Here is a key to urban living: 6 weeks of underware. For real. This is the secret to my sanity. I only go to the laundromat once every month and a half (some times longer if I have been graciously allowed a few free loads with friends and family). The nice part about the local laundry facility is that in one evening I can sort, wash, dry, fold, and theoretically put-away all my clothes. That's it. 4 hours and it is finished.
Another bonus to laundromat time is the people. Usually my local washing hole is totally empty (typically I spend a lame Friday or Saturday night washing said dirties). Tonight, however, there was a lot of free entertainment. There was a duo who I thought would be fighting be for dryer space but must have gone home to "make out" or something and returned in a quite a different "space" than they left, if you know what I mean. I thought they were the ones who smelled like ganja, but I was wrong. That would be the guy who came in an out of the shop three times to check on his wet, slowly drying, articles. When I left, I saw him hotboxing is his beat up old brown van. I wonder if when he gets home anyone asks why the clothes smell the same as they did when they left...then there is the guy who must work in IT, just based on his hair cut, or lack there of. Before it happened I could tell his dry clothes were not going to be folded, but instead pushed back in the tiny plastic crate the arrived in. I felt sorry for their clothes. But if you're this guy's co-workers, now you know why his clothes are wrinkled and may smell slightly of some other guy's obsession with getting high.
Sorry for so many sentences ending with prepositions. I'm off my game.