Laundryboy

AAA Laundrette

I’ve always loved laundromats. But I’ll never call them laundrettes, because feminism. I have called them that before, but I won’t. Not any more.

I found a new one this morning. There was a guy out front, putting coins into parking meters. One, two, then a third meter.

‘You’ve parked all your cars in a nice row’, I offered. He smiled.

‘They’re not mine, mate. Just paying it forward’, said the man.

‘So they’ll pay you back?’

’No, no - just me doing my one kind thing’, he replied with an air of what I could only describe as niceness.

I turned away from the man, who was still smiling.

I entered the laundromat. It was called ‘AAA Laundrette’. But I’ll just call it AAA (see above).

Nice row of domestic machines. Couple of industrial washers for doonas and the like. Decent driers, though not the current generation tech. All said - not a bad laundromat.

I go to laundromats when I need to wait.

You can’t wait on the street, or Uber drivers will pick you up and take you to places you don’t know.

You can’t wait in parks, because if you don’t have a kid you’re a predator.

You can wait at home, but you’re always waiting at home. That’s what home is for. Waiting for the next thing.

You can’t wait in cafes, because of the expectation. Cafes are solely about building expectation, then firing it at the customer like a friggin cannon ball.

Laundromats are designed for waiting. And who is legitimately waiting for their laundry? No one asks. Because no one could know.

Waiting for your laundry is fantastic. The anticipation!

But waiting near laundry is challenging. You want to launder. And yet... it’s not your laundry.

And that’s when it hit me.

My one kind thing for the day. I could pay it forward.

I stood, alone in the corner of the laundrette. Laundromat, sorry.

With my eyes, I selected a machine at random. It was also the only washing machine that was operating at that moment.

I sauntered over to it, casual as anything.

I stood in front of the machine, placed both hands, palm down, on the machine. I felt its vibrations.

None of this was creepy. I was paying it forward.

I opened the heavy top lid of the washer. Just a crack.

It screeched a protest. I knew it wasn’t finished its cycle. I can’t say why I tried to open it.

I gently closed the lid, wound the dial to spin cycle.

I let it spin. And boy it span. Or spun.

A creaking hinge - the laundromat door was being pushed open. A woman began to enter, then spied me, manning the sole operating washer. She retreated.