There are a lot of everyday things that we take for granted that we might be better off questioning. At least, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to after several days stuck alone with my own thoughts. Like the laundromat. I mean, it’s a great idea in theory, but then again, so was communism…
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really have anything against the laundromat. Personally, I don’t know what I’d do without it, but I can’t possibly be the only one who finds it a little weird that there is a public place where people literally go to air their dirty laundry. I don’t know about you, but I was raised with the idea that somebody should buy me dinner or at least a drink before they see my underwear, and here I am showing off my best drawers with nothing to show for it? Never mind the fact that they probably don’t smell so fresh from last night’s run, it’s the principle of the matter!
But it’s not just my own laundry that makes me uneasy. Well, okay, yes it is, but it’s mainly other people’s</i. interaction with my laundry. See, I'm not sure if it's just the laundromat I go to or if it's like this everywhere, but without fail, by the time I make it back to the washer or dryer to switch my clothes out (which haven't been done any longer than three minutes, mind you) someone has already moved them. Well, not so much moved them… moved them implies a kindly gesture. No, it's more like an unceremonious dumping on the nearest bacteria-ridden and lint-covered dryer.
But that’s not even the thing. See, maybe I’m weird or overthinking it, as I’m known to do, but in order to move my clothes, that means some stranger is touching my underwear. Yes, we’re back to the underwear thing. Call me crazy, but I’m one of those fundamentalists that believes in the sanctity of boxer briefs. You don’t touch my shamrocks and we won’t have any problems.
Sadly, etiquette or common decency don’t seem to reign supreme in a place where mismatched sweats and sweat-stained undershirts run rampant. Still, until I hit it big and can afford my own washer and dryer, or even my own laundromat (that’s right, I dream big), i’m sorta out of options. So if the Polish lady who runs the laundromat by my house is reading this, I’ll be seein’ you next Sunday.