I knew I shouldn’t have smoked pot so early in the day. It made me so unmotivated. Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest, dammit, but how can anyone rest when you have all this shit to do, in order to prepare for a Monday morning interview.

I was still sleepy from staying up half the night with Ben, smoking pot and hiking through fields by moonlight. He  found an old tree house and wanted me to sit and watch the owls with him.

But come Sunday morning, all I wanted to do was spend the day on the couch, watch a movie…or perhaps have a beefy sexy man to cuddle with.

I finally dragged my ass off the couch, got my dirty clothes together, and drove to Carlisle. For lunch, I bought some chicken and fried potato wedges from the deli counter where I bought gas. I pulled into the laundromat parking lot and sighed. I dreaded laundry day. I was hoping to be the only one there, but that’s never the case.

The noon sun was hot and it  blinded me, so I donned my sunglasses to conceal my squinty, bloodshot eyes as a result from all the pot I’d smoked.  All sorts of people were out wearing shorts and t-shirts. I glanced at some shirtless farm boys riding in the back of a truck with their ball caps turned backwards. They were already sporting deep golden tans.

When I pulled open the heavy glass door, something sticky was on the aluminum handle. I imagined some kid with grimy hands had touched it. Inside it was slightly cooler and nowhere near as bright, but I kept my sunglasses on. I scanned the room for empty washers and spotted a heavy-set woman in her thirties wearing tight pink sweatpants. Her auburn hair was spun around big curlers and tied down with a green handkerchief.  Her stern face  eyed something across the room. Two towheaded boys around nine or ten were fighting over a toy.

“Maaaaaahhhm! Timmy has my Transformer! Make him give it back!” one of them screamed.

“No I don’t, I don’t know where it is,” said the other.

“Yes he does. He had it! He had it!!!” he yelled, followed by a blood curdling scream. I cringed.

“You two better behave or I’m not taking you to Walmart.” said the woman.  I could see she was going to be tough competition for the coveted washers. I had to be on my toes.

I needed quarters. An elderly lady with elephant skin, dressed in a light blue pants suit and matching blue curly perm was gabbing to the manager. Her mouth flapped open and shut like a fish. I scanned the room and noticed some guy around my age, tall, thin, quiet, and fidgety. His eyes darted about, looking left and right. Nervous like a small dog. He quickly placed his neatly folded laundry in his basket.  As he headed for the door, I nodded out of courtesy, but he cowered by lowering his head, quivering, like a bird, then he quickly looked away. At first I  assumed he was gay from being alone and his neatly folded clothes, but then I reconsidered because of the twitching and maybe because he didn’t stare long enough. In fact he barely acknowledged my existence. Could just be a straight, Mama’s boy, nerd type. I guess that he’s likely not getting laid and has all the newest computers and gadgets.  

The woman with the kids appeared to have eight of the washers. All I needed was three, two for colors and one for whites, but two would be fine for the moment. I did notice that the mother of the two boys got the washer that was known to break down. I chuckled to myself knowing that she got that piece of crap machine instead of me. I spotted two washers not in use, and sped back to my truck, snatching my two baskets from the passenger side. Running with my baskets, I managed to secure the two remaining machines. I stuffed the whites into one and as many colors that would fit into the second washer. I got the vast majority of colors into it, choosing the less worn and less dirty batch to wait its turn. Now that my territory was secured, I strolled back to my truck for the detergent and bleach. Back inside, I placed them on top of my washers and walked over to the attendant’s desk.

Mrs. Bluehair was smoking a cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the floor, as she jabbered incessantly to a middle-aged woman, nodding along as she watched her soap opera on TV. The older woman turned and glared at me, but refused to stop talking. I tapped my feet, rolled my eyes and released a heavy sigh. The woman behind the counter turned and said, “Excuse me Margaret, I have a customer. How may I help you?”

“Ummmm, can I get five bucks worth of quarters?” I said.

“Don’t let me stop you, Sharon,” said the blue haired woman, acting as if she were insulted.

“Yes, do you need any detergent or bleach?” said the attendant.

I gave her the five and said, “No, thanks. I brought my own.”

“Hey, I need to warn you. Don’t use the dryer second from the right. It seems to be putting out only cold air.”

“Thanks Ma’am, good to know.” She pretended to smile and handed me the change by counting it out as she dropped the quarters one by one into my hand. I raced back to start the wash cycle.

Washing clothes successfully was a waiting game, a test of mental alertness and cunning. The mom’s got experience on her side, brute force and determination, but ultimately her kids were her achilles heel and she knew it. I, on the other hand, had less laundry and no children to distract me. I knew that if I played this right, I could swiftly swoop in and take the first available dryer. Her big advantage was that she was physically closer the the coveted driers and could use unfair tactics to block the aisles once a vacant dryer should happen to become available.

As the time got closer to my loads being done, I acted distracted and unaware. I feigned lack of interest and merely peeked at the driers. If she thought I was not being attentive, perhaps she would put down her guard on the driers. The very second my washers stopped, I went into action. I casually pulled one by one out of the washer. I could see she that was looking. When she looked away, I grabbed as many wet clothes as I could hold and slung them into my basket. She looked again and I pulled them out one by one. I was nearly finished. I waited. Ah, she looked away again. I snatched up both baskets and briskly rushed across to the other side of the room hoping to avoid her detection.

”Oh my goodness! Three available driers,” I thought to myself. I noticed that she had four of them in use and was pulling the wash from one of her washers. She saw me coming, but it was too late. I was determined to get at least one if not two or all three of them. I could see her shocked expression turn towards rage, ever so subtly gripping her face. Working fast, she slung her wet clothes with a thunk into her baskets. I had the first dryer almost filled with colors when I saw her coming. I popped open the second door and flung in a wet white t-shirt. It was mine. I had successfully secured two for myself while losing a possible third. I was lucky to secure the two on the end because they dry clothes faster and hotter than all the other dryers. I glanced over at her and noticed a slight snarl. I pretended not to be aware of the great military victory over my foe. I smiled inside. Puffed up my inner chest. Spoils to the victor! I chuckled.

That moment of happiness did not last.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhmm!” followed by this ear piercing scream. “Then make him give it back!!” said one of her brats.

I remember acting that way as a kid and it being a fun game, but I sure couldn’t take that shit very long as an adult. Buying a washer and dryer was a priority on my list of future purchases. I couldn’t keep coming to Laundromats much longer. “Oh, God. I’m in hell!”

I wouldn’t have come on a Sunday had I known earlier that I would be having an interview coming up the next day for a position as mail clerk in an insurance company. The first of nearly twenty job resumes I had sent out, and this was the only one to reply and ask me to come in for an interview. Lexington’s a bit far, but supposedly the job paid fairly well, and might be worth the long commute.

I bought a newspaper and was browsing the want ads, when I heard the door open. Two attractive women in their mid thirties walked in the door with two young kids. A short, thin woman with bleach blond hair, wearing tight Daisy Duke hot pants was chatting away with the other, more moderately dressed, brown haired woman, who was arguably the prettier of the two. Two children followed close behind, a little boy around two years old, wobbling like a Weeble, and a much older dark haired girl carrying a little book.

“Bella May, take Stevie over there and sit in them chairs. I have to go back to get my detergent.” said the brown haired woman.

“ Yes, Momma,” said the girl, taking the toddler by the hand.

Once my whites were done, I tossed them in my basket, folding only the t-shirts. My colors were still a bit damp, so I put in another quarter. The two women were putting their clothes in the remaining washers. I heard the tapping of tiny shoes getting closer, and then felt little hands and a tug at my pant leg.

The little girl ran up beside me and said, “Come on Stevie. Don’t be grabbing that man’s leg” She took the little boy’s hand and led him away as he was  screaming and babbling. “Sorry, he’s just my little cousin and doesn’t know better.” She smiled and walked back.

The blond woman walked over as I read the want ads. “Will you be needing this cart?

I looked up to see her smiling. “No it’s yours.”

“Hard to find jobs there. I always check,” she said.

“Yeah, been looking for almost two months and not much available. I have an job interview tomorrow in Lexington, but not sure if I’m qualified for it.”

“Well, I hope you get it,” she said, pushing the cart back to her washers.

“Thanks.”

My last load was finally dry. The mother of the two boys eyed me like a hawk. Just as I was folding the last item, the mother reached behind my back, yanking the dryer door open, hitting me in the back. She slung her wet clothes inside without bothering to excuse herself. I folded the jeans in a rush, then grabbed my baskets and headed for the door, so glad to be leaving this service of domestic woe.

Just as I was leaving, the blond grabbed my attention. “Hey, Hey you. You going out the door.” I looked back and saw her waving. “Say, if you don’t get that job, well my friend over in Millersburg is gettin’ ready to start pulling and settin’ tobacca next week. He’s been having some trouble finding people to help ‘em. You know, if you want, I kin tell em you’re looking for work and he’ll probably get you a job with us. It’s pretty easy,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah sure. I don’t think my chances will be very good tomorrow. I’m terrible with interviews. You can tell him I’m looking. So how do I get in touch with you?” I said.

“Here’s his number. Give him a call sometime by the end of this week. I’ll ask him tonight.” She got out her big moma purse of a thousand items, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote a number on the back of a food coupon. I glanced over and saw the other woman looking at me with a friendly smile.  The little girl was lying on the floor, coloring in her coloring book and the little boy had fallen asleep, lying limp in the other woman’s arms. “Here, this is Darrel’s number.”

Just as she said that, I felt an uncomfortable, unmistakable twinge and writhing pain from my intestines, pleading with me to get to a toilet ASAP. I forced a smile and nodded.  I felt an urgency to finish the conversation as quickly as humanly possible.

“He’s an okay guy. Just tell him that I was talking with you in the Laundromat, then he will know who you are. My name’s Cindy and that is my sister, Suzanne. What’s your name?” She said, holding out her hand.

“I’m Travis,” I smiled. The cramping was intense.

“Wow, Travis is a cute name. Never met a Travis before. Me, Suzanne and her boyfriend are supposed to be there next Monday morning. He always starts way before the sun comes up, so you got to dress warm. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

She seemed like she was flirting, but I didn’t have time for this. “Maybe, sounds good to me.” I said, clenching my ass cheeks. “Sure, maybe you’ll see me after all. “Bye” I bolted towards my truck with a determined gait. I slung open the driver’s side door and tossed my laundry baskets towards the passenger side, laying the coupon atop my dried clothes. I drove, going the most efficient and direct route towards the Dairy Queen. This was a full-on emergency and I imagined the worst. I was afraid the toilet could be occupied, and that meant that I could possibly ruin my underwear and embarrass myself, just by seeing a toilet and losing all control because anticipation had been met.

To my great fortune, the employees didn’t notice my arrival and I found a clear path to an unoccupied restroom and an unoccupied stall. Nervously and blissfully I rejoiced. Not a moment too soon. I pulled my pants down just in time as all hell broke loose. The built up pain gave rise to relief. The sounds were embarrassingly loud and the smell could gag a horse. So glad that no one was in there to witness the event. My breathing returned to normal. Relief, a crisis averted, but the smell lingered. I needed a quick exit to save myself from embarrassment of being associated with that god-awful stench. I washed, rinsed and dried my hands. I thought I was home free, but just as I was existing, a hot beefy young man in his early twenties smiled and uttered in a baritone voice, “Sceuzz me!”  pushing past me as he entered the restroom.  

“Damn! He’s going to hate me right about now,” I thought as  I briskly exited the Dairy Queen not looking back. I jumped in my truck and sped off.