Apparently a “self-service laundry facility” is called a laundrette in the UK. This is wrong. The British people should be chastised for making laundry sound feminine. A-holes. Although I don’t think Yanktown, Canader and Oz are doing much better when you consider how goofy the spelling of laundromat is. Do you say “laundrOHmat” or “laundrEEmat”? Okay, now I’m just being bitter ’cause I had to look up the spelling. And I’ve learned that I was saying it wrong my entire life. Let’s go back to picking on the sexist British instead of thinking about my lack of spelling abilities, shall we?
Or should we just get on with the bloody blog post already? Okay… you the boss.
I haven’t gone in years… to the point that I don’t clearly remember the last time. I think I was still living in Quesnel, so that would have been a million years ago or so (give or take).
I decided to take it to the ‘mat as not only did I have a pantsload of laundry to do, but my new place has no dryer. What’s with that?
Just another reason not to live in Aurghville too much longer. Sigh.
::END SIDE NOTE::
I don’t mind doing a load and hanging it up – I did it in Korea for two years. But here that means giving up every last millimetre of floor space I have in my room (there simply isn’t any other space – see note on “Aurghville”, above). But I’m willing to do it, if it is within reason. But hanging up my bedding? L.A.M.E. x 3, yo:
1. I’ve only got one set of the damned things. What am I supposed to sleep on? What am I supposed to sleep under?
2. They would take up more space than I gots to hang them.
3. They wouldn’t get that snuggy dryer-fresh aura about them.
So I sucked it up this evening and hauled it to the ‘mat, which was hopping busy. Apparently I wasn’t the ony slothing my way through Zombie Jesus’ Birthday Weekend Bananza*. It looked like every geezer in East London had laundry to do tonight.
Good thing there were washing machines available ’cause I had enough dirty goods to fill three of them (without overfilling… there were so many machines just packed full, which doesn’t really work). And at dryer time some nice old guy ‘splained to me how the machine worked.
True store: I just said “dryer time” in my head the same way a particular MC used to say “Hammer Time”. Yes, I did.
::END SIDE NOTE::
The problem was that I needed two machines – I filled one with my two loads of clothes and it was the bedding that I really needed to dry before I left. There were two machines that were going to come free. There were two of us waiting. Awesome! One was about two minutes ahead of the other. So I told the other girl waiting to go ahead. Well… the person who was using “my” machine put more money in and effed everything up. AURGHPANTS! But then that lovely person who I “gave” the dryer to suggested that we share the machine and dried all the sheets at the same time. How rad is that?
So I was feeling the neighbourhood love at the laundromat tonight and laundry was the least stressful it has been in ages. And with how stressful everything else seems to be in my life at the moment… I dig the laundromat most supreme. Rock.
*I know a few people personally that could stumble across that blasphemy that I would apologise to, but a) you should expect this sort of malarkey from me by now, b) I’m probably going to hell whether or not I refer to JC as a Zombie, c) I think Jesus would think it was funny, d) I earned back any points I lost with that awesomely correct punctuation, and e) hell anyway.