What is it about laundromats?

Recently, due to a strange set of circumstances, we have been forced to pay to have our laundry dried at a laundry facility. At first, I put my laundry in the dryer and sat in the car reading while they dried.

Strange people come up to you while parked in front of the laundry, offering giant pretzel sticks or window washings. After a man of undetermined age pestered me multiple times, I decided to run errands rather than wait.

The first time I did this, I returned to find my laundry missing from the dryer. I located the clothes in a basket nearby. When I started to wheel said basket to a folding table, a frumpy woman nearby grabbed the basket insisting it was her daughter’s clothes. When I convinced her of her mistake, she smiled and apologized. I think she knew they weren’t hers and was trying to bargain shop – one for the price of none.

Another day, I overheard the beginnings of a brawl. Apparently, two college age men made the mistake of not looking away soon enough when a young lady walked by with her laundry. Her boyfriend was enraged and was hoping to fight them. Thank goodness they were educated…the students sensibly gathered their laundry and went elsewhere. The poor girl was forced to stay and listen to her boyfriend rant for twenty minutes, as were we all.

This week it was very crowded. Saturdays are prime laundry days, I guess. The tables were full, but I found one table that was empty. The woman across from me had taken up two (she had a lot of laundry). Next to me was a painfully thin woman, her hair braided tightly and hanging to here waist. I see her there often, same table, folding piles of laundry. She was nearly done as I began folding.

The two of them eventually placed their folded clothes in baskets, said good-bye to each other and walked off. Seeing all four tables completely free of clothing, I seized my chance and unloaded another dryer-load on the table to my right.

NOTE: for those of you unfamiliar with the layout, it’s actually one gigantic table with dividers to make four separate folding areas.

Seated on the row of plastic bucket chairs across from the tables was a man in dark glasses. There was a screen-printed image of a cow skull on the front of his shirt and he wore a cap with a checkered flag emblazoned across the front.

Every time I looked up at him he smiled and nodded in my direction. I’m sure he was just sitting there waiting for laundry to dry, but it was disconcerting to be watched so intently. It made me so uncomfortable that I made a big stack of towels into a wall so I could fold my underwear in peace.

I certainly was not going to engage in conversation. After being caught up in tedious, boring, and sometimes insane conversations I have learned to restrain my natural garrulous tendencies. I never voluntarily converse with anyone. My goal is to go in, dry, fold and get out with out without being noticed.

One day, after putting off the wash for far too long, I brought the kids along to help. I was wearing a ridiculous combination of maroon stretch pants an oversized blue button-up shirt (It was laundry day – I had nothing else to wear) and flip-flops. With my hair in a bun, I was the quintessential white-trash momma. More than ever, I did not want to draw attention.

Naturally, Justin and Geneva decided to have a fight. I chased them quickly to the car and commanded them to stay. Bad enough to LOOK like white trash…to have my children ACT like it! - A very humbling moment for me. My children thought it was hilarious. I wanted to go home and cry that day.

Back to the present: With the strange man watching every move, I was eager to finish up. I was nearly done folding when the woman who’d used the table I'd commandeered returned.

“You know, I wasn’t actually done with that table.” She glared at me.

I looked around. No sign of her clothes or baskets. I looked pointedly at the two empty tables in front of me. She answered my unspoken question.

“Well, I cleaned that table with windex and a rag.” Indicating her former table with a skinny finger, practically shaking with emotion. “At least it’s clean.” She whipped her braid over her shoulder and stared at me.

I have never seen anyone put anything on these tables except clean, dry clothes. They are too tall to sit on, and you can’t exactly pull up to them and eat a meal. I didn’t know how a table used for folding clean clothes got dirty, but taking a look at her outraged countenance, I decided it was best to leave it alone.

I muttered “I’m almost done,” and proceed to stuff the remaining unfolded laundry in my baskets. I ignored the man in the racing cap while I picked up every stray lint on wiped the table off with my hand. I coundln't resist one last glance, and of course he smiled and nodded a farewell salute.

I carried one basket at a time to the car and mentally went over my schedule. I needed to find a time to do laundry when the weirdies are at home. As I carried the last basket out the door, I saw Windex Lady reach for the spray bottle.