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.
3 comments:
what exactly transpired between the second to last and last paragraphs? did you lose all your clothes? what is the story? who am i? this is the first site i checked after coming in from MY newly refurbished laundromat, where i had to purchase a "laundry credit card" for 10 dollars, three of which they kept as a "deposit" and each wash in their new energy effecient machines will cost me somewhere around 5 dollars. good thing i poop money.
I'm not quite certain what happened, and this has forced me to be quite vague in my post of the situation. My clothes saw no washing machines today but waved at an empty shell of what was once my favorite place to wash me clothing. Maybe the washing machines are on vacation.
Yes, they are on vacation. Like Forrest Gump's father. This means they are never coming back. Never. Ever.
As a side note, I once had a laundry story. It was my secound squatter summer in a row and my first stop. I had found a place of people I didn't know and a bed of a person I never saw, but they had no luandry doing means. I was told how to crack open the window of a near by apartment complex to get to their laundry machines, but I felt wierd crawling through the crack of a window at 3am, so one day on a jog I was surprise to find another apartment complex with no fewer than 3 laundry rooms that had no doors at all. On my first day there, I was sure someone would realize I wasn't a resident and blow a wistle on me. I would be forced to flee and leave all my clothes behind. The only thought that kept me from panicking about this was all the flyers for missing children from that neighborhood. But, alas, I was free to do as I pleased and no one bothered me. About two days later I was kicked out of that first squatter place and never had a chance to go back to that laundry/apartment complex. Ah, summertime.
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