One of my bedspreads is too big for my washer. I didn’t discover this until after buying it and washing it and the result not being too hot, so I was stuck with it.
I decided at 10 tonight that I was really bored and I’d take the bedspread to the laundromat the next town over. I had my book. I had some detergent. I had dollar bills.
When I got out of the Jeep, it hit me. That smell. The smell of laundromats.
It’s one of my favorite smells. Maybe it’s because I don’t tend to use detergents with scent or fabric softeners. Maybe it’s because I’m so often cold. Maybe it’s just some weird quirk in my brain. Whatever the cause, the smell of a laundromat is ambrosial.
It took about an hour. It cost three dollars and fifty cents. The bedspread is now clean. But the bedspread is beside the point. The bedspread may from now on just be my laundry beard, as I disguise my sick, perverted love of laundromat aroma in practicalities.
Julie Carter. Dream job? Laundromat attendant.
It’s a big world. I can’t be the strangest thing in it, right?
I once worked in a mental hospital laundry. Nightmare smell for me, I’m afraid!
Julie, we went to the laundromat every Sunday night when I was a kid. Five kids, the last one available or stuck to help. It was really cheap then, and I also remember that smell fondly. They had a TV playing, iron and ironing boards available free, and plenty of people to watch, not usually the same ones-we were always there, but not them. I wonder why? But I agree, the warm clean, smell is the best.