A little laundry story
I hate doing my laundry and just because the machine looks like a vintage videogame does not make it any more fun.
A couple of weeks ago, I tried my laundromat’s per-pound laundry service. I discovered that it only costs $2.50 extra per week to have somebody else do my laundry, but when I picked up my bag and unpacked my clothes it really hit me that a stranger was folding my underpants. Plus the only person I trust with my precious Ann Taylor Loft sweaters is myself.
I did my laundry by myself yesterday and while I was running home with my damp hang-dry only items, I managed to drop a sweater and a bra. I didn’t find this out until I walked back and saw my blue bra on the ground. My sweater was also there, but not on the ground – some nice person had picked it up and draped it over a fence.
I mention this because I’ve been scared of laundry trolls since my friend told me that someone has been stealing her underwear from her apartment building’s basement laundromat. My friend lives in New Jersey, but it is my understanding that panty-nappers are a common feature of urban living. I haven’t had my underwear stolen from the laundromat yet, but I think of it the same way I think of subway flashers and getting hit by pigeon droppings – an inevitable price I will have to pay for the privilege of living in New York City.
So I was truly touched that not only had someone thought to drape my sweater over the fence, but they had also delicately left my bra untouched, soiled only by the filthy Astorian sidewalk it had come to rest on (and I do mean filthy… people in this borough have NO idea how to pick up after their dogs).