She sensed the hostility brewing within me, a typically non-violent soul. But it had been a long night and stuffing this lady in that dryer seemed like the right thing to do.

EARLIER…

After an entire day of cleaning and gathering the mental fortitude to take on the remainder of this Sunday, cousin Marsha and I decided that we both needed to make a trip to the laundromat. Washers, dryers, the whole nine yards.

Her sheets were starting to feel like cacti and she was against my idea of sleeping on a large, beach towel. As for me, my amount of clean underwear was starting to trickle down significantly with each passing day. And anybody who does laundry knows that your underwear count determines whether you really have to wash or not.

With a mutual concern for our growing pile, we made a break for the SuperWash on Soldier Road (*cough-D’Aguilar sponsor my blog-cough*). It was around 6PM now. The sun had basically called it quits for the day as the evening draft began to paint the scene in all shades of chill.

I was still wearing my tropical tank top and black joggers from earlier today. Then again, I was expecting us to hit the laundry scene a bit earlier. A whole 2 hours earlier, but life happens.

Now approaching our destination, Marsha and I peer out the window to see a jammed-pack parking lot. Cars snugly woven into spaces like the fibers of a knitted sweater. And although this was her preferred location, the potent sense of “Oh hell no!” coming from the passenger seat influenced our decision to try our hand at another location.

We drive off in disbelief, hoping that the next location in mind was more accommodating. Shame on us for choosing a Sunday evening to go to a public wash house right?

Lighthearted jokes about worst case scenarios fluttered throughout the car, filling the gap in time between our journey from Soldier Road to that of Carmichael. Now passing the strip of the laundromat, we see a familiar scene. Cars densely packed like a can of sardines across a modestly paved lot.

Perfect.

More hungry than upset at tonight’s turn of events thus far, Marsha decides it was high time to grab a bite and fuel up to deal with the skull-duggery that was sure to unravel later tonight. While in the Carmichael area, we decided to hit up KFC.

Some 11 herbs and spices along with the acidity of Sierra Mist (AKA the government Sprite) ought to do the trick. Hopefully, there’d be less vermin congesting the laundry scene later into the night. And the washers and dryers will be ours.

After our chicken-filled session, we decided to head near home to the Superwash on Charles Saunders Highway (which should’ve been our first stop due to its close proximity). We pull to an overpopulated wash house. Between the shutters, I saw nothing but figures standing, sitting, walking, and talking. It was a definite no!

We’d always make fun of this location because there was a serious lack of trolleys available. And there’d always be some crotchety, elder who hogged the 1 of 4 trolleys there. Like shouldn’t you be in a nursing home you decrepit swine?

(Sorry, I have nothing personal against the elderly. But these old farts that I stumble across in Superwash are always a bigotty, disgruntle lot.)

Now circling back to the Soldier Road location, we couldn’t help laughing at tonight’s misfortunes. Luckily, this time around there was parking available. Optimism struck us once again as we both grabbed a load of clothes each, hoping to secure a series of washers and dryers.

Marsha needed about 5 and I could work with 3 if need be. Normally, I opted for 4. But with the way the crowd was looking tonight, I thought the less I spread my clothes between washers, the safer they’d be.

I’ve heard too many horror stories of people’s clothes being stolen out of the laundromat dryers over here. And it’s safe to say I’d cut a bitch for my Kakashi Sensai hoodie.

Anyway, we dash through the door like a pair of missionaries; we scatter, running through each aisle trying to secure some washers:

  • We passed the singles. Full.
  • We passed the doubles. No luck.
  • We even passed the triples, but to no avail.

Allowing the fruitlessness of our labor to marinate some more, the cramped ambience of this place gave off a very eerie vibe. People from all walks of life stuffed the guts of the building with their….unique shapes and forms. And it honestly felt sharply different from the other locations; there was less air to breathe here and less space separating the aisles.

To top it all off, there was no more seating available and there was some crack head singing BuJu Banton songs. He was a little flat on a couple of notes, but overall not bad. Exasperated, Marsha and I share a look of defeat and decided it was to leave this elephant of a clusterfuck.

Shambling back to the car, I was more than prepared to call it quits for tonight and try again tomorrow. But Marsha was resolute to revive the texture and comfort of her sheets. So with a glimmer of hope remaining among us, we bolted back to Carmichael for another go-round. You know what they say, fifth time’s the charm.

With a blaze of determination now consuming her, Marsha arrives to the parking lot and salvages a spot at the exact front. “Drivaaah!” , she exclaims in this hilariously high-pitched voice.

Just as before, we each grab a load and begin scouring the innards of the wash house. This location seemed a lot more capacious, so it gave us a better chance of finding some available washers.

After 5 minutes of circling and re-circling the house, we were able to find one, single, solitary washer free for use. We both came to the conclusion that Marsha’s sheets were paramount.

(Besides, I hated the fact that there were already so many people here. I always had a gripe with crowds of people, especially within a confined space. I’d only feel more paranoid and uneasy than usual.)

I stand proxy in front the washer as Marsha goes out to retrieve the load that had her sheets and return my bundle to the trunk. She returns swiftly and begins packing the washer expectantly. After paying, we stand by our single washer making conversation and observing the state of our surroundings.

There’s a hectic buzz consuming this place. Little kids are running about like wild animals and parents are retaliating with shouting and animated gestures of frustration. In particular is this elderly, dark-skinned lady. Just by hearing her yell earlier at who I can only assume was her grandson, we surmised that she is Haitian. More so that she had enough of her grandson’s tomfoolery.

She yells at the top her voice “I TYAD!!!!”. She follows this scream with a booming thunder clap that startles everyone in the aisle. The clap took place right in the front of this one lady who was just trying to get through the walkway. I saw how stunned she was, poor thing must’ve thought her lace front had took orbit.

Being the facetious bunch we are, Marsha and I burst into riotous laughter boldly pointing out how funny the entire thing was. Subtlety wasn’t always our strong suit. After coming down from that humorous high, Marsha notices about 3 minutes remaining on the washer across from ours. She thought it’d be nice if she could get her uniforms cleaned tonight as well.

So she approaches the lady and asked her to use the washer after her clothes are done, the lady agrees. From her accent, it was evident that she too was Haitian. Marsha goes to the car to get her uniform bundle and upon returning, there’s this other lady trying to negotiate for the soon to be free washer.

The lady looks at us in contempt as she negotiates in Haitian-Creole. The washer host pointed to Marsha, making it clear that she asked first. Marsha steps forward and proclaims “No, I already asked her!” The bargainer gave us a glare, threw her hands up, walked away and continued ranting in Creole. She was hysterical to say the least.

Nearing the end of the washing cycle, we began plotting up ways to secure at least one dryer. With our eyes zeroing-in on the dryers located on the far end, we looked to see if the current occupant’s clothes were done. And sure enough, they were! The lady approached her two dryers slowly with a trolley. This was our chance!

Marsha prompted me to grab some clothes from the car to secure the dryer until her washing cycle was completely over. Sprinting to the car and back, I returned with a pillow case filled with clothing. I’m standing in a queue behind the lady retrieving her clothes from the dryer and some other lady who held a basket in her hand.

Her basket was relatively empty and her body language dictated that she too had her eyes on these set of dryers. The lady finally moves all of her belongings. I stand patiently as the lady ahead started hooping articles of clothing in the top dryer. Cool, I thought. That’ll leave the bottom one for Marsha’s stuff.

To my surprise, the lady takes her knee and slam the bottom dryer shut and continues placing her scant amount of clothes into the dryer on top. “THIS BITCH”, I thought with fury fueling my glare.

Before consciously deciding to maul her with my sack of dirty clothes, I hear Marsha calling out to me to abort the mission. She sensed the hostility brewing within me, a typically non-violent soul. But it had been a long night and stuffing this lady in that dryer seemed like the right thing to do.

Minutes pass and we come across a free dryer in which I had to deploy decoy clothes until Marsha arrived with her damped ones. Ha, success! We decided to sit the car and make use of the laundromat’s Wi-Fi to pass the time.

Before we knew it, 40 minutes elapsed and we began packaging the clothes to make our escape a swift one. Normally Marsha would fold her clothes after the dryer phase, but it was getting late and it really was too suffocating for all of that.

While sorting everything out, a lady approaches us and asks if we had anymore dryers. We informed her that she can have this one and that we’re finished. Dryers were like crack to these people. The whole night seemed like a Black Friday sale on doing laundry.

Piling the last bit of clothing into the pillow case, we are approached by a familiar face – it’s the same lady that almost fought us for the washer earlier. However, this time around she was very humbled and spoke in the purest form of English.

“Um, goodnight. Do you have anymore dryers available?” Staring incredulously, Marsha and I burst into laughter and begin squawking like a pair of seagulls “DRRYYYERRRRSSSSS????!!!” Amidst trying to catch our breath, Marsha tells her no and continues to laugh in her face as we made our exit. Served her right for being such a gank earlier. Now if only that beast from earlier got her clothes overheated and burnt in the dryers.

Getting back to the car we continued in our state of mirth, we were completely over the moon to be done with this wretched night. The victory was won, even though we still had about 7 more loads to wash. But hey, that was tomorrow’s headache. Tonight we feast on jokes and sleep on cleaner sheets.

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