If you want to know a country, go to its laundromats. You see all of it--the young first-apartment…read morecouples, leaning on each other as they watch their clothes spin in the dryer; the working mother, who takes turns unloading the washers and helping her kids with their math homework; the father reading the Sun-Times while waiting for his clothes to finish, hoping he'll be able to replace his busted washing machine soon so he can take another when-we-can-afford-it task off his to-do list. They're all here--the always-moving women, the too-comfortable men, the older couple who washes housecoats and sweatpants while doing the crossword; the plumber with the shirts he's been banned from washing at home and the grandma with the load of blankets that still smell like her spoiled, sticky, grubby, miss-'em-already grandchildren who stayed at her house over Christmas break.
I'd like to do a writing residency in a laundromat for a month and interview the people who come and go. It's a mecca for situations and stories and personalities.
I've been a variation on a few of the aforementioned patrons in my life. This last time? The guy with the broken washing machine. Thankfully, three of my kids--and their laundry--are away at school but between me, my wife and my youngest daughter, the clothes still pile up. And when the kids came home for Thanksgiving and winter break, my wife or I brought in loads and loads and loads of clothes. And each time, we'd leave with baskets of freshness, content that our family could spend time together without smelling like Lincoln Park Zoo in August.
As far as the nuts-and-bolts of laundromats, this is a great place. Super clean, working washing machines in various sizes, lots of those groovy, wheeled carts for the washer-dryer transfer, a stainless-steel wall of dryers and plenty of folding tables. Plus, there's a 7-Eleven right next door for the occasional bag of Andy Capp's Hot Fries and a can of Diet Coke. And the owner is great--friendly and attentive--and the other customers are courteous and quick.
Mostly, I love this place because it reminds me of Ernest Hemingway's "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place," which is a wonderful short story, probably one of his best. The story takes place in a small cafe where an old, deaf man comes to sit quietly and drink. An older and younger waiter discuss why he's there and why he makes them wait each night to close. While the young waiter wants to get home to his wife, the older waiter--knowing that it's loneliness that keeps the old man at the cafe until closing each night, and that he is in a similar place in his life--points out that the old man simply needs a "clean and pleasant cafe. It is well lighted. The light is very good ... ."
I'm not sure how often he shows up but I've seen a solitary old man come into the laundromat on occasion and wash nothing more than three or four things at a time. He takes his place in a seat against the windows, either reading a magazine or sitting still with a pleasant look on his face while waiting for his clothes to finish. He then folds them, places them in a small grocery bag and leaves. I think I've seen him take clothes out of the dryer and put them back into a washing machine a second time, extending his stay.
Places like this--and more importantly, the people who run them--are essential to not only our pragmatic responsibilities but in many ways, our emotional needs. I don't know the old man's story and I may be totally off on my assessment, but it seems that Family Pride fills a definite void in his life, if only for an hour or two. I used to think death was the great equalizer. Then I thought it was old age. Now, I think it's loneliness--the unavoidable era of life that's possible in family-filled homes and studio apartments. My mother-in-law is in an assisted-living facility a few blocks from here and my mother lives in a condo a few miles away. The old man reminds me of both, and of my own responsibility in providing them some company and comfort as they get older. I'm not great at it but I try. The old man reminds me I need to try harder. But he also makes me thankful for the communal, simple act of washing, drying and folding clothes in this "clean, well-lighted place."
