There is nothing that I hate more about college than doing laundry. Most college students do laundry about every two to three weeks. I’m different. Unless I’m desperately running low on underwear I will not even think about it. Every time that I run out of clothes, I call my mom and beg for her to fly three thousand miles and do my laundry for me. She always thinks I’m kidding; I’m not. You might think I’m lazy for not wanting do laundry, and you’d be partially right, but doing laundry at this school actually sucks balls.
First off, there are only four washers and four dryers for six buildings. That’s bullshit! There’s got to be a least three hundred people total using these stupid machines. One of the dryers doesn’t even work. You pay an obscene amount of money for it and all it does is creak angrily at you.
So this Thursday; I finally ran out of clothes. I had been wearing pajama pants to class and I was down to just my dinosaur onesie and my high school gym uniform. So, as you can imagine, my pile of laundry was about as big as a hippo. I stuffed some into my ginormous suitcase and I still had a shit-ton of laundry left over. My laundry felt like my workload: never-ending. I hid the clothes that didn’t fit in my suitcase in my closet, grabbed the Tide, and slid down the stairs. Literally, slid.
I hauled my ass to Dudley Lawrence, which is one building over. Granted, it isn’t that far, but who’s heard of a dorm building that doesn’t have a laundry room? It’s fucking stupid. Luckily, the room was empty. All the machines were vacant and there was no competition. No surprise, my clothes took up all four machines. The washers have about the same volume as a backpack and always smell like gym socks, which just multiplies the unpleasantness. While I was mindlessly stuffing my laundry into these miniscule machines, some girl in an adorable outfit came down with her tiny bag of laundry and asked if there were any free machines. I glared at her and said, “Nope, sorry,” when I clearly wasn’t sorry. She was obviously not out of clothes since she was wearing a perfectly put together outfit and she was carrying a laundry bag about the size of a purse. She gave me an impatient smile and said, “Mmk, I’ll be back later.” I gave her one final glare and then continued packing my clothes into the washers.
When I come back forty-five minutes later to switch machines, my wet clothes are thrown on the floor. Someone had taken all of my recently cleaned clothes and carelessly tossed them on the dirty-ass ground, which has probably been accumulating grime since the buildings were made. The worst part about this despicable act was that the person was only using one machine. I show up five minutes late to change my laundry and the person maliciously threw all four machines worth of clean clothing on the floor so he or she could use one of the machines. Can you say bitch? And I’m sure that you can guess what I was thinking; it’s got to be this girl. I gave her one pissy glare and she freaked! Of course, I have no evidence that it was her, but that one “mmk” has me convinced.
Basically, there is nothing good about doing laundry. The facilities suck and the people are terrible and it’s just a time consuming pain in the ass. Thank goodness I get to go back to California in a couple weeks. The thing I miss most about being home isn’t the beach, or my friends, it’s my mom doing my laundry for me. And even if she refuses when I get back, at least I don’t have bitches throwing my clean laundry on a dirty floor.
Photo credit: Katherine Harrison