Chadwick’s Laundry Day
Doing laundry at a laundry mat hardly seems like it should be a time of relaxation. Although this beautiful Tuesday evening with the sun shining and the temperature outside somewhat equaling the appearance from inside for the first times in months is calming.
Still, here I am at The Clothesline. I’ve made it through the wash cycle, and moved the wet clothes from the washer to the driers, with the help of the observant attendant scooping up a rogue sock and returning it to me quickly. Here I find myself more relaxed than I have been for, what my memory tells me, has been at least a couple of weeks. I do have more pressing matters that could be taking up my time, but this forced sit down time has me stretching my mind to think of somewhere that the playing field could be more leveled than at a laundry mat.
No matter your place in society, everyone here has to do the exact same thing. Limping through the parking lot with an awkward sized and weighted hamper or bags (in my case it’s a broken rimmed laundry basket that will pinch the crap out of you if you don’t carry it properly) that are always weird just to pick up much less get through a doorway. Onto figuring which washing machine best suits your needs, then unloading your soiled garments into the washer you’ve chosen. There is no cool or graceful way to do this part either. You know you’re in someone’s way and while you’re hurrying to load it all in, somehow the sweatshirt that went in with your first groaning armful got knotted with the pair of jeans that are pancaked on the bottom of your hamper and are now pushing all of your dirty clothes out onto the floor. Here is where everyone who is waiting to get around you decides to either stare, step on, or wheel over your floor laden garments with their laundry basket full of wet clothes.
Ok, so you manage to get your clothes into the washer and just as you are breathing relief you find yourself forced with the decision about how much soap to put in. One would think that the washer manufactures and the soap company would be in cahoots and have the same standard for measuring, but nope. Two options exist here: 1. The machine will explode with suds. 2. Your clothes only get wet and come out smelling like wet dog. You won’t know this, though, until you have waited through the 23 minute wash cycle.
All of this just to be presented with the heap of wet clothes that have to be
transferred to a drier. If you have ever washed clothes at a laundry mat, you know the process. Even with all of this that seems stressful enough to make anyone pull out a line of credit to get a washer and drier delivered as soon as the guys could get it into your apartment or house, I am at complete peace. Everyone here has to do it. And it has me sitting here with nothing but time to think. Not much in life gives you the opportunity to do that.
“Spin on clothes,” I say. By the look of things through the drier’s circular window, the socks have the most fun in there. The jeans get too wrapped up and bogged down. My guess is the jeans feel they are more important than the socks but they are both in there doing the same thing….just spinning. I’m rooting for the socks.