Short & Sweet | ✓

Laundrette

I put a coin in the washing machine and step back, watching as it spins and spins and spins. I look at myself in the reflection of the glass pondering how long it will take me to earn enough to buy my own washing machine. Would I need to buy a dryer as well? Where would I put it? I'd have to pay to have it installed. Jesus, I might as well put my name on one of the shitty chairs that line the back wall, I'm going to be coming back here often.

Maybe I should just invest in a rock. Go down to my local stream and beat my clothes clean. At least it wouldn't be as boring as this, just watching my clothes as they spin constant circles in front of me.

I heavily fall back onto my usual chair, the cold, hard metal digging into me through my joggers. To make matters worse, I left my earphones at home. I can only listen to the water as it swirls around the circular basin, and the gentle thud of my clothes.

The bell above the door dings, and I force myself not to look. I keep my eyes trained on the spin of my clothes. There's 3 chairs against this wall, and general protocol states that you only sit in the middle chair if the other two are taken. Because who wants to sit in awkward silence right next to a stranger when there's another option? It's the same rules as men with urinals.

So when this weirdo comes and sits in the middle chair, I shift uncomfortably. Why? Why subject me to this? Is it so hard to sit on the end chair?

I glance down at the person next me. Not at their face, that would be obvious. Just at his shoes, a pair of battered vans with white ankle socks and rolled up blue jeans.

Skater boy. Surely. No one else puts those three items together. I would bet every last penny in my bank account (the grand total of £17.34) that he's wearing and oversized hoodie and a beanie.

Basic.

It looks good, but it's basic. I could go for basic. I'm looking pretty basic myself to be honest. I'm rocking that 'broke student' look, joggers, hoodie, messy bun, I don't mess around when it comes to dressing to impress. I've impressed myself with my ability to actually get dressed and leave the apartment at some point today, even if it is 11:13pm.

Skater boy starts to tap his foot along to a non existent beat. How annoying. So I'm stuck in awkward silence with nothing but the sounds of washing machine and rubber hitting the floor repeatedly.

I let it go on for 7 minutes. That's how long I make it before I snap. "I'm sorry, but could you not?"

Skater boy seems startled by my sudden speech, and as I glance at his face for the first time, I see that I get to keep my £17.34. Oversized hoodie and beanie.

Checkmate my trendy friend.

"Um, could I not...what?"

"Your foot."

"What about it?"

"You were tapping your foot."

"Oh, sorry. Habit." He folds his arms across his chest, and returns his stare to directly in front of him.

I put my head back against the tiled wall and close my eyes, the fluorescent lights still visible through my eyelids.

*~*

I return to the laundrette with my eyes half closed, my body still not fully functioning as I drag myself towards my usual washer. It's 9 o'clock in the morning and considering I usually wake up at 1, it's safe to say I'm struggling.

I plop myself on the end chair once again, the middle chair already taken. "Are you ok?"

I hear the familiar voice on my left, coming from the middle chair, but I ignore it. Choosing to instead point my middle finger in the general direction of the voice.