See all posts in the arts

Apartment Living

I live in an apartment, which I like - cheap rent, maintenance is taken care of, and basically I have minimal responsibility.  As an exceedingly immature man this appeals to me. But there are downsides. The most notable being the laundry room.  A small 4 unit (4 washers, 4 dryers) wash room is shared by most of the complex, meaning that just because a resident needs to do laundry they may not be able to.  Soon after moving in I experienced this on a Sunday, when I was repeatedly beaten to the punch and could not get a chance to get my filthy clothes into a dryer. So, I came up with a devious plan to ensure this was not repeated.

The next Sunday I got up early.

It was terrible.

And by early I mean early for a Sunday - 10:30 am, real crack of dawn stuff. But it worked.  I got in, did my wash and was clean for the next two weeks. Then the next week, the same. And it was good.  I kept this up for a long while - rising early, and getting priority access to the machines. 

Then one Sunday, something changed.

As I was loading a washer another tenant - another pathetic single man like myself - came in.  He began loading the remaining washers and everything was fine, just enough washers.  But, as I was walking out, bottle of Joy in hand, disaster struck. A third soul came looking to clean their clothes only to find that there was no room at the inn (so to speak).  I gave it little thought at the time, but looking back it was the beginning of the end of my Sunday routine.

Two weeks later I arose, collected my filthy clothing and wandered to the laundry room. And then I saw it.

All machines occupied. Flabbergasted. I turned tail, fled and, after hiding for several hours, checked again. And again. The laundry was in use all day - apparently by the residents I had been bumping back in the day.  They were now, unknowingly, retaliating against me.  They had risen - on their Sundays - before me to gain access to the machines we all desired.

So, I wore dirty clothes all week.  I was forced to inhale my failure for every instant of the next 6 days. It was torture.  And I was staring the same fate directly in the eyes for a second week. 

But, that Saturday night I realized what must be done.

As I set my clock to arise at 9:00am (on a Sunday, nonetheless) I knew that nothing would ever be the same.  There would never be peace, there would never be calm.

Here I was, in College Station, Texas, smack in the middle of an alarms race.