Lulled by the Laundry

Salina - At the Laundromat

The size of our washing machine – miniscule – and the capacity of our water tank – challenged – led me to choose to drive to the laundromat, always an interesting experience.

I had a blog to write, so I took my computer along, and planned to stay the whole boring time instead of returning to the Bus-On-Blocks. I’ve been to laundromats before, but I never stick around. I don’t watch grass grow, wait for pots to boil or sit around until the ice melts on that lake in Goshen – which, by the way, is an actual, annual event in those parts of Connecticut.

I loaded my four machines, dropped in my obscene number of quarters, soaped up, pushed the button and got to work on my blogging. Almost half an hour later, I put my head up and realized I had done the impossible. I had finished a chapter on getting marooned in Kansas, and I had also gotten my white pants clean of the oil that was a by-product of the breakdown that got us here in the first place. Talk about your full circle.

Then I noticed that the two other people in the place had not moved in half an hour. Both of them, a “man of the fields” by his appearance, and a “mom of sixteen” by hers, were staring fixedly at their respective washing machines and had been doing so the whole time I had been there.

I folded my fluffy towels, neatly arranged my shirts in a flat pile for their future hangers, tucked my undies into my purse, and started on the job of taking my pristine piles out to the car. Of course, I didn’t go directly to the car. I took a left and detoured around the aisle to see what was so darned compelling about the machines on that row.

I stood for a few minutes staring at the two busy washing machines. Soap, suds, duds. Yep. No cats, dogs or other errant items of non-wash that might have landed in the basket by mistake. No strange behavior of soap, like color changes or oversize bubbles. No odd behaviors of laundry, like unacceptable shrinkage or dangerous shredding. There were no laundry events of note, of any kind. And yet they sat and stared.

Uh. Okay. I finished stacking the back seat of the car and decided to re-dry the jeans, always the rebels of the load who demand extra attention. I returned to my computer for another half hour.

I finished another blog, turned to the dryer, pulled out those jeans, snapped them into shape and folded them neatly along the press lines. I was done.

Field man and mom were still there. Neither had moved. I took the long way around again, and discreetly held a mirror under each nose. The mirror fogged, so I knew they were alive. But maybe they were under a spell put on them by the evil light-bulb changer who had been up on the ladder when I arrived but who’d beaten a quick retreat once I got going with my laundry. Whatever.

More likely they were just using the time to relax and chill, lulled into an hypnotic state by the slosh slosh of the water and the thump thump of the clothing. Maybe this laundry time was the only time they got to themselves. Just maybe, it was keeping them sane and helping them to deal. Maybe it was a New Age technique. Why not. Kansas isn’t Oklahoma, after all.

All I know is, they looked really peaceful just sitting there and watching their stuff go round and round. Maybe next time I won’t bring my computer. Maybe I’ll just join them in their pleasant fog. But first I’m going to have to get some more interesting laundry. I need the intellectual stimulation.

Betty