The Purple Sludge Debacle of 2010

I live in the basement of a house that's been converted into an office building. Have I ever mentioned that? Well, I do. That's where I live, and I have a room at the bottom of the stairs. I like to call it my studio, but it isn't, because, of course, I have to climb the stairs to use the kitchen, use the bathroom, enter or exit the house. The living situation isn't altogether convenient, but it is affordable.
It's odd living in an office. It's odd hearing everyone parade in at 9 every morning. It's odd having a day off when they're all working. It's odd seeing signs posted everywhere. Some of the signs are your normal, run of the mill, signs (there's one of the garage door that read 'Please do not take garbage out of the garage as it attracts cats.' There's another beside the toilet that says, 'Please hold lever down well--4 or 5 seconds if necessary—to clear the basin.' There's another by the sink that reads 'Please wash and dry your dishes. Keep team life sweet.') Some of the signs are a little passive agressive (there's another one beside the sink that reads on one side, 'Don't use this sink unless you want to clean up crap off the floor.' This has been crossed out, and on the other side, someone else has written, 'Sink: out of order'). See what I mean? Living in an office is odd, and while I hate the idea of finishing my 2 year contract and leaving France in 3 months, I am very ready to have my own place.
So, what spurred these thoughts?
Today, I woke up early and ran a load of laundry. It took almost three hours which struck me as odd. I took out the laundry, and my clothes were covered in purple lint and still soaking wet. The machine was still filled with water. Not a good sign. I ran a “Vidage”--emptying--cycle, but the water remained.
Once the office staff was in, I walked upstairs and reported the broken machine. The accountant followed me down, and said, “It sure does stink down here, doesn't it?”
I hadn't really noticed, but as we neared the laundry room, I had to agree. It smelled of hair dye.
To make a long story short, the accountant opened up the basin where the water was draining from the machine. The basin was filled with purple sludge. Purple stinking sludge. Someone had washed a purple, shag rug in the machine.
I spent the rest of my morning scooping purple sludge out of the basin with a kitchen spoon. All the while, I thought, 'I'd really love to have my own place'—I'd love to know exactly who's using the washing machine and to know what they're putting in it. Is this a little controlling? Maybe.
But for now, I live in an office. I live in a bedroom across from the stairs. And, of course, it does have its benefits. The office staff had a lunch today (I was invited. I went. I ate better than I have in weeks.), and they had leftover cheese and baguette. Now, rewarding myself after this sludge-filled day, I'm eating Brie, baguette, and drinking my Fruits de Verger tea.
Life isn't so bad after all, is it? Everything has its perks.