Lessons from the Laundromat

When I was in my early twenties I left the comforts of (what had become) home in New England. I decided to go back to my roots in California. I snapped up a beautiful rental cottage a mile from the beach in Santa Barbara. I had found paradise and they allowed my dog to live there. There were palm trees and a garbage disposal. But, it didn’t come with a washer and a dryer.

I kept busy with my job. Friends visited. And the dirty laundry baskets began to overflow. “But, what do we DO?” I asked my younger brother—who had dutifully moved in with me to give California another try. He mentioned he’d seen a place down the road. It had stacks of washing machines. Dyers too! We quickly discovered they required quarters. And your own soap. Eventually we kind of got the hang of it.

For the first few months we were patrons of two different Laundromats. My overall impression at the time (and I am embarrassed to admit this) were that mostly “creeps” hung out at both. And, it is true, that more than one creepy looking guy “made eyes at me” and more than once I left before folding-- just to get out of the place. I wouldn’t go alone. And my brother and I both waited until every last scrap of clothes in the cottage were completely unclean to head—trunk piled high—to do our laundry. Sometimes we also had to wait for payday. Of course we then always rewarded ourselves with Sushi from Arigatos. If you haven’t got the picture in your head yet, I was pretty spoiled. And, I certainly thought myself “above” needing a Laundromat. 

Things started to change when I got to know my neighbors. A young couple moved into the studio across the street. They also had the sweetest, most cute, most  precious baby girl (She had me at her first drool, ok?). Before too long, we were hanging out a bit. And (wipe tear), they invited me to do laundry with them. And they had found THE PLACE. This place was sunny and small and directly across the street from a yummy breakfast place. I was smitten. With my friends too. 

My friends didn’t complain about laundry day. They just did it. Little pumpkin in arm (or backpack) came along and we all sorted, washed and folded together. Jill, she really still is my hero for this, knew how to fold fitted sheets. The right way. To this day, I can’t do it without her present. And she lives a few thousand miles away. Pause a moment to shutter at the thought of my linen closets. It is ok. I have plenty of closet space and I keep the doors closed. You can relax now. 

Laundry day became…enjoyable? And, I even grew to appreciate the efficiency of getting everything done all at once—rather than my other method of rushing to wash just what I needed for work tomorrow. And a friendship was made—over folded towels and pastry.  I learned Matt was in school for photography and a few months later, Matt was taking beautiful photographs at my wedding. No creeps at our laundromat. Just good friends.

Ten years and few thousand miles later, and we are still friends trying to figure out when we can plan a co-family trip to our favorite places at Disneyland. And, up until recently, we have both had the luxury (and loneliness) of doing our laundry in our own homes.

Since November our washing machine and/or dryer have been on the fritz. They aren’t mine, or I would replace them. They belong to my landlord. And, I have a lot of emotions and words about our landlord situation right now, but just suffice it to say it hasn’t been pleasant as of late. And I've been praying. A lot.

Up until recently, it worked juuust often enough that I could keep a clean outfit or two for everyone available in the house. I’ve had wonderful friends let me throw a load or two in while we visit over coffee. Sadly, either they do not know how to fold fitted sheets or they aren't willing so share their knowledge.  Eventually the time had to come where there was just too much. And, gulp. I found myself heading to the Laundromat again.  $20, $40, $60 in quarters later and I we were on our way.  Three kids, me and a mini-van full of laundry. I mean, the kids had to move up to the middle seats full. I couldn’t see out the back. You get the picture?

We pulled into the parking lot of the laundromat on a nearby military base. As I lugged everything inside (with 3 kids lugging behind me) I quickly realized I was the only woman there. And definitely the only person with children in tow. A passing thought--now I don't remember the guys hanging out at the SB laundromats being this cute...but, I digress. Now, I was the middle-aged matron with three meddling kids invading what appeared to be a fairly friendly, albeit testosterone owned, space. It is not an exaggeration to say that everyone stopped to stare. I smiled, bravely, and tried to act "natural". Ha!

After being cut in line 2-3 times as washers came free, I was starting to think ugly thoughts about chivalry's deadness and days gone by. But, I kept my head down and pushed my way to a washer (or 3) the next time.

Some unwelcome thoughts of being "above" all this were sneaking back into my heart. And then, the humbling began.

I eavesdrop a lot. I don't know if it is because I like to read and write or just because I'm nosy, but I can't help but pick up on the conversations all around me.

Let me tell you a little bit about what I learned. Two of these guys were fresh home from deployment. Three more were about to head "back to the sandbox". They weren't washing their church clothes. They were washing their battle-gear. They laughed and joked and they saved dryers for each other. They were probably not even at the drinking age yet. And that is when my mother's heart first began to ache. I no longer rushed to grab the first free dryer (although, I will admit, my kids were pretty fast even without prompting).

Sitting there waiting, and waiting, and listening I witnessed two displays of comradery that will forever change my feelings about the laundromat--and hopefully my behavior too.

I watched an older soldier (meaning, more like my age instead of JV Basketball) get his laundry started and then look around. When no one was looking he stuck a $20 bill into the change machine then walked away. I kept watching. A few minutes later he went over to the machine and said "Hey, guys? Does this money belong to anyone?". When no one claimed it, he put the pile of coins on the counter, and walked away. Slowly, but surely, the young guys came by and grabbed a few coins. Never all of them, but just a few. And, I remembered--they serve our country for so little. If I am feeling the pinch of paying to do laundry, what does it feel like to them? Apparently, there were others who have thought of this before. Another "older" gentleman I'd been conversing with stopped me "Ma'am I'm just going to leave this extra (note: FULL) box of laundry detergent here. You're more than welcome to use it" and he winked as he left with his clean load. I had a full bottle of detergent. But, I made sure the next two guys about to purchase soap knew about the box. They gratefully used it. But, not all of it. Just what they needed.

4 hours after I arrived, I was finally loading my car up with stacks of baskets. I had stayed to fold. No creeps to run away from here. Just a bunch of guys (just like my husband) who seemed to take it in stride that they protect my freedom one day and wash their gear the next. And just a couple of men who are probably passing through the area on training--far from the families and spouses who usually help with this task--who took a second to "remember how it was" for them, and leave something behind to make the day just a little easier for their brothers in arms.

Pulling our of the parking lot I'd left a little piece of my heart behind. And some laundry detergent and a basket too. Next time I do laundry there I probably won't invade their space on a Sunday afternoon again (probably why I was the only woman there--who is dumb enough to go to the laundromat on Sunday afternoon? Pffft. Not me! again.). But, I will not complain. And I will go through these extra clothes and keep, not all of it, but just the few we need. I can leave the extra quarters I save, next time.