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The Laundromat
I had to hold my breath while gathering my dirty clothes. My favorite black paisley button-down was the last thing I threw in before I tied the nylon bag and slung it over my shoulder. I looked around my bedroom. It was… passable. I walked through my living room. I’d give it a C plus. I peeked into the kitchen. Most of the dishes were done. The dirty ones were in the sink, at least. That’s something. Once the laundry was finished, I’d be ready for Kim.
Two things scared me about the communal basement in my building: one was the fear I would find that a member of my modest, unassuming enclave of cozy, self-contained apartments had finally realized that this is all life has in store and fixed one end of a rope around his neck, and the other to one of the hanging pipes. The other concern was that the washer or dryer would be broken—again—for the umpteenth time. I’ve counted before; it was exactly umpteenth times.
I charged downstairs to eliminate my fears, popping my revolting clothing into the first machine and picking quarters from my flattened palm to insert. I heard the hissing of water. So far, so good. I went back upstairs, set a timer, and resumed Night of the Living Dead.
When the alarm went off, I pressed pause and returned downstairs to transfer the load and pop the first quarter into the machine. There was a clink but no clunk. The digital display still read $2. I pressed the “Well, shit then, give me back my money” button a few times, but nothing happened. I figured I could use another quarter to knock the first one free. Another clink, no clunk. Still $2.
After depleting more of my hard-earned coins, a wave of anger welled up inside of me. I pictured myself tossing the machine to its side, marching upstairs, and typing a strongly worded letter to Urban Restorations saying “The least you could do is remove the false advertisement from your website; Washer and Dryer are not consistent in the amenities.” Instead, I took a deep breath, expanded my belly, exhaled through my mouth, and then returned upstairs with wet clothes. If I weren’t such a selfish loner, taking more from this world than I gave, I might have left a note for my neighbors so they wouldn’t lose their arcade money.
I turned off all the lights, tossed one of my blackout curtains to the side, and peered out my window. My laundrybag was still slung over my shoulder. I was captivated by the goings on of the night. The sidewalks were crowded with young revelers, traveling between bars, letting their lush-filled excitement build until it erupted in involuntary yells. As I stared across the street at a glowing gas station with a few drug dealers posed like doormen, I felt the heavy bag start to slip from my grip. A small, dark laundromat was tucked into the building's side like an appendix. There was a bum that sat in front of it in soiled, mismatched clothing from the previous decade. From this angle, it almost seemed like he was looking at me.
I lowered the bag to the floor and noticed how sweaty my palms had become. Humans are unpredictable, which is probably why I chose a job where I could work from home and rarely had to interact with anyone. I hadn’t been outside in… oh wow, a few months. Hey, I’m not a weirdo. Since COVID, delivery services that leave your orders right on the steps have made it too easy. With dating apps, you can choose who you want to interact with. Why go outside? To do laundry, I guess. That’s what.
I stepped into the night, determined once more to confront my trepidation. Taking a deep breath, I began zig-zagging slowly through the crowd. I felt fabric, hair, and skin brushing against me, and I was enveloped by 1001 warm breaths. I didn’t realize how much I sought after the light pollution until it began growing dim as more bodies pressed in, smiling, laughing, oblivious to whom they were suffocating. Or are they pretending to ignore me while squeezing the life from my body, so they can claim reasonable deniability?
​
“Psst,” a drunk, Caucasian voice interjected. “Are you okay?”
I took a deep breath. It looked like I had emerged on the other side, standing in the street next to the curb.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said to… nobody.
I looked across the street. The foot traffic over there wasn’t as heavy. I squinted through the the moving suilouettes toward the laundromat. I couldn’t see it, but I spotted the bum again, looking in my direction. He seemed young, maybe in his 30s, which made me uneasy. It meant he hadn’t given up yet. If he really was watching me—if he had seen me leave my apartment unattended—I didn’t even want to think about that.
As approached the laundromat, the bum set his expressionless gaze on me. It was as if somebody had carved his face from stone, leaving a functioning neck that could only move sideways, up, and down, and a chest that took in just enough air for energy enough to make such slight movements.
I even deviated slightly off my path to double-check. Yeah, his head was fixed on me. He probably just wanted some spare change. Why should I give him my money for doing nothing? The nerve of this guy, staring at me like I owed him something—as if I was supposed to take care of a grown man. A grown-ass man who wasn’t even family–a total stranger. I stepped closer, his eyes piercing like lasers. I shot my stare back at him, intimidated but unwilling to back down. As I neared the entrance, he began to reach for something under his coat. Then suddenly—
“Hey!” A college bro shouted to his friends. I jerked my head around instinctively, redirecting my icy glare at his dumb ass for startling me.
When I turned back to the door, the bum was gone... Then I saw him creeping off around the side of the gas station drinking some Mad Dog. But still, how’d he get over there so fast?
Inside, I loaded clothes and poured detergent. As I picked the first quarter from my hand I had to forcibly dismiss the thought of another broken dryer and instead knew that this one would work. I mean what were the chances? I plopped it in, heard the clink followed by the satisfying clunk, and saw the digital tracker tick down. I continued this process until it became automatic.
Scanning the lonely, lifeless laundromat, I watched its flickering lights and dark corners casting strobing shadows that danced in and out of view. There was the steady hum of electricity. Other than that, it was like a sound vacuum with only the muffled laughter and chatter of outdoor partygoers. The air was thick with the acrid scent of bleach and damp laundry, mingling with a foul odor—like a dead rat in an air duct when the heat is on, but far worse. Maybe two dead rats.
I must have been a millimeter off when I pressed the next quarter against the cold metal beside the coin slot. It slipped from my fingers, bounced onto the floor, and vanished into a crack. I heard it hit the concrete in a room below. I reached for another but found nothing but pocket lint.
Glancing around, I wished for previous misfortunes. Maybe someone else had experienced the same mishap. I searched under a few machines and in some dark corners but came up empty.
I looked up and envisioned, mentally walking through my apartment. There might be a quarter or two in the organizer where I kept my checkbook and extra key fob. I looked across the street at my building, but the massive crowd cramming the sidewalks obscured the front door. No. If I went back, I’d stay inside. I’d rather just order new clothes online.
Then I noticed an ominous stairwell in the corner that seemed to offer a solution. I stepped over a chain so easily it clearly wasn’t meant to be a barrier.
As I descended the stairs, the 2 dead rat and chemical smell grew stronger. I ducked under the first floor and spotted my quarter in the middle of the room, the light filtering through the crack illuminating it like a soft ray of heavenly sunlight.
“Easy enough,” I said, moving to retrieve the coin. I half felt something hit me on the back of my head before everything went to black.
​
When I came to, my body was cold, but my head felt warm, heavy with pressure as if I had been holding my breath. I tried to put my arms down but they stayed floating above my head. It felt like something was pulling at my legs—the weight of my own body. I realized I was hanging upside down from the basement ceiling.
Across from me, another man had suffered the same fate. I studied his entire body to gain a better sense of how I looked. He was chained by the ankles to a wooden joist. His eyes were wide and terrified. Tape covered his mouth, explaining why I couldn't open mine. There were a few spots of blood on the tarp beneath him, but aside from that, he didn't seem too badly hurt.
I looked above my head– well, below my head and saw a few spots of my blood. It must be from when I was rendered unconscious. Off of the tarp was a perfect stack of quarters. It was surrounded by piles and piles of folded clothes. On top of one stack, I could see my favorite black paisley button-down perfectly folded on top. My cube of clothing was colorful, while the others were all similar, only slightly different shades of beige.
Something was behind me. It was alive. I couldn’t turn my head to see, but I didn’t have to. The darkness around the other hanging man began to take shape. Contours and dimensions of small bodies began to appear. They stood 3 to 4 feet high and wore white blank masks. There were dozens of them which meant dozens more at my back.
“Enough,” an old withered voice commanded. “Back to work!”
As the small figures dispersed, I realized by their movements that they were children. Once they were swallowed by the shadows, I could hear chopping, cutting, scrubbing, and spraying.
A wilted, ancient lady approached from the background. She carried two handheld knives. I quickly reassessed, noticing the hanging position of me and my fellow hostage, the tarps, the sounds, the chemical and dead animal smell, and the knives. I looked at the folded clothes next to mine. It wasn’t laundry. It was neatly folded layers of dried human flesh. Before I could panic, the old withered lady sliced the other man’s throat with one steady stroke. I squeezed my eyelids tight and tried to block out the sound of blood splattering, slicing, and chopping.
After a lifetime, I heard her footsteps drawing closer along with my panic that surged through my mind as I tried to reassure myself.
Maybe it won’t be that bad. I’ve had billions of seconds in my life; this moment will just be a drop in the bucket. It sounded like it took him about—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven seconds to die. Gat fuck, that’s a long time. And that was just when he stopped making noise. Who knows what he felt after that? All I need to do is calm down. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
I heard a sound reminiscent to the one I heard before everything went black. I opened my eyes and saw the old lady sideways, lying on the tarp. I moved my head and saw another figure standing over her but looking at me. It was the bum.
The walk back home wasn’t as dramatic for some reason, even with the flashing lights of the cop cars behind me. I didn’t linger for the aftermath; I had no idea what happened to those kids or how many victims were in that basement. I didn’t try to figure out the old lady’s intentions. Instead, I put on my pants and my favorite black paisley shirt and answered a few questions. After getting a medical clearance, I took my very clean-smelling clothes and left.
I did, however, ask the bum— the homeless man if he wanted to stay at my apartment. He looked at me like I was trying to hit on him. If he doesn’t get swept away by local hero fame and fortune, I will definitely be putting him on my payroll.
When I returned to my side of the street, Kim was sitting on the front steps.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “I had to step out to do some… laundry.”
“No problem at all,” she replied. “I’m just surprised—glad that you finally got over your fears and went outside. See? I told you nothing bad would happen.”