He sits, poised, waiting. He checks his watch. Zero-hour approaches. He sliently inches toward his target, armed with all the necessary battle equipment.

There! In the distance! He can hear it. He can feel it. He can even smell it. He creeps toward his prey. Suddenly, all is silent. Time to attack!

He pounces on his prey and immediately begins to disembowel the beast. Its insides go flying in every direction. He doesn't care how much of a mess he makes -- he has only one thing in mind -- CONQUER at any cost!

Finally, it was his! He had conquered and claimed it. No one else could have it!

So begins this typical Saturday morning in the dorm laundry room.

Vigilantes who had arisen before the sun to stake their claim on their machines were no match for this warrior. As soon as their clothes were done, dry or not, he would drag them out and place them aside to make room for his.

"Mine have been sitting in the washer for half an hour. It was time they got their turn at a dryer," he reasons.

He puts in two quarters -- 52 minutes. "Plenty of time to get the job done -- and I'll do the rest later."

He meticulously calculates his next moves and plans his next strike. He checks his watch several times, just to be sure. Then he proceeds to handle other matters.

"Hi, Sweetheart! Are you ready?"

"Almost. Let me finish this one thing, and I'll be down."

Oh, no! Had he allowed time for this? "Sure thing. Love you!"

They march over to the Mess Hall and get powdered eggs and sausage. "Military Rations not up to their usual standards," he muses to himself. He checks his watch again.

"You said we had to keep this short, right?"

"Well, we don't have to rush."

Oh yes we do! You don't know what's at stake!

They finish a little behind schedule, much to the dismay of this proud soldier. They make their way over to the library, where the soldier and his beloved must part company.

"I wish I could stay, but I don't want to leep you from studying." But what he really meant was, "I'm off schedule and timing is essential!"

He rushes back to the battlefield. Much to his amazement, he had lost the battle before it had begun. Not only were all of the dryers now full, his laundry had been carelessly piled on top of Dryer #8.

"TWO MINUTES! I was TWO MINUTES late! Couldn't they have waited TWO MINUTES!"

His blood begins to boil. He stuffs his laundry into his laundry bag and heads back to his Command Post to regroup. "This means WAR! I will OWN those dryers!"

He gathers up enough quarters to last him a month, packs up all of his laundry -- even the towels he wasn't even going to bother with and the jeans he was thinking of re-wearing -- and even grabs his roommate's laundry basket. This was a full-scale operation.

He arrives on the scene and checks all five dryers. Precisely on time. He checks the washing machines -- all empty. It was now or never!

Phase One kicks into operation. The fighter fills all five washing machines and starts them all at one-minute intervals. He checks his watch -- 22 minutes until the first one is done. Confirmed.

Phase Two now takes effect -- re-claim the dryers. He places his roommate's laundry basket on Dryer #2, his own laundry bag on #4, his detergent on #8, and his fabric softener on #10. #6 was fair game -- it barely worked anyway.

Phase Three. He sets up camp in the corner of the room. From here, he can see all five dryers and their green light-up displays.

One by one, the dryers stop. Of course, no one comes to claim their precious belongings. That's OK. He can handle it.

He checks his watch. Two minutes and counting. Time for the ultimate -- Phase Four. He unloads every dryer and throws their contents on top. He gathers his equipment and stores it back at his camp. He cleans the lint screens and inserts two quarters into every machine. He even leaves the dryer doors open for quick access. Now all he has to do is load his laundry and select the cycle.

He checks his watch. It's time! He checks the displays on the washers to confirm. Exactly as he predicted -- #1, one minute remaining. #3, two minutes. #5, three minutes. #7, four minutes. #9, five.

Suddenly, #1's timer goes to zero. He leaps over, drags his soaking t-shirts out and throws them into Dryer #10. Dryer sheet. Check. Lint filter. Check. Door shut. (Slam!) Check. Select cycle. Check. The monster comes to life.

Now for #3. They go in #8. Then #5 goes in #6. That's OK. They weren't that wet. Besides, if he is to own all five dryers, he has to own this one as well. #7 goes into #4. And finally, #9 goes into #2. All set! "I shall return in ..." he checks his watch, "exactly 48 minutes." He struts off, triumphant.

45 minutes later, he begins to tense up. Zero-hour was approaching, he could feel it! He checks his watch. 3 minutes. He decides to begin his descent into the War Zone early. An uneasiness covers him. "This is it! Here we go!" He inserts two of his precious quarters into a vending machine. "Nothing like caffine to calm the nerves," he thinks aloud.

One minute and counting! He stealthily appraoches. Suddenly, he feels another's presence. He is not alone. Someone is watching.

"Hey, Ricky! How's it going?"

He had been spotted! Just play it cool! "Oh, fine, Jason! What are you up to?"

"Laundry Day."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"I've also been watching basketball. You think UNC has a shot at the title?"

"Don't know." Who can think of basketball at a time like this?! There's a WAR going on!

He silently and swiftly unloads #10 and cleans the lint filter. He dumps these t-shirts into his roommate's laundry basket. Now for #8. Socks and ... other things. He unceremoniously stuffs these into his laundry bag. Bur right now speed matters more than neatness.

"Oh no!" he shouts to himself. "What do I do?! I don't have any more room! ... Room ... That's it! ROOM!" ... "Hey, Jason. I'll be right back!"

"Sure thing."

He races up to his room and throws open the door. He dumps the clothes into a huge mound on the floor, grabs the basket and bag, locks up, and dashes back downstairs.

Oh, horror of horrors! Oh, the carnage! #2 and #4 had been gutted! His laundry was scattered all over the tops of these two dryers.

"Thanks, Jason ..." he mutters. Luckily, for Jason that is, that culprit had fled the scene and was not worthy of being chased. Besides, Private Duval had to salvage his poor, defenseless laundry that had been so brutally mistreated by such a trusted friend.

Finally, #6. The towels in there were still all wet. Big surprise from #6, but Private Duval did not have time for this.

"OK," he thinks. "I have more quarters. I'll just run them through again, on another one. 2 & 4 are taken. Let's try 8 or 10."

But as soon as he turns, he knows that his worst nightmare had come true. Those two had been stolen! "By who?" he wonders. "I guess the guy whose laundry was on top. Guess it wasn't dry."

So Private Duval throws his wet towels on top of his freshly dried jeans and colored things and storms off to the room.

Exactly 50 minutes later, he creeps down the stairs, wet towels in hand. He places his towels on top of #8 and waits for it to finish. As soon as it does, he drags out the clothes and throws in the towel. He punches the correct setting, fidgets with his watch, slams in two quarters, and heads back up to the room to fold clothes.

He returns, precisely on schedule, to collect his final piece. As he walks in the door, the timer on #8 goes to zero. He extracts his newly dry towels and even cleans the lint filter. He holds his towels up triumphantly and struts back to the room.

"Finally!" he thinks. "Mission Accomplished!"

Written by Ricky Duval, college Freshman, March 16, 1996.
Computer version entered Monday, May 12, 2003.