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2003-11-12
Laundry Day, Part Two

The Laundromat crowd on the Tuesday afternoon is completely different from the early Saturday morning crowd. Also it was more crowded which seemed ludicrous, but then I read a sign that said everything was 10% off on Tuesdays.

The crying, swearing lady took a break from crying and swearing to move her soggy clothes from a giant washer into a giant dryer. This Laundromat doesn�t use coins, you trade in coins and paper money for a credit card. Then you insert the credit card into the washer or dryer and it subtracts from your total. They make a big deal with signs everywhere that it saves you money, but the machines don�t work just as much as anywhere else.

She couldn�t get the dryer to acknowledge her card and she started hitting it in what I guess was interrupted despair from the crying and swearing. �What the f**k!� she said very loud a few times. Then, �Excuse me, miss, excuse me, can you help me miss?� and I realized she was talking to me. I went over and inserted the card and it did its calculations and started chugging away. �What, do you have a golden touch?� she asked.

�No, no. These things are just a little sensitive,� I said. Things seemed a little calmer, the buzzing a little quieter. The two women went outside to smoke. When it came time to move my things from the slightly-less-than-giant washer to the giant dryer, the woman reappeared. She hung a towel on the one remaining giant dryer door. �Excuse me,� I said. My cart of wet clothes were in front of the dryer, I left it there when I had to go find those dryer sheets. �I am going to use this dryer.�

�No,� she said. �We�re going to use it.�

�I don�t understand.�

�My daughter�s wash is just about done. We�re going to use it.�

This woman is a big woman. She has meaty hands and arms and legs and a whole meaty body. She has a dramatic short haircut and an uncountable amount of earrings. I had a flashback of bully-moments. To ground myself, I put my hand in my pocket and touched the sharp edge of the Laundromat credit card. �Well, you�re not using it now and my wash is done.�

�Okay,� she said. �I could stand here and fight you for it, but I�m too tired.� Just like that she went from super size to regular size.

Wow, I thought. Would we have come to fisticuffs over this? How would I have done? Would I go home bloodied but with dry clothes? Wet?

Later on, she and her daughter got into another crying and cussing scene. This time they were both involved and the daughter stormed out.

�Hey,� the woman said. I guess that meant we were on a first name basis. �Do you know the street address of this place? I�m going to have to call a taxi.�

I pointed out the sign that had all such info on it. Briefly, I imagined my offering her a ride, the actual ride, getting her clothes out, probably helping her bring them into her house, the goodbye. Then later, finding a stray shirt or something. Or worse, what if some of my clothes fell into her basket during a particularly bumpy part of the route? I�d have to kiss that goodbye. I said nothing in the end.

I felt cold as a fish because she started crying again, this time alone. �I�ll never do laundry again with her, never,� she said. �I thought it was going to be such a nice chance for us to get together.�

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