LONG LIVE CLEAN SKIVVIES

My washer and dryer are gone.  Sold.  See ya later.  I am sorry to see them go because both the washer and dryer, at three years old, are in excellent shape.  But, as anyone who has moved will understand, shit's gotta go.

The problem with selling the washer and dryer so fast is that now I must go to the laudromat until I move into my new place in a several weeks.  I could go to the really nice one in the next town over, or I could go to the crappy one closer to my house, the one of my younger, freer days, a place older than dirt itself.  I suspect this laundromat existed before washing machines were even invented, that's how old this place is.

As soon as I arrive, I start having deja vu.  Once my friends and I all started moving out of our parents' homes, this place became the local late-teen/early-twenties hang out.  Skivvies got washed while beers were consumed (the grocery mart was right next door).  The place looks exactly as I remember it.  Some of the washing machines are new -- some are not -- but all of the dryers are exactly the same some thirty years later.

The most reliable thing about this place is that nothing works.  Well, not exactly nothing, but damn near.  Luckily, I have quarters with me, laundry soap with me, and dryer sheets with me, because the coin changer doesn't work, and the soap dispenser doesn't work.  Score one for me!  I start walking around the washers and, out of the thirteen machines, two are unplugged, two have signs on them, and two more are simply shut off.  That means seven are left working: four giant ones, one medium machine, and two small ones.

The small washers look like larger washers until I put my clothes inside.  My small load of dirty clothes completely packs the drum.  I don't care.  I do not give one flying crap that I can spend an extra quarter and have a bigger washer; it's the principle of the thing.  I stuff those clothes in there like it's nobody's business, and, since I am the only one at the laundromat at 3:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday, it apparently isn't anyone's business but mine.

Twenty-seven minutes later, my clean clothes come out of the washer, and I find a clean and decent dryer that doesn't look like it will catch fire while drying my clothes.  I set it for hot, and I set it for twenty-one minutes at seven minutes per quarter.  Most of the stuff dries after I make sure that the dryer doesn't re-set itself to medium instead of hot temperature, a sure ploy to get more money out of unsuspecting patrons.  (Did I mention I've been here before?)

I hope I can survive the next six weeks of going to the laundromat, and I certainly hope that I spend more time at the big, clean laundromat in the next town.  However, at least I have experience on how to outsmart the machines at this local neighborhood dive.  In the meantime, long live clean skivvies -- even if it's hell to get them washed, dried, and folded for less than a king's ransom in quarters.