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Its Still Late I just dropped the laundry off, so I'll have something halfway clean to wear over the weekend. I'm at a point where I need to buy a couple pairs of pants to replace those that have developed holes, mostly in the knees. I'm not sure what does that, but I think the cat may start them when he wants some attention and presses his paws (and claws) against my leg. That little cat thing that all cats do, but this is the first time I've had one with a knack for shredding pants.
Funny, most of my life I've had to go out and do the laundry myself.
I believe the system that allows this is called the exploitation of less skilled domestic and guest workers (Although this doesn't seem to be the case with the people who are doing my laundry except for the young Korean guy, of course.) and while I'm not in favor of it, I'm quite happy to step up the the counter and put my money down. If they weren't sweating in the heat shuffling my laundry around, then I (dear god) would be sweating in the heat shuffling my laundry around. So, it's time to do the laundry, but since someone else is doing it, I get it there on time, right? No more wearing that shirt one more time and then one more time again, putting it off until the grease spots grow together into one great shiny lake of a breastplate, signaling my sloth to the world. Right? Well, no. It's still laundry and although it sits churning in a machine down the street right now, its still late. |
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Not an unusual need, of course, but one I've always hated and
put off. Now I discover a place down the way that washes them for about
twice what it costs for the soap and machine time to do them
myself and they come back nicely folded and on hangers. (Is that
true? Maybe two and a half times.) No hassles in a crowded laundry
waiting on someone to pull their stuff out of a drier during rush hour.