2003-11-13 - 11:38 a.m.

This is why I don't do laundry.

I have alot of clothes. Partly because I can't decide whether to be fat or thin, but also because I can't be bothered to do laundry. On the rare occasion that laundry get's done there is no place to put all of the clean clothes.

Laundry takes, on average 7 hours to accomplish for me and I use the triple load washers.

Last week after waiting for my mechanic all day on friday and then being treated to a 10 minute visit from hot assistant mechanic my mom and I went off to do laundry.

She had her stuff all separated and bagged and ready. I still had to do all of that. An hour an a half later, laundry bags and pillowcases and arms filled to capacity we stuffed my deceptively roomy car with filthy, smelly clothing and set off for the laundrymat on my street.

Every time we do laundry we do it here and every time we swear that we will NOT do laundry here again. Many of the washers do not work but apparently have a job (much like myself) with the state and still require payment. There are no signs saying "DANGER THIS MACHINE WILL SUCK DOWN AS MANY QUARTERS AS YOU CAN THROW AT HER AND NEVER EVER HAVE ANY INTENTION OF CLEANING THE TINIEST THONG."

The last time we were there an entire family, of a nationality I could not even hazzard a guess, came along for the big laundry day out, there were parents, children, aunts, uncles and grandparents. There was screaming and running and putting things in mouths that don't belong in mouths. I have a very low tolerence for children. I have no tolerence for parents of children who run screaming. I started with looks and ended up, by the end of the laundry experience SHRIEKING at these people to attend to their offspring.

I digress.

This time it was just mom and I. We loaded the washers and moved next door to the sub shop for an early dinner. I mostly finished my meal and went to check the washers. It was time to move to dryers so I did that, trying to move quickly so that mom would stay at the sub shop with the comfy chairs and tv set but I wasn't quick enough and she came to help.

Now we were left, having paid the check next door and abandoned our rights to comfy tv watching, in hard plastic chairs staring at our laundry as it tumbled warm and happy in 7 industrial sized driers. I bring a book every time but she never does and then I feel far too guilty to read it.

The first buzzer buzzes and we both jump to get it. We split the load of whites and begin folding. A second buzzer buzzes and I capture it for my own. Quietly folding I look up and notice a large pick up truck has pulled up to the front of the laundrymat and has it's lights blasting inside. A few minutes later truck guy, a good(ish) looking guy in his 30's comes in and says "Either of you ladies happen to work here?" in a very very syrupy friendly way. Right away I think, serial killer. Too cute, too friendly, too odd. I say we don't. He asks whether we know who owns the place. I say we don't. Mother insists on saying over and over that the people who own the convience store next door own it and I have to keep saying, "They say they don't own it." over her. Serial Killer (SK) asks if we know what time they close. I say we do not.

SK moves toward the bathrooms. There is a small hallway that leads to the bathrooms, to the convience store and behind the driers. I take note that SK moves in the direction of the ladies room/behind the driers but say nothing. The walls are thin and there is no doubt he could hear any comment I might make. He is gone for nearly 10 minutes and then returns saying "This place is strange...no signs, no cameras...have you ever been here past 9:30?" "No. We haven't."

He wanders out and our dryers start acting odd, turning on after they've timed off, changing from High to PermaPress...I mention to mom that I don't like this guy, that I think he's looking to come back and off a few folks and then wash the evidence off in the washers because that comment about the cameras was too much. She then makes a comment about his being behind the dryers and the dryers acting funny and him wanting to know who owns the place and maybe he has a beef with the place and plans on blowing it up so maybe we should take our clothes wet and dry and get outta dodge. I agree and we start piling all of our clothes into bags.

His truck leaves only to return backed into the same spot. We put our crap in the car and I go back to return the carriages SK holds the door open for me before returning to the bed of his truck, covered in a tarp and pulling out what looks like the handle of an axe. Mom and I pulled away and hung clothes on the porch.

And that my friends, is why I don't do laundry.

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