The Time of the Season For Laundry

Terrence was singing that it was the time of the season for laundry, and he was correct, it definitely was. Since we bought our house in September, we have not had a washer and dryer hooked up here, and it has been an epic pain in the ass. You know when your dog pees on something, you wash up a really disgusting spill, or your want your sheets to be fresh? Normally you would run it down to the washer and dryer and poof, everything was clean again. Not for me as of late. That favorite pair of jeans would have to be worn at a later date. A date with the laundromat, and the other piles of awful would be tossed aside in a corner to fester and be ignored by me.

The first few times I went to the laundromat, I was on a straight up mission. Get in, get food, get back, dry, go home to do schoolwork, get back, fold, get out. Last night, after getting home from work and being preternaturally happy on only five hours of sleep the night prior, I was ready to get this washing party started rather than collapsing on the bed to take a nap first. We got to our regular haunt, and I started to stuff clothing into the washing machine that was ready to eat my $3 in quarters. The walls of this laundromat are epically amazing. It is a desert backdrop that has been painted by an artist, with many rock formations looming in the background. In the beautifully clear blue sky, there are two washers with wings flying across in a happy daze, eager to make it to their location.

This time I am looking around at everyone that is there, and I note that there is a homeless man washing all of his belongings. That saddens me a bit, the fact that the moment his socks come out of the dryer, he will be sitting down to put them on under some dirty work boots, not take them home to rest them in his drawer, or curse one when he can't find its partner. A confused looking lady comes up to me and asks how much it is to run the washers. I must look like a veteran now, and I am as I tell her the price. I observe the other patrons and get to wondering as to why each and every one of them doesn't have a washer and a dryer. I know why I don't. I bought an old house that needs about $700 worth of electrical work done on it so that it won't blow a fuse every time I turn on a hairdryer while someone is watching television. I also need outlets put in to house an electrical dryer.

I leave for Bajio to get a very filling dinner, and come back to get my clothing out of the washer and put them into the dryer. I am bored now, my iTouch is on lockdown from all the wifi that is requiring passwords, and I have tapped the Hangman well dry. One can only feel so smart by guessing the word "lime" so many times. I walk over to Alchemy coffee and get a latte. I ask for soy milk, and he foams it heavy at the top. Generally I am not a huge soy fan, but for some reason it makes that latte pop. I sit on one of the velvet couches that they have in there and sip my coffee, just enjoying the atmosphere. Generally coffee shops are offputting to me, so many young kids trying to write poetry where people can see them, or milling around talking about how hard life is at the ripe age of 18. This place is full of adults and crazy women talking about Persian conspiracies. After I few more sips and a need for a cigarette. I leave. Smoke. Walk to the laundromat.

As I go to my dryer, a shaky old man who has no teeth and tufts of gray hair is removing clothing from his dryer. He says, "These machines sure don't dry very well do they?" I use that voice. The one I hate. It always reserved for old people and children, paired with the high pitched nice tone I learned to use at phone jobs. It isn't intentional, I can't stop myself sometimes. I lean in and say "Oh did you put the heat on high?" He looks at me, that look of "I am old therefore not retarded" and says nicely, "Yes, I did, the machines...they don't dry that well." I said "Hm that's weird, as I pulled out my hot dry clothing. He told me to enjoy doing the rest of my laundry.

For some reason, I started to pull out my items to fold, and I realized I was standing right in front of a huge window in front of a shop.I can assure you, nothing sets off "my underwear isn't good enough" alarms like standing in front of a laundromat window and having to fold each and every pair in front of it. And there were so many pairs! It felt weird, soul baring, having to carefully extract each article of clothing from a basket in front of a room of strangers and carefully fold it into neat little piles. The old guy passed me again. He started to speak to a large woman. She was talking to him about his cancer. And how he looked great considering he had throat cancer. And that he still had his baby face and sparkling blue eyes. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and I saw him in a different light. I could see that the things she was telling him were true. It made me happy to hear him say that he didn't make it 70 years on this world for nothing, and that he was happy to have beat cancer.

I think last night, I found my new favorite people watching spot.