice of American life. 

Life is more than meeting needs. That’s survival, and a fine place to start, but living benefits from a little bit more.

Pardon me as I clear my throat because a washer/dryer is not “a little bit.” Eep! But, hey, I got a sale item for ~$2,000 (+tax). Tiny houses get to deal with specialized equipment that isn’t made in as great a quantity. The price goes up as the size goes down. Forget side-by-side. Think stacked appliances, or in my case with a bit of a splurge, a 2-in-1 unit: wash then dry without having to move the clothes from one machine to the other. Bonus: That leaves the space above the unit available to hang clothes, or install some shelves, or…

I think I calculated this somewhere, but I’ll do it here, just to be sure.

My new old (2006) tiny house : $76,500 / 391 square feet = $195/square foot
Washer/dryer ~ 30 inches wide and deep = 900 square inches = 6.25 square feet
The value of the house’s square footage occupied by the washer/dryer = $1,218

For me, that puts the price of the washer/dryer in some perspective. 

BTW the similar-sized tiny next door is new and ~$130,000. (Won’t you be my neighbor?) 
$130,000/$76,500 = 1.7
1.7 x $1,218 = $2,070

(Numbers truncated rather than rounded up because this analysis does not require that level of precision.)

The additional inspiration for this post was the person who worked me through the modern technology and prices. I didn’t ask if I could mention them by name, so please pardon lots of pronouns.

Let’s see. The last time I bought a washer and a dryer (seperate units) was 2005. Do you know prices have gone up since then? A close friend bought a nice pair several years ago, so I knew to expect more than ‘twist the dial and push it to operate it. I appreciate the honest laugh when my guess at electrian’s hourly rates was off enough to be an anachronism. And yet, he was professional and friendly, even before I bought anything. Stay tuned, because I’ll post the rest of the experience on one of these blogs after it is delivered, installed, and completed its first load.

That <$2,000 was an ouch (#understatement), but it was less than I was quoted at an orange Big Box Store. The place that got the sale was a local chain that specializes in appliances. They actually knew what they were talking about. The person in the orange Big Box Store seemed only interested in selling me the most expensive unit, even after I pointed out that there were cheaper units that would also fit. He said they wouldn’t. My tape measure and the manufacturer’s spec sheet said they all would. He didn’t get the sale.

Whew. It was a drive of dozens of miles to get to Silverdale, a fine town by the water, but it is known for its row of strip malls and big box stores. I’ll spare you some of the shopping trip and skip to the last stop.

I need a new phone. Well, maybe not need, but nine-year-old electronics are far past middle-aged. It is time to retire it. Besides, after my recent move, I’ve been updating lots of things I hung onto for years because I was in too much debt. Now that I am debt-free I can un-defer some deferred expenditures.

A new phone can be simple enough, but I’m also a photographer, post videos, and run a YouTube channel (search on tetrimbath). Ideally, I want a selfie-stick, not for selfies, but because with the right one, my phone videos would no longer make people seasick, or make them think the world is tilted. (Oh, no! The ocean is going to spill out of the frame!)

Welcome to a young man in the phone store. He looked relaxed and casual. Ready to sell me something. No waiting. 

As long as we were talking about the phone, he would point (literally) to a few of them. He knew which one had the best camera, but he didn’t know any of the specifics. He encouraged me to use any of them to find out more by exploring their settings. Anyone could do it. I asked the same question at a similar store months ago, but because of illnesses, it was a one-man show with a long line of people, some of whom were obviously anxious. But, at least he tried. He checked in with each of us to see if our issues could be easily resolved. I wasn’t in a rush. He was having a bad day. I wish him well.

Remember me mentioning the selfie stick? The one I plan to use is ~$250. It’s good. I’ll spare you the details. The phone that pairs with it is ~$1,000, plus a service plan. Today’s guy’s response was the same as with the phone. Basically, look it up yourself. Smile. I’ve had better service when buying a yoga mat. I bowed out, apologizing for imposing upon his time. I wondered if his seat was still warm.

Rather than being irate, I was disappointed. But then, his store was in a less-energetic location. It is in an old-style one-level shopping mall; basically, a strip mall with a roof over it. It is convenient, and much more relaxing than watching for the chaotic traffic of left turns and convoluted concrete parking lots. (I’m a fan of creativity, but when it comes to a commercial zone a grid can be a good thing.)

The big appliance store was a smaller chain, and off on its own. They have big boxes to handle, but they aren’t a big box store. And they’re friendly. 

The big box stores were along an interweaving and overlapping series of asphalt parking lots with no apparent organization. Not required, but appreciated. Also, some fascinating and incredible driving events. (Dude, your car sounds loud, but didn’t you see that the next light is only a few hundred feet away? A bicycle will get you there faster.)

Stereotypes. Don’t like ’em. Yet, my day of few data points was firming them up.

One other stop was a loyalty stop: REI. It is an (inter?)national outdoor outfitter, though I am old enough to remember it when it was one store between Pike and Pine (Seattle), the same era of Starbucks’ Pike Place market location.

There may have been more helpers than customers, but rather than simply showing up for work, they kept themselves busy, offering more help than I needed (but not too much), and with good stories about good hiking trips they’ve taken. (Congrats again on the Wonderland Trail. Been there. Done that. Miss it. One lap of Mt. Rainier and sights few others see.) 

One of my favorite Christmas presents was an REI jacket from about thirty years ago. Thirty years of hiking, skiing, bicycling, and, of course, everyday wear (as conditions suggested) and the elbows were thinning, the sleeves stretched out, and the main zipper would unzip itself. Oops. Time for a refresh. It took a while, but after looking past the clothes made more for fashion ($300?!) than for function, I found a replacement for $60. REI made, or at least an REI label.

Loyalty, frugality, friendliness, community, caring,… they’re worth something.

By the way, as my finances allow, I also may replace my fridge and swap out a propane range for an induction one equipped with a convection oven. I’m sure it isn’t even a guess of where I intend to shop for them.

Oh, and for that phone? That store in almost an hour in the opposite direction, and I’ll gladly make that drive.

As for the rest of my shopping: Shop Local with the businesses who are willing to live in a smaller and quieter town.