One new thing I had to learn when moving to Richmond was going to the laundromat. I had grown accustomed to taking my dirty wears down to the basement for the past three years at the hotties pi residence, but my new roommate apparently sees no need for the cleaning devices. But my having to go to a laundromat is not the concern of this story.
What is concerning, however, was the event that transpired today. First, I think we must return to my first meeting with my Cary Town Pink Laundromat to make what happened today carry any weight.
I chose it because it was pink and had free off-the-street parking. The pink was inviting as if to say "I'm a cool laundromat. I'm pink." At least that's what it said to me.
Additionally, I figured since they alloted parking stalls for the laundromat that they must have really thought about the consumer which could only indicate they thought about the simplicity of the process inside. For the most part I was right, though I've never been to another laundromat to test out whether it is easier than other laundromats.
At the Pink Palace, I enjoyed my concepting time while I listened to the hums of my five washing machines. I had gown accustom to sitting in my little row of yellow, plastic seats thinking about eggs and toothpicks. I'd put quarters in and my machines sang me a little ditty. I paid a buck and got a song. Kinda like itunes 99cent songs, but better, way better. The machines had a rich organic sound, non of that processed shit*.
However, today they sang me no ditty. I'm not even sure where my five washing machines are right now. Halfway to Hong Kong by now or at least in some Henrico County landfill. Maybe they are at a thrift store waiting for me to buy them so they can sing to me again. I hope so. Who wants to help me search?
*i don't owe a quarter. Please refer to Alex for justification.