It was after the second long marathon clothes drying session last Sunday that it happened: the dryer died.

We knew it was going to die. This was the second dryer we'd owned since moving into a house from an apartment in 1994. The first dryer came with our washer, which still works just fine, thank you. A set of used appliances for $200. About two years later, we replaced the first dryer with a slightly newer version of the same model. Bought for $30, it required a bit of fixing up before it would work (a cord and some modifications I won't go into here). Both dryers lived with us through about 10 roommates and countless girlfriends. They were well used, to say the least.

The first one died in the same way as its later counterpart--the drum (the part that rotates all the time) finally broke its bonds and jammed itself into a silent death. And, just like the first one, this dryer did not tread silently into its death. A cacophony of percussive bangs and clinks and bings (not unlike a Roland drum machine controlled by five year olds with too much dexterity) would issue forth every time the dryer was engaged. The noise was loud enough to be heard clearly outside the house. It caused the TV to be turned up to distortion levels. It was a presence that could not be ignored.

But last Sunday it banged its last bang and then a friend (who was drying his clothes at the time, and lived with us when we bought the first two) called over to us. "I think it's really gone this time."

And it was. No teary words of goodbye were said, but I did unplug the cord and pull the chair away from its permanent place in front of the dryer door. A door that never worked correctly, always popping out in the middle of a particularly raucous day of drying clothes. The chair was now displaced from its adoptive lifestyle. The rest of us were trying to contemplate life without a dryer--I was particularly distraught. You see, I only had three clean pairs of underwear left.

Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Or MLK, as it was referred to at work. I didn't get the day off, by the way, which led to a bit of joking about racism at the workplace. We didn't walk out like one school in New Mexico, though. We wanted to get paid, you see. But since Martin Luther King, Jr. Day was a holiday for a few people (governments, banks, a few schools), there were special sales going on. And at Wards, they had an extra 10 percent discount on all appliances--even the ones already on sale.

After work, my brother and I decided to go appliance shopping. We had to recruit a truck-enabled friend to help us take the carcass of our late dryer to a used appliance place (we got $5), and then set out with said friend to the malls. Because the mall is where everyone goes for appliances.

We hit Wards first and found a clearance dryer nearly 100 bucks off its original price, and it looked larger than our old one. But since Wards was the first store we checked out, we didn't want to be impetuous. And, also, Wards didn't actually have dryers to sell on the premises--we had to pay and wait for the dryer to be delivered. Sears, however, had nothing approaching the price we saw at Wards, and walking through the rest of the mall, we realized that Wards was the shit. We did hear a few youngsters looking at the new "white" shirt at the Gap say, "That is dope, boyeee!" Yep, pretty fly for a white shirt.

So the purchase was made at Wards (we had to buy a power cord as well, because apparently dryers don't come with cords attached), and the store was to call when our new dryer made it safely into Albuquerque. Wednesday was the day, our checkout lady said.

Wednesday came, underwear was recycled, the store didn't call. Ditto for Thursday. On Friday, I was considering wearing a diaper made of old t-shirts, so I called the store myself.

A guy named Ernie said, "Oh, that's been in since the 19th, you can come pick it up today." "So it's in?" I confirmed. "Yep, come on by."

We cornered our truck-laden friend once again and sped to the Wards pick up place. The disgruntled young man (with a tongue stud) behind the counter was trying to explain the procedures of getting a TV delivered when his caller hung up on him. He was nice to us, though, until he realized that our dryer was not actually ready for pick-up. Ernie in electronics got a nice tongue-lashing for his mistake.

But Saturday morning brought a call from the store to confirm that, yes, our dryer had finally arrived. By 5 p.m. we had our new dryer, but realized the cord was not with the package. Another quick trip by my brother ended our quest. We had everything needed to dry our clothes.

And today is wash day. My underwear is being tossed with the graceful skill only a new dryer can. And later in the afternoon, our truck-rich (but dryer-less) friends will bring their own clothes over for a run through the process. We have to pay everyone back, y'know. That's how the world and dryer turns.

Matt Worley is looking forward to unsoiled underclothing.