The other day, I was sitting in the Laundromat waiting anxiously for my clothes to stop spinning. I tried to count the revolutions, but got sick to my stomach around 374. "Focus on something stationary" I reminded my self, "and the feeling will pass." I glanced down and quickly found a blue piece of gum on which I could concentrate. I thought to myself, "Somewhere out there is a small,dirty child with a blue mouth." Or perhaps the blue gum had once belonged to an aging, 50ish male who, wanting to be young again, had purchased the gum from a machine for a quarter. Forgetting how much energy it would actually take to chew the gum into a pliable texture, the aging, 50ish male feel asleep, and the gum fell out of his mouth to the ground below. Ah, the stories one never thinks of when they see a piece of blue gum stuck to the floor of a Laundromat.
After my nausea had passed, I wandered slowly over to the Laundromat attendant�s window. I wondered why a Laundromat attendant actually needed a window, much like a bank teller or the place where you buy your movie tickets. I guess having a window just makes a person feel more important. Her dusty, white skin flaked with her movements,and her expression was as riveting as a cup. I knew this was her life, and that she would pass this life on to her children as it had been passed on to her. For a moment, I gloated on the inside at the fact that I could leave this room of anti-static dryer sheets and fluorescent light to become one of the living again in a world of color and life. Whereas the lady, whose lunch everyday consisted of a snickers bar and a Yoo-hoo from the vending machines, was destined to remain behind.
It was a good moment for me, and I smiled. I asked the lady if she could make change for a dollar, and she looked at me as if I had requested that she solve the problem with the mirror guidance system for the Hubbell Space Telescope. After what seemed to be an eternal moment, her mind came back from the void and she doled out my change. I didn't bother with the fact that she only gave me ninety-five cents figuring that the discussion could upset the delicate balance of her ecosystem causing her to go into a state of Laundromat shock.
I made my way to the other end of the room, to what once could have been called a pay phone. It�s black casing greasy and scratched with an occasional scar from someone�s burning cigarette. The area where the instructions are listed was now more of a memo pad with various phone numbers,hearts with arrows through them, and of course the obligatory curse words, "shit," "fuck," and "asshole."
There was even a wonderful drawing, no doubt inscribed by the next great Van Gogh, of a man�s penis and nuts. I thought, "I should leave my own mark." So, with careful deliberation, I drew a happy face knowing that the next user of this device would benefit from my creative use of a circle,two dots and a half-moon. There were no phone books in the holders, but that didn't bother me. I was one of those people who took the time to memorize my numbers. "I must know 10 or 12 of them," I thought proudly, and, just for the fun of it, I picked one randomly. I put twenty-five cents in the slot and dialed the number. I always put the wrong amount of change in when I first dial to ensure hearing the woman�s voice say, "Please deposit another ten cents." She�s always looked out for me over the years making sure that my calls will go through, and I know that, if we ever meet, we would be a great match.
The phone made its normal clicking sounds as it digested my money, and my call was connected. A strange man answered in a dialect I was unfamiliar with. I asked what number I had called (apparently my memory was not as good as I thought), and the man became irate. I�m not sure, but I think he said something about my burning down his eggplant crop and having sex with a mule. I assured the man that I was not the villain who defiled his farm, and I asked if he could put Mindy on the line. He hung up. "Odd, " I thought, "Mindy is always home at this time of day."
Oh well, I had just enough change to get a soda and cool my thirst. You never realize just how dry the air in a Laundromat is until that first sip of cola hits the back of your throat. I took my place once again in the mustard yellow, plastic chair, and cast my gaze into the mix of clothing going round and round in the dryer.
