I am convinced that college laundry machines were once part of a diabolical scheme aimed toward building the confidence of the average dorm-dweller. Now, however, these “Frankensteinian” creations have evolved beyond any controllable means. This being said, it is with great pride that I announce my hostile takeover of university laundry. Yes, I have beaten the system and discovered the loop-hole of residence hall (note: the word “dormitory” is no longer politically acceptable) laundry that does not involve piling clothes in Everest-sized mountains for the next school break.
The first floor dryer.
Ok, so it may not necessarily be the first floor in every residence hall in the country but the idea is universal all the same.
Before I begin in my accolades of my newest lover, let me enlighten you to my prior laundry experience. Favorite shirts, damp and fresh-smelling from the washer, were placed in the old dryer only to come out perhaps more wet than their former state. Jeans, simply looking for the fabric-softener, worn ideal, were hung forlornly over armoire doors and desk chairs. It was as if they were weeping, crying for their master (me, of course) to save them from the furnace of doom (aka the old dryer). And all I could do was stand naked (like all respectable college students, I waited until I had absolutely no clean clothes before attempting to do laundry), helpless at the sight of their soggy misery as I awaited more arid days.
But then… a light at the end of the tunnel.
“The first floor dryer,” a friend whispered to me in passing. “The first floor dryer does just the trick.”
With hope lifting my heart and no clean pairs of underwear, I ventured forth to an unknown world: the first floor laundry room (aka a small closet with a washer and dryer stuffed into it). I placed my beloved clothes into the dryer and pressed the button: Permanent Press, Medium Heat, it read. One hour later, anxious and excited, I retraced my steps and opened the dryer. Oh, what a sight to behold! My sheets, crisp and smooth; my shirts, looking as good as freshly pressed; my jeans, completely pocket-wetness free.
And thus, my love affair with the first floor dryer began: an affair which, to this day, I relish with the lightest of hearts. I trek down the stairs, push the button, and 60 minutes later… GLORY!
The first floor dryer.
Ok, so it may not necessarily be the first floor in every residence hall in the country but the idea is universal all the same.
Before I begin in my accolades of my newest lover, let me enlighten you to my prior laundry experience. Favorite shirts, damp and fresh-smelling from the washer, were placed in the old dryer only to come out perhaps more wet than their former state. Jeans, simply looking for the fabric-softener, worn ideal, were hung forlornly over armoire doors and desk chairs. It was as if they were weeping, crying for their master (me, of course) to save them from the furnace of doom (aka the old dryer). And all I could do was stand naked (like all respectable college students, I waited until I had absolutely no clean clothes before attempting to do laundry), helpless at the sight of their soggy misery as I awaited more arid days.
But then… a light at the end of the tunnel.
“The first floor dryer,” a friend whispered to me in passing. “The first floor dryer does just the trick.”
With hope lifting my heart and no clean pairs of underwear, I ventured forth to an unknown world: the first floor laundry room (aka a small closet with a washer and dryer stuffed into it). I placed my beloved clothes into the dryer and pressed the button: Permanent Press, Medium Heat, it read. One hour later, anxious and excited, I retraced my steps and opened the dryer. Oh, what a sight to behold! My sheets, crisp and smooth; my shirts, looking as good as freshly pressed; my jeans, completely pocket-wetness free.
And thus, my love affair with the first floor dryer began: an affair which, to this day, I relish with the lightest of hearts. I trek down the stairs, push the button, and 60 minutes later… GLORY!
