Suds & Bubs

Since the apartment I now live in charges $2 to wash AND $2 to dry, I've decided to move on to a laundromat down the block. It's convenient-ish, I guess, and a lot cheaper. A LOT! At first I was doing the whole lazy laundry in my house thing, but after two weeks spending $12, and then the third week spent $14 because of a wonky washing machine that didn't spin out the water, I threw up my hands and exclaimed, ENOUGH! I'm saving loads of dollars now (no pun intended, BAH! so when you say that, it's like, "Hey I didn't start this as intentional humor, but it ended up that way, just see how clever I am naturally!" right? That's kind of silly), and it's kind of fun going to the laundromat. I don't stay there the whole time, just drop off my load(s), come back, switch it/'em, do something else for thirty minutes, collect my things, and that's that.There's a thing about this insanely affordable laundromat though. Before I even stepped foot in the establishment, my roommate warned me of a certain fecal smell in the back, by the quarter machine. He said the smell made him think that the toilet was broken, and the proprietor was perhaps pooping in a bucket, but it's cheap. So, warning: don't go farther back than you need to.

The first time I went to the laundromat, I had my quarters all ready to go, and I stayed up front as I was warned. This laundromat is run by a group of older Eastern Indian gentlemen, and they love to have loud easy jazz playing over the sound system while the news on the TV in the back is blasted at full volume. It's something else. I smile at them, they smile at me. I thank them for their machines, and bid them adieu.

The second time I went, I didn't come prepared with my quarters, but I was relieved to find out that the back did not smell like poop as it had when my roommate experienced laundry time there.

So far, so good... until I came back to get my stuff. I was in a rush, and I didn't feel like wasting all my quarters (well, money, really) on laundry, so I stuffed all my loads into two dryers. When I came to collect my things, I faced a little, angry Indian man who shook his finger in my face, scolding me that I shouldn't put that much stuff into one dryer, and going off on some tirade. Listen, mister, I said, I don't have time for this right now, I'm running late, and you can't tell me what to do - impressive, right? He continued shaking at me, telling me this was too much for one machine to dry. I needed more time or I needed to separate my clothes into more machines - latter preferred. Thanks for the advice, I grumbled, and left him in a huff. Ohhh, he put me in a bad mood, mostly because he was right, and also because my parents were coming in town and the clean sheets I wanted to change my bed with were still damp. So, I draped the damp bedding all over my apartment, in every room, and then I fixed the problem the next day, dropping off the damp laundry on the way to breakfast. Solved and solved.

Since then, I've made sure that I put everything in it's proper place, without overdoing the machines. An extra $.50 isn't going to break my bank, so I'll stay out of trouble and keep things easy. It was good. I started to gain the trust of the owners again; the smiling, the thanking, the dollar for quarter exchanging.

And then it happened. Yesterday was off to such a good start, I even shared in a little small talk with the old man - who donned his winter parka and one of these little hats with the ears, apparently it's cold in the shop - laughing about the bundling, worrying about the coming winter and all the snow. Then I came back to switch from washing to drying. As soon as we made eye contact I knew something was wrong. He made his way over to my washing machine, and spoke so fast and furiously I didn't know what was happening. You cannot do this. You cannot put this much in this machine! Cannot you see that it only takes 18 pounds!? Then he said something really fast and made me hold his cold hands, which were apparently stuck in the cold water of the machine, balancing out the load... and there was some water on the floor, too. I hit my head, and apologized profusely. I really was sorry. Sorry that I had made the old man so cold, sorry I had semi-broken his machine, and sorry that I slipped and fell back onto his bad side. For the rest of my time I moved cautiously around the laundromat and made small, sheepish smiles in his direction, only to be returned by a soulless scowl. I sighed and went about the rest of my day, thanking him again on my way out.

So, next time, I'm going to read all the signs, and bring in my own quarters if I remember when I'm at Dominick's (but those stupid bastards charge a quarter for a roll of quarters - does it really put 'em out that much to exchange money for money; especially at the money exchange counter? I don't understand!), because I have to get back in their good graces, for the sake of my socks.