During Madden’s last visit, he lay down for a nap and had an accident. Our washing machine was too small to wash the soiled comforter, so I “manned” up and volunteered to take the thing to the laundry mat. This is the second time I’ve performed this chore, but it’s not something to do on a regular basis.
When I arrived, the place was empty except for the woman who worked the desk. She greeted me and asked if I needed any help. Of course I needed help. She explained to me that I should use only a quarter cap of detergent since the machine produced a lot of suds. I remembered my first trip and how I used an entire capful of the stuff. The suds began overflowing, and had it not been for the attendant that day, I’d have made a mess. She brought out her personal bottle of fabric softener (I’d not brought any) and poured it into the machine. The suds ebbed almost immediately, and the day was saved.
I crammed the comforter into the machine and fed it $4.25 in quarters. I suppose that such high prices could account these days for so many people wearing clothes soiled with stains and smelling like old bowling shoes. Next I found the most comfortable seat in the place, an end couch cushion that had a sunken spot from too many behinds and wrinkles like a wadded cotton shirt. My Kindle kept me company for the next couple of hours as the washer ran through its cycles and then the dryer, which swallowed another $2.00 in quarters, did its job.
Before long, other customers dropped in. First was an older man in a red sweat suit. His hefty paunch separated his top from the pants and looked like a gaping mouth. Another man entered quickly, set his loaded basket down and made a b-line for the restroom. He planned to be in there for a lengthy period because he had a novel in tow.
One by one, customers toting laundry baskets or stuffed bags entered the establishment. What surprised me most was the fact that everyone who walked through the door was a man. In no time, thirteen men had joined me. These guys were pros at laundry and politely declined the offers of help from the clerk. I marveled at how they separated articles into piles and dispatched them with speedy efficiency into machines. Most of them had their own stash of quarters and loaded up machines, pushed buttons, and added detergent and softener without giving the acts a second thought.
Two women entered the laundry mat, but for some reason they looked out of place. It’s a funny observation because for years the job of washing dirty clothes had been left for women to do. No commercial was ever made where a son brings home from college a load of laundry for Dad to complete.
Now, men are invading what was once sacred female territory. I don’t imagine there’s much complaining coming from women. Their jobs have changed over the years. Many of them are now the major source of income for families. Husbands are secondary earners. That might be the reason the numbers were tilted toward men during my visit.
Men are spotted more often in lots of places once thought to be habitats for women. We are pushing grocery carts, lugging clothes to the cleaners, and even chaperoning day trips at children’s schools. Some of us have been wielding a vacuum cleaner wand, mop, and dust rag for years. I wonder if our male ancestors are looking down and shaking their heads at the change. I hope not. It’s a different world, and it takes both husband and wife to complete a long list of chores. Sharing the load is fine; I just hope we men don’t permanently take over clothes washing, grocery shopping, and other tasks, not unless women are prepared to take over such jobs as mowing the lawn, washing the car, and hauling the garbage.
Guys used to meet up at the bar for a drink and the company of friends. Now they share stories and jokes while they fold drawers, towels, and t-shirts. Some changes just don’t seem right to me, but hey, I’m from a different time.
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