My Laundromat Has a Patio

In the last year or so, our laundromat turned fancy.

New washers. New dryers. New tiles on the wall. New, higher prices to match all the fanciness.

But what appeared sometime around last summer surprised me most of all: a backyard patio. Who knew my laundromat had more outdoor space than me? (But since my only outdoor space is on the fire escape, it really wouldn't take much.)

The patio certainly isn't fancy. A couple of picnic tables. A garden that has more rocks than anything green. In fact, between the spare laundry carts on one side and the barbed wire along the top of the fence on the other side, there might be more metal than plants.

We live so close to the laundromat that we usually come back up to our apartment while we're waiting for our loads to wash or dry. Still, the patio is a nice alternative to wait between loads, so long as you have a good book and don't mind the aroma of laundry detergent and dryer sheets.

My Dream Is to Once Again Own a W/D

In college, it was a point of pride that I never brought home my dirty laundry.

First of all, it seemed like a giant hassle to cart back and forth a basket of clothes for a weekend visit. Most of all, however, I though that washing my own laundry was a tiny step toward adulthood.

I'm bringing this up now because I have pre-scheduled this post to publish just as I'm flying from Columbus to New York. And I'm fairly certain I'll be coming back with a suitcase full of clean clothes.

You see, I've spent the last six days in Ohio, splitting the time between my husband's family and my own. I didn't bring home any dirty laundry, but I certainly planned on utilizing my mom and dad's washer and dryer for the clothing I wore while I was there.

Have I regressed? I prefer to think I'm just practical. I think it's also a sign of just how much I hate laundromats. My daydreams don't involve winning the lottery or becoming famous. They're about having the space for my very own w/d again.

In our three years in New York, I've become accustomed to -- and even enjoy -- a lot of the quirks that make living in Brooklyn different than living in Ohio. Most weeks now I don't even mind carrying our groceries a few blocks home. But the lack of a washer and dryer -- that I cannot get used to. It is by far my least favorite thing about living in New York.

Underground New York, in the Form of a $1 Bill

Q: Which is real? A: The bottom $1.

 The laundromat makes me feel 10 years younger.

Before we moved to New York, the last time I'd used one was in the college dorms, circa spring 2001. (Except for that one time our washer and dryer broke in Columbus and I had to drive our dirty clothes to a gigantic Walmart-sized laundromat a mile or two away from our house. I'm still trying to forget that.)

Actually, I still have the exact same tin I used then to collect quarters. Of course we never have enough change, so we always keep the tin stocked with a few $1 or $5 bills to feed the laundromat's quarter machine.

That's the position Paul was in a few weeks ago. But the machine wouldn't take the dollar bill. Finally, the woman at the register came to take a look. She quickly realized what Paul hadn't: the bill was counterfeit.

A counterfeit $1 bill.

I can't help but think that whoever produced it should have aimed a little higher.

It's a pretty good replica. A real bill is just a few millimeters wider and has a slightly thicker, sturdier feel. Certainly nothing I would have noticed had I not been specifically comparing them.

We still have the dollar bill. I'm keeping it as a souvenir of my one and only run-in with underground New York.

Laundromat Lamentations

After nearly a year and a half in New York, I miss my own personal washer and dryer the most. In Ohio it was so convenient to just walk downstairs and throw in a load whenever the mood struck.

At the same time, I don't miss it nearly as much as I thought I would. Our laundromat is practically underneath our apartment (just one door over), and it is extremely convenient to do all of the washing and all of the drying simultaneously.

Around here, Friday evening is the best time to throw in a few loads. No waiting for carts, no waiting for washers and no waiting for dryers. And since I can do it all at the same time, everything's folded and put away early enough that we can still do something at night if we're so inclined.

Except last Friday. Last Friday I opened up a dryer filled with bedding, jeans and towels and found bright red splotches over everything, like these on our pillowcases:



Paul found one of the employees who quickly discovered the culprit: a melted crayon. Obviously Paul and I didn't throw it in there, but it's not uncommon to have to maneuver around 3 or 4 kids during every visit.

The laundromat re-washed and re-dryed our clothes, and all of the stains mostly came out, except for those on the pillowcases and a bit on the towels. At least it didn't happen to the load of Paul's nice white dress shirts.