Laundry Nostalgia

I picked Nora Coin Laundry as "my place" because it was somewhat close to work, seemed bright and mostly uncrowded. I'm fairly neurotic when it comes to things like this. I'd rather not have to fight for a machine, or lift my feet every time someones unleashed child does a lap around the seats. I'd rather not feel trapped in a dingy room that swam with moist humid air or pay huge sums of money for barely a full load of clothes. Nora Coin Laundry did just nicely.

And nothing had changed when I returned after so many years. The carpet is still a mottled brown, with worn spots of dark color where something had spilled. The scarred machines still sit perched on their mounts - a dollar and twenty-five cents to wash - twenty-five cents to dry for seven minutes. The tables were all in the same place, stacked with the usual magazines.

The place was quiet as usual. The hum of the machines was cut only by the occasional ringing of the phone. From time to time the attendant might play religious music on the small radio behind the cash register. I took my spot at my usual front table and it was as though I had never moved, even though since that time, I've managed to live in an apartment complex with access to a laundry room for the residents.

The strip of stores that holds the laundromat is almost empty. And the parking lot is more often a place to the Monon-bound to leave their cars. I have to wonder how much longer the laundromat will be in business. But I'm glad they're there for me now.