Laundry on the Road

I did laundry. I know. I'm as surprised as you are. But we jet setters also run out of clean clothes, and little kids wrinkle their noses at you when shorts get re-re-recycled. I know this.




No good deed goes unpunished. Somebody left their wet laundry in the motel washers keeping the rest of us from using them. I put their stuff in dryers on low heat, fed in quarters and dryer sheets I couldn't use, and started it up, placing the green basket they'd left marking the appropriate machines. A young couple and I started our own wash loads in the free washers. When our wet clothes were ready to transfer, the dryer loads still hadn't been picked up, so I emptied the warm stuff into the green basket and fired off the dryers again. I walked into the laundry an hour later just as my dryers spun down. The green basket was gone, and the young couple was already folding. I threw open the dryer doors and grabbed the plastic bag I use to haul laundry, slinging the twelve quarters the green basket people had hidden as repayment, peppering the folks who still shared the room. She barely flinched, going right back to folding in an eye blink, but he turned with a practiced stink eye. "We'll isn't that special?", I said, and smirked. He hoomphed and turned his back. That quarter flipping off his shoulder must have hurt pretty bad. I recovered my clothes and most of the quarters, and left.
Funny. The folks I'd never met, who might have been offended by my handling of their possessions or the implication they were delaying the laundry parade, were kind enough to arrange repayment though I hadn't expected it, and the people I'd spent time with, clearing the way for thei


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