Somewhere out there is a naughty, naughty correspondent in soft, sparkling whites
EDITOR'S NOTE: The following information was handed to me by an air courier who dropped from a black helicopter in the dead of night, and just as swiftly melted into the darkness. Like any good journalist, I refuse to reveal my sources. Besides, I think if I told on my source, the Laundry Mafia would probably have me rubbed out.
I'm writing from a safe place. I'm sorry to be so vague, but anything more specific and I might accidentally reveal my whereabouts to the authorities. And if they find me... well, let's just say they aren't gentle with lawbreakers.
Today, I put down a dollar and bought half a kilo of illegal powder that came up from Mexico. I just used some tonight, and it's as good as my sources claimed it would be. If I can manage not to blow my cover, I think I'll return to my local supplier and get some more when I eventually run out.
But even as I write, I can't help but wonder what will happen if they ever catch up to me. I'm not sure what the penalties are for buying and using a controlled substance. Will they go easy on me because I'm a first-time user, or will they throw the book at me?
Where do they send the scofflaws who use phosphate laundry detergent?
The History
In the United States, phosphates weren't always the hiss and byword they are today. From the 1940s to the late 1960s, phosphate was the most popular builder in laundry detergent—it made detergent more effective and got clothes cleaner in multiple water conditions, including hard water. Then, in the 1970s, phosphates began to get a bad rap. Runaway eutrophication—the process by which algae and aquatic plants use up all the available oxygen in the water—was traced to the use of phosphate detergents and the lingering presence of phosphates in the water supply. Over time, phosphate detergents have been banned from production and use in all 50 states.
There's a few problems with making phosphates into the villain, though. Eutrophication can't happen with phosphates alone—it also requires high levels of nitrogen and other pollutants in the water. Phosphates themselves are relatively harmless, even beneficial—organic phosphates, for instance, are a major component of human DNA. Further, not all phosphates have been banned for use in the U.S.—they still appear with regularity in automatic dishwasher detergent, toothpaste, beauty products, and as an additive in packaged meats. Institutional laundries, such as those found in schools, industries and prisons, still routinely use phosphate detergents. But the U.S. Government, in its infinite wisdom, has declared that Joe Sixpack may not use the dreaded phosphate to clean his own clothing (damn The Man!).
The thing is, in areas where hard water is prevalent, phosphate-free detergents just don't cut it. Clothes washed in hard water with non-phosphate detergent come out looking grayish and feeling harsh after only a few washings, thanks to the combination of hard water minerals and soap curd that get ground into the clothes. Phosphate detergent is still the best way to soften hard water for laundry—it's not as alkaline as other water softeners, it's easier on the clothing fibers and extends the life of your washing machine, and it rinses away cleanly, leaving clothing soft and non-scratchy.
Quest for Contraband
The more I read about phosphate detergent, the more determined I became to find some and try it for myself. But where to look? Phosphate detergent hasn't been manufactured in the U.S. for some 30 years.
Ah, but look south, my friends! Mexico has never banned the use of phosphates in detergent, and sodium tripolyphosphate (the most common phosphate additive) is alive and well south of the border. Perhaps a visit to my local mercado latino might be in order.
From certain sources on the Internet, I'd picked up the idea that Procter & Gamble's Ariel brand laundry detergent—specifically the formulation made in Mexico—was what I wanted. (There are formulations of Ariel made in the U.S., but as you might expect they're phosphate-free.) As I wandered casually down the aisles of the mercado, my eyes lit on a pile of little blue-green bags with bright red letters, each filled with an aqua-blue powder. Praise NAFTA! "Hecho en Mexico," the bag pronounced confidently—and the ingredients listed the magic words I'd been looking for: "tripolifosfato de sodio." I had hit the mother lode. And all for the pittance price of 99 cents per 500-gram bag!
Swiftly gathering up two illegal baggies, I made my way casually to the register. Conversation was quiet and limited, and I wished in retrospect that I'd brought my shades along. With the transaction finally over, I stilled my beating heart with difficulty and forced myself to walk, not run, to the car.
The Test Run
Once in the safe harbor of my laundry room, I encountered my first quandary: how much Ariel to use. The bag said something about a "Practi-Taza," a plastic measuring cup for the Ariel, but to get one I'd have to call a customer support center in Mexico. I decided that eyeballing it would probably suffice for the first try, so I filled my top-loader with dark clothes, added water and sprinkled in a half-cup of Ariel once it began to agitate.
FOAM! Glorious, sparkling white foam! (You must realize that in hard-water areas, foam is a rare occurrence.) I hoped I hadn't added too much, but the foam seemed to calm down a bit after a minute or two. Just to be sure, I put the load through a second rinse before tossing it into the dryer. In future I'll probably cut it down to a quarter-cup and see if that does the trick.
The real difference was obvious when I emptied the dryer. Clothes that had been stiff and scratchy were soft and nearly lint-free. The hand towels were as soft as the day I'd first bought them. The sweaters felt like butter. Everything was softly perfumed with the scent of Ariel—a fresh, clean scent similar in strength to Tide or Cheer. For the record, I like it, although I realize it might not be pleasing to everyone.
The improvement on the white load was even more noticeable. Whites washed in nothing but Ariel and hot water had results similar to using chlorine bleach, with a much better overall scent than what bleach can offer. (For very dirty whites, pre-soaking in a solution of Ariel and hot water is recommended. Ariel can also be used with bleach.)
Summary
Yes, I admit, there are pangs of guilt when I realize I owe my whiter whites and brighter brights to what is, essentially, contraband detergent. It does make me uneasy when I read in bright yellow letters on the back of the bag, "Not for sale in Continental USA." But now that I've had a taste of the hard stuff, there's no going back.
Next, I'm buying a three-gallon toilet. I sure hope they never find me.