All Washed Up

I’ve always disliked Laundromats. It’s not so much the people (we’re all in the same low-income boat, so I can’t very well make derogatory judgments about the “type” of people who use them) or the fact that I’m pretty much held captive in the Laundromat for fear that my clothes will be stolen (why anyone would want my dirty thrift-store-purchased clothing is beyond me, but I’ve seen it happen to other people) or the fact that I have to schlump all of my dirty clothes in and out of my apartment, then in and out of my car every week or so and in all kinds of weather (I really hate that, actually). It’s ALL of those reasons AND the fact that it costs an arm and a leg to wash the darn stuff and another arm and a half if I actually want to dry a few things (and I am one that air dries as much as my apartment can handle). Plus, Laundromat dryers are notoriously slow and rarely dry all of the clothing completely. If you ask me, Laundromats are just one more way that poor people get the shaft. For a few short years during my marriage and off and on while I’ve lived with other people, I have had access to a free washer and dryer right inside the place I live. Ahhhh. Those were the days! For those of you who have never had the Laundromat experience (I, myself, can hardly imagine that such people exist, but I know you’re probably out there – and college laundry rooms don’t count!), count your blessings.

I’m learning that, like most of the things I tend to rant about, if I stop my ranting long enough to really think about the other side of an issue, I find that there actually is another side to the issue. So it is with Laundromats. Having inherited my mother’s propensity to talk to total strangers, I rarely have a trip to the Laundromat where I don’t end up conversing with some one or another. I’ve learned, as one tends to learn after riding public transit, frequenting Laundromats, walking through city streets, etc., which people want to talk, which ones don’t, and which ones might want to talk, but are better left to themselves. I find the busier the Laundromat, the better. There are more people around for safety, more people to talk with and, if you choose, more of a crowd to get lost in (if eschewing human contact suits your mood). I’m at a Laundromat now and a Latino man with very kind-looking eyes saw me struggling to figure out how to use the dryer (it was confusing, trust me) and came to my rescue. He barely spoke English, but he showed me what to do and smiled. It’s encounters like that and having time where there is nothing to do but knit, read, write, or converse with total strangers that make me re-think the whole “Laundromats suck” philosophy I’ve held all these years. I still think they are one more way poor people get the shaft – let’s face it, few are very life-affirming or inviting and I’d not have to go too far out on a limb to say that all of us using the Laundromat tonight would have preferred to have been doing it in our own washer and dryer in our own homes, BUT… I guess, like all experiences in life, trips to the Laundromat are what you make of them. And, if now and again they provide a setting where a kindly Hispanic man and a befuddled white woman can enjoy meaningful human interaction without words, then maybe there’s some good in them after all.