How to do Laundry (In Ithaca)

Before commencing, one must first decide the appropriate time for conducting such an activity. But how do you know what is the appropriate time? I like to subject myself to a series of questions and if, when all subsequent answers are true, I know that the time has come.

“John’s list of inquiries used to deduce the arrival of Laundry Day”

1. Is there a sufficient block of time in my day that I can spend reading, neurotically awaiting the end of wash/rinse/dry cycles? ( Y / N )
2. Do you have a book to read? ( Y / N ) <- This one is always answered in the affirmative but having just established these criterion yesterday, I thought I would wait another week before updating to the newest version (John’s list.. 2.0!)
3. Are you willing to make the pecuniary sacrifice to a system whose only yield is a few weeks of fresh smelling garments? ( Y / N )
4. Is there any one item of clothing of which, is only to be found in my dirty clothes hamper? ( Y / N )
5. Is there any one item of clothing of which, is only to be found in my hamper, on my floor, draped across the furniture? ( Y / N )
6. Is the one depleted drawer that belonging to underwear? ( Y / N )
7. Is the weather conductive to spending an hour and a half trapped in a room with dozens of heat emitting machines? ( Y / N )
8. Finally, are you currently of enough psychological and emotional stability to deal with the spiritual vicissitudes and crazy characters associated with public Laundromats? ( Y / N )

Now these are only the preliminary steps. To actual complete this task in my new environs, a whole separate list is needed.

“How to do laundry (in Ithaca)”

First I need to pack a pack: book, quarters, and detergent are the essentials. Ipod, snack, and water are highly suggested. Then I must don my pack, shoulder my sack, and head out the front door. From there I head up to the intersection, turn left and walk up two blocks, turn right, walk up one block, take a breather, drink some water, look down at the hill I just climbed, look up at the hill I still have to climb, wipe the sweat from my brow and press on. Once I get to the top of the hill I have two purveyors of promises for clean clothes: “Suds N Duds” and “Chip & Dale Laundromat.” I am covered in sweat (see below for a detail of far I must travel).

In defense of my physique, 50% of this walk is at a 50% incline.

I inevitably choose Chip & Dales because (a) I loved those chipmunks, (b) it makes anyone who has had a cursory glance at the Las Vegas strip giggle, and (c) I know what the “Suds” are referring to but as to the “Duds” I am at a complete loss.

Once inside I secure two washers and feed the gluttonous machines my laundry and sixteen quarters! $2 per load. While waiting an unknown time (none of the machines are equipped with any teller of time, digital or analog) I find a chair and try unsuccessfully to cultivate a look that is both blasé and casually critical. It is an unsuccessful attempt because it ends up painfully obvious; this is my first time in a Laundromat.

When the wash finishes I move the contents of both machines into one industrial sized dryer. I can’t remember ever being of an age where it would be possible for me fit into a dryer and yet, here was such a monster. After the shock wore off I realized that there was no indicated monetary investment for these machines. Apparently it is left open to the preference and frugality of the individual. I decided to experiment and here are the results.

2 quarters = 16 minutes

1 more quarter = 11 additional minutes

1 more quarter = 7 additional minutes

One of the machines looks a bit… singed and I can only assume it was some poor physics student who probably made an excel spreadsheet of the various inputs and outputs of the machine, graphed the results, and in anger at the mountainous curve made a small explosive in a Cornell laboratory, placed it into the dryer, lit the fuse, turned the dial to delicates, and pressed ON.