Laundry is Not My Friend

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My Nemesis

The biggest drawback to our current apartment building is that, for all six units in our building, there is only one domestic grade washer and one domestic grade dryer.  That makes doing laundry, something I hate in the best of times, even more a chore, as you deal with lines, passive aggressive notes when you leave your laundry down there a minute or two too long, and the sheer logistical impossibility of making a dent in the dirty clothes in anything less than a day-long wash-fest.

So, I started taking our clothes to a laundromat in town.  The first few times were great; I could set all the clothes going at once and in between moving items from the washer to the dryer, have about an hour and a half to be out of the house with a stable internet connection, which meant I could write or work on game designs in relative solitude.  True, I may be the slowest folder in the history of the world, bulking up my time there to a bloated three hours, but the benefits outweigh the negatives.

Not so today.  Today I loaded three washers, only to realize that this bank of machines don’t take debit card, and I typically carry no cash.  Ok, no big deal.  I unloaded the machines and moved my clothes to a set of machines that did take cards.  No problem.  Then a gruff-looking guy suddenly takes the third washer, meaning I will have to split up my machines.  Ok, no biggie, but then I spill liquid detergent on the floor and all over my hands. Then, the card reader on one of these machines suddenly isn’t working.  Great.  So I abandon my one working machine to head to the back of the building where the only other empty card-taking machines are and load in the rest of my clothes for the third time.  Success!  Great!

Now I feel like things are looking up.  I unpack my laptop and start writing a rather intimidating conversation between Sam Crafty and Virgil Haft (who?  You’ll see later).  Everything’s going well until I look back at the time left on the back machines and the rightmost one is just pouring water from somewhere.  The floor now has a rather pleasant lagoon and trickle waterfall that in less crucial times I might have taken a moment to appreciate.   Instead, I freak out and ask the guy next to me what I should do, a guy who looks suspiciously like Mo from Storage Wars Texas.  He thinks the owner is in the small room accessible by a door made to look like part of the wall on the left.  So I knock on the door for three minutes or so, until I realize no one’s coming.

Ok, so this is a crisis I must solve.  I see a mop hung on the wall and drag it over to the lagoon and start sopping up the water, then carrying back across the floor to squeeze it out into the nearest trash can.  I made three such trips, dripping water in little liquid highways all over the laundromat, before I realized that, well duh, I could just bring the trash can over to the lagoon.

Fortunately, once I leaned on the washer door and mopped up the water, no more leaks seemed to be forthcoming.  The rest of the chore went off without a hitch, even though I dared to put all my clothes in the seriously intimidating SUPER SIZED DRYER with no small amount of forbidding.   Folding took forty five minutes. Clearly I am not a domestic animal.

I know, I know, First-World Problems.  Oh, boo hoo, the magic machines that make my entire wardrobe clean in hours were slightly less convenient than they normally are!  Poor Chris!  But hey, for a domestic incompetent like myself, these are the battles we remember.  *Cues speech from Independence Day*… ok, no.  It’s just sad.


  1. That is pretty sad.

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