With our dryer broken, I faced a stark reality. There were mounds and mounds of unwashed laundry, I have no choice.  I would need to go to the Laundromat, a world I had gleefully abandoned seventeen long years ago.  When Charlene and I got married, my folks gave us one of the best wedding presents ever, money to purchase a washer and dryer.  It was wonderful the transformation that took place in our lives.  We no longer had any need for the Laundromat, we could do it all at home.  Wash, dry, fluff, fold.  It was all now at our fingertips.  Our lives had changed for the better.  No more coins.  No more tiny boxes of detergent.  No more weekend evenings spent in one of the most unromantic locations possible.  We had forever bid farewell to the Laundromat scene or so we thought.  Marriage bliss was not spelled “honeymoon,” but rather “washer and dryer.”

I rarely gave any thought to the world that I had left behind, but on occasion re-entry was necessary. For instance, eight years ago, we had this big ol’ bed comforter that needed cleaning.  It needed the services of a Laundromat.  After washing the comforter, I placed it in a jumbo dryer and headed back outside to my car to practice answers for a job interview that I had coming up.  As the comforter tumbled dry, I would glance up and rehearse my answers.  Over and over again, I was determined to be prepared (also, I was stuck at the Laundromat waiting for the comforter, so it was good way to pass the time).  Glancing up, I saw something that I hoped was unusual for this location.  There, across the street, standing on his porch in the mid-morning sun was…  a naked man.  No kidding, dude just decided that today was the day that he had had enough of bothersome clothes and he would just stand on his front porch naked.  Irony of ironies, a naked man standing across the street from a building where loads and loads of clothes were being cleaned.  Maybe he had just placed his pants in the washer (I doubt it).  Unsure of how to address this situation, I diverted my eyes and tried not to draw attention to myself.  Funny, the guy who was wearing clothes felt awkward.

After a few minutes, the naked man across the street decided he was tired and lay down on his front porch (still naked) to take a nap. Was the porch wooden?  Splinter danger?  Had the World gone mad?  Could I sneak back into the Laundromat unnoticed?  Fortunately, all of these questions never needed to be answered, as a neighbor soon came over with a blanket and the police arrived to address a violation of Heaven only knows what ordinance.

After that experience, my suspicions were confirmed. I had outgrown Laundromat style excitement, but I also learned that somehow this weird mixture of interview preparation combined with public nudity landed me a job offer.  Coincidence?  Perhaps.  Shocking turn of events?  Certainly.  Not only had I outgrown this type of drama, my family had grown much, much too large for the Laundromat.  Instead of the two machines that Charlene and I used to occupy, now our family dominates a line of seven machines.  An impressive show of Laundromat force.

Contemplating all of the quarters I had just sunk into the machines, enough for a down payment on a new dryer, I glanced at the floor behind the washing machines. There on the floor, in a trench like structure, was gallon upon gallon of soapy water running past.  Sort of the River Styx of my laundry independence.  Divert my eyes, because soon, very soon, our new dryer would arrive, but by no means soon enough.