Friday Night Laundering.

I finally live in a building with washers and dryers. You'd think this makes washing clothes convenient, the truth of the matter is, it doesn't. One washer doesn't wash and two dryers just don't dry for shit. What does this mean for me? It means that if I want to do my laundry without fighting for a working washer or dryer, I have to do it on a night nobody else is doing their laundry. FRIDAY NIGHTS!

The first Friday night I ever did laundry in my building, a neighbor showed up as I was putting my clothes into the dryer. He had brought his dirty laundry by way of a brown paper bag. He dumped his laundry into the washer, looked over at me, and waited.

I think interacting in the laundry room or laundromat or anywhere you have to show your dirty laundry is weird. And gross. I try to avoid eye contact with people in these places as much as I can.

So of course, I do what I normally do when under awkward scrutiny, I slowed down my movements. I thought if I moved slower, he wouldn't notice I was there. But he noticed me. In broken English, "Can you...help me?" I froze mid-reach into the dryer. Maybe if I didn't move, he would think I was some kind of laundry-statue.

Him: Can...can you help? Help me?
Me: Um............um what?
Him: Please, can you help me?
Me: Yeah...what's wrong?
Him: How do I do this?
Me: ...Wash your clothes? You don't know how to wash your clothes?
Him: I never done before.
Me: Oh, well, your clothes are in. So you need to put detergent in here. And boom, you're done.
Him: Is this okay?

I kid you not, he took out dish washing soap from his brown paper bag.

I let him use some of my washing detergent and told him to return in 35 minutes. He thanked me and I returned to my laundry, except he didn't leave. As the seconds passed by, I realized he was still looking at me. So I did what my instinct told me to do. I start slowing down again and eventually stood frozen in place altogether. By now, you'd think he realized how uncomfortable I was acting but instead he broke the silence with what I figured he thought was small talk.

Him: Sorry. I've never washed my own clothes.
Me: ...haha, that's weird. What do you do when it get dirty? Buy new clothes?
Him: hahahaha, no.
Me: Are there washers where you come from?
Him: Oh, no! There are. Somebody washes my laundry for me. In my home country, my family had a maid.
Me: Oh. I see.
Him: So, what are you doing now?
Me: Drying my clothes.

I inserted coins into the dryer and picked up my basket to leave.

Him: I have to dry my clothes too?
Me: ...Yes, because when your clothes come out of that machine, it'll still be wet. So you'll need to put them in here--this is called a dryer--to dry your clothes.
Him: And, I'll need to also put soap in there too?
Me: Yeah, buddy. Soap. Good one.

In retrospect, he probably didn't understand my sarcasm because I bumped into him last week.

Him: Hey! You.
Me: Hii...me........and you.
Him: You helped me do my laundry a few months ago?
Me: Oh yeah...hi.
Him: I think you're doing the laundry wrong.
Me: What? No, I'm sure I'm not.
Him: You told me to put the soap in the dryer when I dry the clothes.

Oh dear lord, what have I done? Perhaps I need to avoid using sarcasm around people whose first language isn't English. OR the easier thing--which is to do my laundry at the break of dawn on Saturday morning so I can avoid all human contact when doing my laundry.