The Spin Cycle RevisitedI was all out of clean underwear the day I moved to Brooklyn, so I put my winter clothes on over my swimsuit and promised myself I would find a Laundromat in my new neighborhood before I unpacked any boxes.When I read a sign across the street that said, “Stop Killing Yourself, Let Us Do Your Laundry,” I ran right over. Six hours later I traded $16 for a weeks’ worth of T-shirts and jeans packed neatly in my laundry bag, my underwear folded and organized by a rubber band. On an assistant’s salary paying to have my laundry done was a splurge, but under these special circumstances, it was warranted.Soon, my clean clothes became dirty and needed to be washed again, and because I happened to have twenty bucks in my pocket I went back to the Fluff-n-Fold. Eventually I quit consulting my wallet and just stopped by the ATM before I “did my laundry.” I became friends with the owner, T, who smiled when I walked in the store. But I left feeling guilty for paying someone to do something I was capable of doing for myself.“My time is worth money,” I explained to my friends who nodded and politely didn’t say that T’s was probably worth more. Each week as I carried my laundry home I schemed a new way to save money to justify the expense; taking fewer cabs, ordering fewer cocktails, brown-bagging my lunch or skipping meals all together. It didn’t take much time, but my laundry had become an emotional chore.I might have felt less guilty if I shrunk sweaters or turned my white towels pink, but unlike painting a room or driving a car, washing clothes came naturally to me. It was my first chore when I was a child, and I took pride in my work. By the time I moved away from home, I could do three loads in two hours provided change machines were available. My freshman year of college, I became friends with the only other girl in the hallway of our dorm around on Sunday, when all the other co-eds had gone home, dirty clothes en tote. In college laundry day became date night. My boyfriend and I loaded up our bags and baskets and drove to This Suds for You, where we drank beer while our clothes spun round and round. It was a time of renewal for our blue jeans and our relationship.A few years later I moved to Austin, where the outsourcing of household chores does not support the local economy. In my neighborhood the laundry mats are halfway houses for the homeless, after-hours childcare, and the last resort for people who for reason or another have not yet put their W/D hookup to good use. I am a major appliance maverick, preferring to choose my washer and dryer at random, and make payments one quarter at time. Though sometimes I still fall prey to the allure of drop-off service.Buying a washer and dryer won’t end the cycle of laundry, but it will put an end to the hoarding of quarters, the friendships, and the reckless spending I have come to associate with taking a pile of dirty clothes and making them clean. — Ashley

The Spin Cycle Revisited

I was all out of clean underwear the day I moved to Brooklyn, so I put my winter clothes on over my swimsuit and promised myself I would find a Laundromat in my new neighborhood before I unpacked any boxes.

When I read a sign across the street that said, “Stop Killing Yourself, Let Us Do Your Laundry,” I ran right over. Six hours later I traded $16 for a weeks’ worth of T-shirts and jeans packed neatly in my laundry bag, my underwear folded and organized by a rubber band. On an assistant’s salary paying to have my laundry done was a splurge, but under these special circumstances, it was warranted.

Soon, my clean clothes became dirty and needed to be washed again, and because I happened to have twenty bucks in my pocket I went back to the Fluff-n-Fold. Eventually I quit consulting my wallet and just stopped by the ATM before I “did my laundry.” I became friends with the owner, T, who smiled when I walked in the store. But I left feeling guilty for paying someone to do something I was capable of doing for myself.

“My time is worth money,” I explained to my friends who nodded and politely didn’t say that T’s was probably worth more. Each week as I carried my laundry home I schemed a new way to save money to justify the expense; taking fewer cabs, ordering fewer cocktails, brown-bagging my lunch or skipping meals all together. It didn’t take much time, but my laundry had become an emotional chore.

I might have felt less guilty if I shrunk sweaters or turned my white towels pink, but unlike painting a room or driving a car, washing clothes came naturally to me. It was my first chore when I was a child, and I took pride in my work. By the time I moved away from home, I could do three loads in two hours provided change machines were available. My freshman year of college, I became friends with the only other girl in the hallway of our dorm around on Sunday, when all the other co-eds had gone home, dirty clothes en tote. In college laundry day became date night. My boyfriend and I loaded up our bags and baskets and drove to This Suds for You, where we drank beer while our clothes spun round and round. It was a time of renewal for our blue jeans and our relationship.

A few years later I moved to Austin, where the outsourcing of household chores does not support the local economy. In my neighborhood the laundry mats are halfway houses for the homeless, after-hours childcare, and the last resort for people who for reason or another have not yet put their W/D hookup to good use. I am a major appliance maverick, preferring to choose my washer and dryer at random, and make payments one quarter at time. Though sometimes I still fall prey to the allure of drop-off service.

Buying a washer and dryer won’t end the cycle of laundry, but it will put an end to the hoarding of quarters, the friendships, and the reckless spending I have come to associate with taking a pile of dirty clothes and making them clean.

— Ashley