I miss going to the laundromat. While the burden of doing a weekly load, if not more, is relieved by having your own washer and dryer, the sights, sounds and people you encounter in public laundry facilities are for me, a joy. I’ve encountered men who haphazardly mix washes together, women who seem to have ten times as much laundry to do as the men, and the children they bring along who are always playful or crankily bored. Then there is the handful of people who tend to the laundromat or the locals who complain about it but don’t hesitate to use the vending machines there. It is an eclectic group of people and if you’re lucky an interesting array of cultures. And if you’re really lucky, as I was one day, you meet a girl doing laundry that absolutely steals the show.
Two things always happen at the laundromat: I read while my clothes are cleaning, and I always got compliments on my folding. People thought I was either in the military or worked in a clothing store because of the way I folded my clothes. My folding prowess was merely a combination of having a good system and not being able to iron. I always ironed more wrinkles into my clothes.
I was folding my clothes one day when in walked this girl. She was a fantastic specimen: long brown hair of different hints with waves at the ends, healthy curves, and glasses. My heart began to beat a little faster when I was in her presence. I continued to fold my clothes, pretending not to stare, as she placed her clothes needing to be dried in the dryers. I noticed that her clothes were f a mixed gender, some men’s some women’s. I tried to think of something to say to open up dialogue but came up empty. I finished my folding and left.
As I put my finished clothes into my car my heart began to beat faster. The thought of walking away from this woman, probably forever, was sinking in and the feeling did not feel good. So I grabbed my book and sat down on the bench outside the laundromat. I sat and I thought. I made a feeble attempt to actually read but the girl, along with the ruckus the children were making running about made that attempt futile. I couldn’t concentrate. So after a few minutes I decided to go back in.
I re-entered the laundromat book in hand and no clothes to clean. I approached the girl, who was now folding her clothes. We were the only two in the room.
“So I’m outside trying to read,” I initiated. “But I can’t concentrate.” She looked at me and smiled.
“Because of all the noise?” She said, alluding to the loud children in the other room.
“Well no, actually… it’s because of you.” I offered. She maintained her smile, but it was attached to a look of surprise now. We chatted back and forth for a few minutes. We exchanged compliments; mine a little more daring than hers. I told her of my nervousness. I told her of my accelerated heart beat upon her arrival, and the taking of my breath as I tried to concentrate on my clothes and my book. I told her that I found her distractingly gorgeous and that I had to talk to her, lest I regret if for the rest of my life.
“Oh, well, thanks.” She said as she blushed and batted her eyes. She continued to fold her clothes and then grabbed a pair of shorts that were blatantly not hers. I had hoped that they were her brothers, or maybe a roommates or something. I would have settled for anything other than a boyfriend but alas, they were her boyfriends’ shorts. She was genuinely sad that she had hurt my feelings. She was interested, but the boyfriend prevented her from doing so. She thanked me and told me that my compliments were flattering. I said good-bye and left.
But as I drove home the pit in my stomach remained and I thought again how I was never going to see her. I thought to myself, “What if they break up tonight? What if they break up in a week? If they break up, and she wants to pursue her interest but she has no way to do so what a shame that would be.” I dropped my clothes off at home and walked back up. (I drive when I have clothes but it was only a block away.)
I re-entered the laundromat…again and found her almost done, but still folding. She was surprised to see me again.
“I can’t ask you for your phone number…that would be wrong.” I handed her a small piece of orange paper that I think was from a take-out menu on the floor of my apartment. “But I can give you mine.” She opened the once folded paper, smiled and sighed.
“You just had to do that didn’t you?” She said as she looked up at me. She said it not in a repercussive, ‘what have you done?’ kind of tone, but in a ‘do you feel better not that you got that off your chest,’ cathartic tone… with a beautiful smile.
I turned halfway toward the exit and paused as we shared a last smile together. I put my hand out, pointing to the paper which she was now putting in her back pocket. “In case things change, you have it. Or if you want to try something different. Or if you just want to go have a drink sometime, then…” I was interrupted.
She smiled, nodded her head one time, blinked once slowly and gazed at me. “I got it.”
I gazed back but then we parted. I never heard from her again, and I never saw her around the laundromat after that. But I still get the compliments.
