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 OFFICIAL BUSINESS · EST. 1994 The Lost Sock Bureau of Investigation Headquartered at Washateria Las Burbujas · El Paso, Texas Por la verdad y el par. (For truth, and the pair.) |
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¡Bienvenidos! I'm Brenda, and since 1994 I've owned Washateria Las Burbujas here in El Paso: forty washers, thirty dryers, eight folding tables, a change machine, a TV, and the coldest air conditioning on the east side. In five and a half years I've seen just about everything come out of a washing machine. Quarters, crayons, a set of false teeth (returned), a goldfish cracker that went through a full cycle and came out whole (not returned; it's in a jar on my desk). But the one thing I find every single day is a sock. One sock. Never two. Never a pair. That first fall, in 1994, one of my Tuesday regulars, a retired mail carrier, lost a sock in Washer 7, and he leaned on my counter and said, very serious, "Brenda, I want an investigation." So I opened one. I made him a case number. And the Lost Sock Bureau of Investigation has been on the case ever since. Customers are never named here, ever. Socks are described in full. |
| CASE FILES |
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CASE NO. 94-001 "THE ARGYLE" COMPLAINANT: Retired mail carrier, Tuesday regular since the week we opened. MISSING: One (1) argyle sock, navy and maroon, hand-knit by his sister in Las Cruces. LAST SEEN: Going into Washer No. 7, October 1994. STATUS: OPEN NOTES: The first case of the Bureau. He still checks the Wall every Tuesday, and so do I. He wears the other one on Sundays, with a plain black one. "So it remembers," he says. |
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CASE NO. 96-014 "THE LITTLE PINK ONE" COMPLAINANT: Young mother of twins. MISSING: One (1) baby sock, pink, lace cuff, size 0-3 months. LAST SEEN: Dryer No. 3. STATUS: SOLVED NOTES: Turned up eleven days later inside the leg of her husband's work pants, which had been through two more washes and one more dry by then. The sock was fine. The husband was surprised. |
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CASE NO. 97-031 "THE LUCKY SOCK" COMPLAINANT: Mother of a high school football player. A lineman, by the size of the sock. MISSING: One (1) white tube sock, two red stripes, worn every Friday night since ninth grade and, per his mother, "not washed during the season, which is why I'm here in December." LAST SEEN: Washer No. 22. STATUS: OPEN NOTES: He graduated in 1998. His mother says he still mentions it. I've told her the Bureau never closes a case. |
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CASE NO. 98-007 "THE CHRISTMAS SOCK" COMPLAINANT: A grandmother, every other Thursday, with the grandkids' things. MISSING: One (1) red sock with a green reindeer, child's size. LAST SEEN: December 1997, Dryer No. 12. STATUS: SOLVED NOTES: Found in February, stuck by static inside the sleeve of a fleece sweatshirt that had been folded, put away, worn, and brought back to be washed again. Two months in a sleeve. Static cling is the leading cause of disappearance in this Bureau's experience. See Theories. |
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CASE NO. 99-022 "THE INTERVIEW" COMPLAINANT: A young man, Sunday night, with his only good clothes. MISSING: One (1) black dress sock. Job interview Monday morning at 9. LAST SEEN: Folding Table No. 2. STATUS: CLOSED NOTES: Not found. But a black dress sock is a black dress sock, so I gave him one off the Wall. He got the job. He brought the sock back the next Saturday, washed and folded, with a thank-you card. Ay, mijo. It's the best case we ever closed. |
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CASE NO. 99-040 "THE SEVEN" COMPLAINANT: A family of six. Saturday mornings, four washers at once. MISSING: Seven (7) socks, all different, one load, August 14, 1999. LAST SEEN: Going into the laundry bag at home. STATUS: UNDER INVESTIGATION NOTES: Nothing in the machines. Nothing in the seals. Nothing on the floor. The family has two teenagers. I'm not accusing anybody. I'm only writing it down. See Theories, number 5. |
| THEORIES EXAMINED |
| 1. THE LINT TRAP The lint screen is a fine mesh. Lint gets through to it. A sock doesn't. In five years I've pulled out lint, coins, gum wrappers, bobby pins and one library card. Never a sock. RULING: RULED OUT. |
| 2. THE WASHER DOOR SEAL On front-loading washers there's a thick rubber seal around the door, with a fold in it. Small things get tucked into that fold during the spin and stay there when you unload. I check every seal every morning, and I find socks in them every week. RULING: CONFIRMED. |
| 3. THE TOP-LOADER ESCAPE Once in a great while, in a top-loading machine, a small sock slips over the top edge of the inside tub and ends up underneath it, where only my repairman can go. Twice in five years. RULING: CONFIRMED, BUT RARE. |
| 4. STATIC CLING The big one. In the dryer, a sock sticks to the inside of a sweater sleeve, a pant leg, a pillowcase, or worst of all, the corner of a fitted sheet. It gets folded up inside whatever it's stuck to and goes home without anybody knowing. The fitted sheet is the most dangerous object in laundry. I've said it for years. RULING: CONFIRMED. LEADING CAUSE. |
| 5. TEENAGERS Not at the washateria. At home. A teenager needs one clean sock, takes one clean sock, and leaves the other one for you to find. I raised one. I know. RULING: CONFIRMED (AT HOME). |
| 6. THE SOCK-EATING GNOME Brought to the Bureau by a customer's little boy, age six, with a drawing in crayon. I examined the evidence carefully. Then I looked under every machine in the building with a flashlight. I found $3.40 in change, a hair clip and a dried-up french fry. No gnome. I kept the drawing. It's on the Wall. RULING: REJECTED. (Sorry, mijo.) |
| 7. THE SOCKS LEAVE ON THEIR OWN TO START A NEW LIFE Proposed by my sister. No evidence either way. Some days I understand how they feel. RULING: UNDER REVIEW. |
| THE WALL OF UNCLAIMED SOCKS |
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The big cork bulletin board by the change machine. Every sock found in the building gets a thumbtack and a little tag with the date and where it turned up. After 90 days they go in the Lone Sock Box by the door, free to anybody, and what's left at the end of the year goes to the church down the street for the Vacation Bible School sock puppets. Here's what's on the Wall this week: 08/02 Child's, white, yellow duck. Dryer 4. 08/09 Men's black dress, gold-colored toe. Washer 30. 08/14 Knee sock, school-uniform navy. Washer 11. 08/20 Athletic, white. "PROPERTY OF" in marker; the rest washed out. 08/27 Wool hiking sock, gray. In August. In El Paso. Dryer 9. 09/03 Baby, mint green. Folding Table 2. 09/07 Tube sock, red and blue stripes. (Not Case 97-031. Wrong stripes. We checked.) 09/11 Christmas sock, a snowman. Very early, or very late. 09/17 Brown argyle dress sock. (Not Case 94-001. He came in and looked. He was very nice about it.) 09/21 Ankle sock, pink, one red heart. Washer 2 door seal. Recognize one? Come by, or e-mail me a description. Bring the other one. |
| SINGLE SOCKS SEEKING PARTNERS |
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Readers send me their single socks (descriptions only, please, not the socks) and I post them here. If you think you've got the match, write me, and I'll put you in touch through the Bureau. Has it ever worked? Once. Two plain white ankle socks, one in Las Cruces and one in Alamogordo, and honestly, they could have been anybody's. But both parties were very happy. Rachel, Las Cruces, N.M. One navy knee sock, white stripe at the top. Seeks same. Enjoys long walks. Edwin, Odessa, Tex. One brown dress sock, slightly darker than the other brown dress sock. Not looking for anything serious. Lori, Tucson, Ariz. Toddler sock, red, with a smiling whale. Lost its partner at a restaurant. Partner may still be in a booster seat somewhere. Francis, Albuquerque, N.M. Gray wool sock, hand-knit by my mother. Will not settle for anything store-bought. Martha, El Paso. Purple, yellow polka dots. If you have the other one, you know it, and so do I. Robert, Phoenix, Ariz. One white athletic sock. Like every other white athletic sock. Very open-minded. Pamela, San Antonio, Tex. One sock with the days of the week on it: Thursday. Looking for Wednesday, or Friday. Would also consider Tuesday. Jesse, Lubbock, Tex. Black ankle sock. Low maintenance. Doesn't need much. |
| THE HONEST FAQ |
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No jokes in this part. This is what five and a half years of other people's laundry has taught me. So where do the socks really go? Almost always, inside something else. Check the sleeves of sweaters and sweatshirts, the legs of pants, anything inside-out, pillowcases, and the corners of fitted sheets. Then check the door seal of a front-loading washer, between your car seat and the door, the bottom of the laundry basket, and behind the hamper at home. In this Bureau's experience the sock is nearly always in one of those places. How do I stop losing them? Wash socks in a zippered mesh bag, the kind sold for delicates. One bag for each person in the family, if you want to get fancy, and nobody ever has to sort socks again. Shake out every piece of clothing as you take it out of the dryer. Count socks going in and coming out. And if you really want peace in your life, buy all the same kind. Can a dryer eat a sock? No. A dryer drum is solid. Once in a great while a top-loading washer can lose a small sock over the edge of the tub. If you ever see something slip down the side, stop the machine and come get me or the attendant. Don't reach in. What happens to things left in the machines? Everything goes into the lost and found behind the counter for 90 days, with a tag. Socks go on the Wall. Money goes in an envelope with the date. Teeth get a phone call. |
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Washateria Las Burbujas · El Paso, Texas (555) 555-0147
Why Choose Us
[email protected] Cases reviewed since the Bureau went online:     Brenda, Owner and Chief Investigator Last updated Saturday, September 25, 1999 | ||||||||||||||||||||||