I had my first (well, in a long while) experience at the laverie today. Main take-away? On Sundays, clean underwear in Paris is a commodity.

Sunday 23 November 2014, 17h33

Dear friends:

I’m at this place in the 2eme near (aka not near enough for my arms not to break under the pressure of my make-shift laundry bag). I guess this is the time of the week when most people run out of clean underwear because everyone and their mother is here. Like, literally, there is a mother in here with her child. And a father. With a slightly older but equally as adorable baby, who is trying to open up all of the washing machines. The father is telling him to stop, preventing him from doing laundry. I think he’ll regret that decision in 18 years. I want to be like, lost opportunity, mon ami.  Missed opportunity.
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OMG the impossible has happened. Another wave of underwear, ahem, people have come in with sacks of wet things. Thankfully I have 4 hours to get in line for a dryer before this popsicle stand closes. Damn, life in the city can be #strugglecity.

Note to self: ration undergarments and do not leave until moment of desperation or risk going commando to work.
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I forgot to mention the best part.

When I first arrived, there was a man without his shirt on. Like not fully shirtless, but rather, in the way Aladdin has just a vest with no shirt under. Similarly, this man had an athletic zip up, but has opted out of its zip function. A mon avis, after hoods, zippers are probably one of the best clothing features. But to each his own, I guess. The main difference between Aladdin and this man is that Aladdin was young & attractive and Disney producers must have instructed him to get his chest hair waxed. We all know no middle eastern man’s nipples are that bare.

Said old man was staring at me so I greeted him Bonsoir. not because I’m feeling particularly friendly, but because I wanted to confirm that he was real. His Bonsoir in return did just that.

As I approached the paiment machine, I realize he is also wearing some type of pouch on a lanyard around his neck. Like a tourist. Maybe he’s a tourist and has limited articles of clothing (hence his nipples bidding everyone good day)?

Nope, he’s now helping this other kid jiggle the machine that won’t work. He’s definitely a local if he knows how to jiggle machine #34.

Harry McNipples is now changing his entire outfit in the laundromat. He has no shirt or pants on. Thankfully he had one more pair of underwear than I did laying around or shit would have gotten very real very fast. He’s putting on his socks now. Fresh out of the dryer. I love that too! Ok maybe he’s not so crazy. Maybe we could be friends. Then, I remember his lanyard pouch. On second thought, nah.

I just want to retract my previous statement about the hairiness, though. He’s not as hairy I originally assumed. It’s just super concentrated in the front. More Austin Powerseque than Aladdin. Yeah, let’s go with that.

Old man is now getting ready to leave. I now must find another way to entertain myself. Le sigh.
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Wait, do really wealthy Parisians have to do their laundry at laundromats too? I thought these were only the struggles of the middle class. The shoes and watch of the girl sitting next to me seem to say “I can afford an apartment large enough to house a washer/dryer combo.” Unless she’s on the cusp and it’s a toss up- designer apparel? OR washer/dryer combo? Like a real-life game of “would you rather”! Anyway,  I guess in the End, we’ll all have an evening we share with characters like McNipples.

But-attendes!!! Now all of the attractive men of Paris have also entered the laundromat. Note to self #2: May be a good idea to bathe and apply makeup before doing laundry. Also, fack, I need to learn French STAT. How does one even start a convo at a laundromat?  “Hi, ca va? Small talk, small talk, I’m looking at the color & condition of your underpants comment about the weather.”

European men smell really good. Unless they don’t. Then they smell really bad. Or like cologne + BO. Why no deodorant? Who told Europe that cologne trumps deodorant? Likewise, who told the greater part of North America the inverse? I know, this is probably not among the most significant data sets in cultural studies, but just curious. Are these things learned? I’m pretty certain mama and baba never said “armpits should/n’t smell like this.” Anyway. I’ll keep you updated on my findings. Moving on.

My clothes have now finished washing and there’s a dryer open. I feel like it’s God’s way of saying “sorry about the sitch with creepy hairy nipples dude earlier”. Thanks, G. I appreciate it!

I wonder if there’s a parallel expression to “watching paint dry” but re: watching clothes dry. The two are equally as exciting.

Until next time, from France…

Filakia!!
Steph