Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Laundry Life

As a single person without the luxury of a washing machine and dryer, I pay frequent visits to the laundromats of my town.  I tired out several sketchy places, and decided I prefer the heavily trafficked laundromats.  Mostly for the safety, but partly for the pleasure of watching people.  I wrote this story via my Blackberry on my first visit, while waiting for the machines to finish.

Coin Laundry
by Tabatha McMullen

At first glimpse, this laundry facility is something like a YMCA. Children frolicking, parents busy with their current priority, yelling at them half-heartedly and out of breath. There's a man, balding and squat, scolding running children through his teeth, but when he sees me he  smiles with an open mouth and says, "These three are open, probably some of the only ones that work!" and inches his cart away from them, gesturing to the machines with the open lids. I leave my sunglasses on and begin discreetly sorting my laundry, hoping that red pair of panties doesn't pop out and fly across the room. As I tug and pull, the man hangs his slacks ever-so carefully on those tiny pants hangers, that clamp the cuffs of the pants, rather than drape them over.

I decide it's safer to stay with my clothes than to leave and come back, because I still haven't seen those panties. I got lazy and just hoisted all the colors into the same wash.  I notice that the man has an apron hanging from his cart, and five identical shirts also reside there. Their logos read "Dillons," which is conveniently right across the street.  I wonder if he lives nearby. As he wheels his clothes out the door on the rickety cart, he tips an imaginary hat and me and I know he must be very good at his job.

A woman of about fifty, with salt and pepper hair, takes it upon herself to pull the door stop out of the open door, shutting it on the first beautiful day we've had in weeks. I catch myself frowning as she turns and I see her "Chopper Mama" t-shirt.

I take a seat and open the new book I got from the library yesterday, but can barely make it through the first chapter before my natural curiosity gets the best of me and I'm engrossed in creating life stories based around the patrons in Coin Laundry.

A woman and her daughter are dressed in two extremes, the woman in red and black sweats, the daughter (around seven years old), in high heeled boots and tights. She points out things to her mom like, "That's different now! That table used to be here." Ahh, they must frequent Coin Laundry. I stare at the clothes she folds. She has many children.

Another woman huffs and puffs, bringing load after load through the door. On her last trip I see two things clutched in her right hand -- a bottle of detergent and a convenience store microwave burrito. Her shirt reads, "Queen of Everything."  That one caused me to let out a delighted giggle.

Thoughts dance through my head of these people wearing these clothes they fold (or toss in a basket), maybe all together somewhere. At work. At school. A family reunion. Yes! Maybe they all know somebody that knows somebody that they know, and they'll wear one or more of these pieces of clothes when they realize. The exponential quality that life has completely amazes me. Every person I come in contact with has a story. The people they come into contact with have stories. And so on and so on...if I think too long about it I start to drool.

Once in a while, I see someone watch me. People might wonder what I am doing, typing away on my phone. "I'm writing about you!" I want to exclaim. If only I could admit to them that I think they are fascinating, and if only they'd converse some more with one another, my imagination wouldn't have to do all the work. Or maybe...they're thinking the same thing about me.

I'm in the market for a washing machine and dryer of my own. Maybe I'll hold off on that.




Doesn't this story make you want to visit Coin Laundry?  I mean, their machines are always broken, but the must glorious things can be seen.  Come visit me.  We'll go together, and it can be twoderful.  Plus, there are snow cones right next door. ;)