It’s Day 10 of a dead washer, and I finally had to give in and go to the laundromat. Unless you’re living in one of the hip areas, laundromats are mostly for poor people. I went to one of the few remaining places that doesn’t screw people excessively (like requiring you to load $20 onto a membership card). But I was shocked to see that it’s $2.50 a load now. Also, the giant thrift store (one of my favorites) was empty. Again. It bothers me, how many empty stores I see around the area.
Anyway, I put everything into two machines and go out to the car to eat my lunch, sitting in the rain. I don’t know why I love reading in my car during bad weather so much — it’s kind of like being in a bathysphere. And I don’t go anywhere without a book or reading device.
A big hipster dude comes in. (He’s got the telltale Amish beard, I figure he must be from Fishtown.) He opens a package of new sheets, and now I’m impressed: Either he’s got a wealthy girlfriend, or very expensive taste. The sheets are white with an interesting deep purple medallion pattern, and they’re the kind of high-quality cotton that make that whoosh sound when they rustle. “Someone’s going to get laid,” I think to myself.
And then I start thinking about this song:
Some people really have a lot of nerve
Everywhere they go they think they should get served
Everybody in the laundromat is equal