Laundromat
by boh3m3 on Sep.29, 2008, under Random Thoughts
The blood of the fallen will dye our sheets!
It’s about 8:00 PM Hollyweird time and I’m sitting outside the laundromat reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the umpteenth time.
I feel the seconds of my life peel off for good, and I wonder what I could be doing instead of cleaning all my black t-shirts covered in snarky phrases.
I hypothesize that if the different cultures of mankind had evolved completely isolated from each other, laundry day would still be regarded as a drag by everyone concerned.
Laundry-time always feels like some sort of time/space aberration. Regardless of what laundromat you go to, or how long you think washing will take, it always feels like a whole day wasted be it in Los Angeles or Prague.
My local ragtoss is nestled in one of those depressing concrete and stucco strip malls a few blocks down the street. You know the type, I’m sure: one liquor store, one “has-all” party/dollar store selling items worth 20c, one shady Asian cuisine takeout place and, for some damn reason, a martial arts school.
As I pull up, I see the usual group of laundromat patrons already bustling to and fro with clothing in various states of wash. I unstrap my laundry bag from the back of the moto and, gritting my teeth, charge forward into LaundryLand.
Anyone who has gone to a coin wash more than twice knows that there are always 6 kids. Sometimes more, but never less. They are always hopped up on about half a pound of sugar each and inevitably have a selection of toys triple as annoying as the child could be without them.
These kids always seem to be from just one couple. I make it a point to try and deduce within 20 seconds exactly who Mr. Fertile and Mrs. ClownCarVag are. She usually looks like a walking “human factory” undergoing fumigation from a circus-themed exterminator. He usually looks like a parts and materials merchant who secured a lifetime contract and became dissatisfied with the product produced with his supplies.
The section claimed by this family to clean their large investment in sweatshop labor is clearly marked: 5-8 rolling baskets with clothing draped over the top bar. The family flag is almost always Wal-Mart bought “West Coast Choppers” shirts with the sleeves cut off; the Jolly Roger of Redneck babymakers.
Territorial disputes have a tendency to flare up just as dangerously in a laundry as a men’s urinal in Yankee stadium during a NY vs. Boston game. The only real difference is that in Yankee stadium, you might have fun just before you die.
When doing laundry, it appears the weapon people choose to attack you with if feeling threatened is body odor, sour looks, and feeble attempts at telekinetic nut-crushing. If you notice more than one pair of bloodshot eyes burning holes into your head, or feel a slight pressure in your genital region, it’s advised you find another machine to wash your clothes in that isn’t so close to that creepy bastard next to you.
The big drawback to doing laundry at a coinwash is that the natural plumage that might designate the normally disheveled from the average person is stripped. Everyone looks like an angry, bedraggled homeless person because if we had any GOOD clothes to wear, we wouldn’t be doing laundry in the first place.
Everyone is decked out in the last clothing arrangement they could wear outside of their house and no-one is happy to be there. Old concert t-shirts riddled with holes matched up with grungy, ill-fitted sweatpants are the norm.
In fact it’s a common indicator that anyone stupid enough to wear pre-faded mall jeans and those shirts that look as if you paid an extra $50 to have Mark Ecko shit on to a laundromat you either don’t know what the hell you are doing or deserve to be psychically nut-crushed. Those that survive said nut-crushing return in a few weeks in appropriately desperate looking attire. Those who don’t are buried under the massive pile of lint-trap findings and missing socks in the back, never to be seen again.
There’s a knack to surviving the jungle that is your local laundromat, and I’ve been on safari here long enough to stay upwind and alert.
Shit… now I’ve gotta fold.
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September 29th, 2008 on 3:41 am
See, this is why I don’t own clothes.
September 29th, 2008 on 6:20 am
Laundry day is easy for me…I walk from one end of my house to the other. I’m terribly afraid of what people think of me (at the time, once I leave I don’t care, funny enough), so I’ve made it a point to constantly have a working set of washers and dryers.
By the way, about what you said with the whole sweat pants/raggedy t-shirt thing…haven’t you also mentioned before you typically wear a button up shirt and dress pants?
You’re confusing me, Ben.
September 29th, 2008 on 6:24 am
Oh and Ben…the vagina isn’t the clown car. Just as you don’t call it a clown car door, you don’t call the “door” to the uterus a the uterus itself.
Technically her uterus is the clown car…but if we were to go one more nerdy step further, she’s just magical. See, women have thousands of eggs inside of them, and only use maybe half…or less. So women are all clown cars, some of them just spit more children out than others.
…
September 29th, 2008 on 2:14 pm
hahahaha this one was quality!
September 29th, 2008 on 3:21 pm
I don’t do laundry at a laundromat, but I do like to hum random songs.
September 29th, 2008 on 4:25 pm
Sounds like I’m missing out, perhaps I should make a visit to a laundromat - got to try new things right? However, I don’t think the laundromats in the burbs of Brisbane are likely to be as exciting. I think some people use them to wash their gigantic bed covers that they can’t wash in their own washing machine, I imagine these people would be instantly nut-crushed in your laundromat.
@joiywtj: how did the children get in there?
September 30th, 2008 on 10:32 am
My washer started acting funny a couple days ago, and me and my roommates have been avoiding the laundromat for as long as we can. Laundromats in Michigan are just a terrible thing.
It’s amusing, what one thinks looks good when one is completely desperate. Things you would never wear when you have an overabundance of clean clothing start to look quite appealing as an alternative to the horrible smelly, messy children and the fighting with the college kid who thinks he deserves to get his pick of machines before anyone else in the place.
September 30th, 2008 on 1:38 pm
SNIRK*Hiccup*SNORT…Clown Car Vag! PRICELESS. Going in to the Hall of Fame Ben Sayings, definitely.
Oh darling, I’m only unattainable because of the married thing. I don’t mean to flaunt myself…(twinkle twinkle)
This reminded me of living in Alabama for 3 months, and I had the number of times I would have to go to the “lawhundrummaaatt” down to a countdown. Ten more tortures, nine more…etc. What tore it for me were the hillbilly neighbors sitting there picking each other’s facial zits while waiting for the spin cycle.
(urp) I suppose butt pustules would have been worse. Well, small favors then.
xox J.
September 30th, 2008 on 1:44 pm
And by the way, I have a sudden and terrifyingly strong urge to dress you in sexy French cuff dress shirts and pants that require dry cleaning.
Lucky I’m 2000 miles away.
Smirk.
xo
September 30th, 2008 on 2:46 pm
hmm.. I chose the “hot” one… mainly because i always myself with those.. kinky undies.. and it makes me kind of giggle to guess what the people who see these said underwear think of me..
you’re underroos can say a lot about you. For me… i guess it’s closeted sex kitten.. hahahaha.
September 30th, 2008 on 6:12 pm
You can hate me now, we have 2 laundry rooms on each floor of our apt building…. and they’re free. As long as the rest of us keep them clean and only wash medium sized loads.
I’d offer to come over and watch movies and play CoH (no WoW allowed here) while you visit but you’re way over there. And in 3 weeks we’ll have snow on the ground and motorcycles and snow don’t get along very well :(
October 4th, 2008 on 10:34 am
god this is fucking brilliant! THANK YOU!
October 5th, 2008 on 4:22 am
Great post. :D You made me want to go to one of those things some day. Just to see if it really is as horrible as that. I don’t think we have laundromats in Estonia, at least I’ve never heard of any.