It is a bit of a dreary place, the laundromat. I hadn't been to one in years, but today I needed to use the giant washers and dryers to clean up bed spreads and sleeping bags in preparation for next week's company.
I walked in and was hit by the smell which is a mix of dryer sheets, detergents, and hot dryers. Oh yeah. It is all coming back to me. Those college-student days, beginning married life, living in the country with only collected rain water. Those years with out the convenience of ones own personal laundromat.
Some things have changed. The attentive young man came out from behind the counter to walk me through all the steps of getting your laundromat card loaded--they don't use quarters anymore. And this place had five kinds of beer on tap. What? This seems like one of the last places I'd want to enjoy a drink. Sipping suds as I watch my clothes rotate over and over.
There are still the college students walking in, shuffling back packs from place to place before setting their heads in a book. Youngsters run around trying to entertain themselves by rolling laundry carts around in a slightly dangerous manner, then begging parents for money to insert into the many game and candy machines.
People smile and say "Hi" or "Excuse me" when squeezing by, then we keep our eyes on our own business. Old ripped cover magazines dot the rusty stands. A pool table bears a sign to not fold laundry on it. No problem as it's spotted top is not where I'd consider placing clean items. Someone must have washed a rug that unraveled as there is yarn and string in piles of the floor.
Yeah, despite the pleasant people inside, this laundromat is dreary. I'm feeling quite blessed my Kenmore pair is waiting for me back home.