The laundry room in my apartment has been more or less defunct for the past year. Last week, however, my slumlord got a pair of new washing machines (replacing the two broken ones) and an old pair (but new to the building) of dryers.
11:23am: I’m walking downstairs with round one of my laundry and have decided I should live blog the experience. I figure it will either stand as a reminder of why I don’t do my laundry in my building or why I shouldn’t live blog things.
11:24am: Further down the stairs, I begin to smell the most horrid burnt food smell ever. What’s even more upsetting is that I don’t think it’s burnt — someone’s actually eating it. I gag a bit and hurry up.
11:25am: I put my laundry in the washer, assuming that’d be step one. Wrong. The first step is to put detergent in then you add your laundry. I correct my mistake and have a chance to reflect on the items I’ve chosen to wash. Mostly bathroom related stuff and a blanket, except for three work pants (i.e. slacks) that I’ve thrown in.
11:26am: As I put my laundry back in, I exclude the pants. This is towel and blanket time, not pants time. Pants time is later.
11:27am: I put my quarters in, look at my pants, and think about whether or not I should do another load. It’s a Thursday morning, no one should be doing laundry. People should be at work, school, or being productive in some sense that is not laundry. I don’t want to be the jackass that hogs all the machines, but whatever, that’s what they get for doing their laundry at a silly time.
11:30am: I walk back up through the smelly burnt food stairwell and across the floor I live on. My floor smells like someone is either smoking some meat or there’s a fire in their apartment. Either way, I do not like this.
11:31am: My apartment doesn’t smell like smoke so I soon forget about my paranoia.
11:31am: I decide to do more laundry since I don’t have to leave for work until 2:30pm. Pants, a few shirts, socks I missed last week, and a lot of things that want me to “machine wash cold.” Some things want me to wash them in cold water by hand. HA!
11:37am: I turn on my computer and get started on this post. My computer says it has 71% battery life remaining, an estimated 2 hours and 15 minutes left, so I am not bothered getting my charger.
11:44am: “Kidding,” says my computer. “There’s 8% remaining and you need to find another power source before I shut your playtime down!” I get up from my comfy position and follow its command.
11:55am: My laundry will be done in three minutes and I haven’t put my other load in. I can’t even be a laundry jerk even when I want to be.
11:57am: The alarm I set on my phone to remind me to switch over my laundry is going off. My cat is laying on my keyboard. I should probably go back to laundryland.
11:59am: I have discerned that the fire-y smell is coming from unit 33 or 34, probably 33. I’m in 32 and share a wall with the residents of unit 33. A lot of weird smells come from their unit, so this doesn’t surprise me. I’ve established that the first floor is the culprit of the burnt food smell, also not surprising.
12:00pm: I get to the laundry room and notice a pink hamper with childish sheets (dare someone raise a child in this place!?) on top of the washer adjacent to mine. I figure they’re not waiting to use one since they could have put the hamper on mine. So, I put my first batch of laundry in the dryer and put the new load in the washer.
12:02pm: Everything is covered in magenta colored fuzzies. I couple of years ago I bought a magenta colored towel; I thought it’d be fun and “eye-catching” to see hanging up in my dull bathroom. This towel is a menace to laundry doers everywhere. I have washed it multiple times and every single time I take my clothes out of the washer, they are covered in MAGENTA FUZZIES. I have bigger issues to deal with than having to deal with some inept towel maker getting my laundry all fuzzed up. You think I’d learn, but no. I keep thinking that this wash will be the wash I am finally free of the magenta fuzzies.
12:07pm: I start the dryer on low, as my clothes command me to, and it starts the countdown at sixty minutes. I look back to the washer, it says 31. My initial thought is “oops,” but now this gives me the chance to be the laundry bully I’ve always been meant to be. Unless, of course, Princess Pink Hamper puts her laundry in the other dryer first, in which case I’m just fucked.
12:10pm: It’s definitely smoking sage coming from unit 33. What the fuck are they doing?
12:11pm: Jynxx has curled up and decided to nap on the chair I was just sitting in. Lots of unsurprising things today.
12:17pm: I just realized I put my shower curtain liner in the dryer. This is something that is introduced to water daily and dries on its own. Whatever, maybe it’ll get de-fuzzed.
12:26pm: Finished updating the boring shit that happened in the laundry room. I’m bored and Jynxx is laying behind my laptop on the table, wagging his tail on a plastic bag, making as much noise as he can. He’s pissed I took his spot.
12:27pm: Fucker just jumped off the table as I typed that last line. He’s so conceited, he even knows when someone is typing about him.
12:28pm: My boyfriend texts me saying I am probably a sociopath (taken out of context). I agree (in any context).
12:45pm: Fuck. Totally spaced out and my laundry has been ready to put in the dryer done for eight minutes. I am surely not going to steal the second dryer from Princess Pink Hamper.
12:50pm: I walk into the laundry room to see what I really didn’t want to see:
I think it has wings. Where it intends to fly, I do not know.
12:51pm: I go back into my apartment for the remaining 13 minutes and see this again (of course):
It’s been four minutes, you little prick!
1:03pm: My alarm goes off and it’s finally time to take my clothes out of the dryer. My laundry optimism has gone down fast and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m even going to make it to work on time. I’m also becoming apathetic. About everything. Just ‘cus.
1:08pm: I go to take my towels and such out of the dryer only to find that they’re still quite damp. Fuck. My shower curtain liner, on the other hand, is warm and magenta fuzz free. I decide that the magenta towel can go fuck itself and air dry since it’s a fucking towel and it should be able to do that. I take my towel out too since I don’t really care, it can air dry as well. I leave the towel my boyfriend uses in the dryer because I want him to have a nice fluffy towel to use when he comes over after being out in the rain all day and I’m an amazing girlfriend (obviously).
1:11pm: I inspect my wet clothes as I put them in the dryer to join the lone towel and see odd spots on them. They kind of look like dry spots but it hasn’t been that long and these look funny. I try to convince myself they’re just dry spots and ignore the weirder and weirder looking spots as I pull more clothes out. I also begin to suspect that the dryers are a bit smaller than the washers, since that makes perfect fucking sense.
1:13pm: Low dry can go fuck itself, these babies are getting dried on high.
1:19pm: I need some fucking cereal. Or danish, I have danish too.
1:20pm: Poured a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats (the kind with fruit in the middle) to last me through work. Realize I have no more milk. Begin to look around for a rope I can sufficiently turn into a noose in order to hang myself.
1:22pm: I decide that my ceilings are too short to hang myself from and it’s too cold and wet out to do it out there (in case I fuck something up, which I usually do, I don’t want to be hanging there until someone notices my failed suicide attempt, cold and soggy with seagulls pecking at me). I will go to the grocery store to get some milk instead.
1:33pm: Spaced out yet again. I decide to eat my raspberry danish strip since it is delicious and requires no milk (I have alternative beverages). I’ll get milk on my way home from work since, well, it’s on my way home from work and I don’t have to go out in the soggy mess that is Boston more than I have to.
2:01pm: I keep spacing out, damn it. I haven’t had danish and I’m hungry for nourishment. My clothes will (hopefully) be done soon. I kind of want to straighten my hair. But still, I sit…
2:06pm: I hop on Twitter and see some news reporters live-Tweeting President Obama’s speech in New Hampshire. My laundrying is cooler.
3/3/12: Excruciatingly painful boredom overthrew my abilities to continue updating this. Probably for the best. Long story short, I managed to be half an hour late for work. What the truck.