Steve almost jumped out of his skin when he noticed a creased and misshapen fleece lying in the pantry. He’d been on edge ever since The Washing Machine Incident had caused a rift between himself and Lynn, and any excess dirty laundry threatened to blow the powder keg of his tense marriage wide open.
His wife had left for the Wash-O-Mat seventeen minutes ago, and Steve calculated he had precisely six more minutes left before the drum was locked and loaded and the stray fleece found itself adrift amid a household of fresh fabrics and igniting yet another argument. Steve clambered upon the Scooter in the hallway – a rather misjudged anniversary present from his best mate Danny D – and furiously scooted his way out of the house and down the road.
Steve was far from a proficient scooter – another point of contention in his frail wedlock. On his “trial run” last summer (an activity insisted upon by Danny D when he noticed the brand new XLsior 3000 had migrated back into its original box), Steve had panicked when confronted by a slow moving Vaxhuall in his peripheral, and mounted the pavement before tumbling into some bins face first.
And sure enough, nothing if not creature of habit, Steve once again fell from his metallic frame upon the first sight of potential hazard – this time a low flying pigeon – collapsing sideways into the disabled parking bay. Yet so determined was he to deliver the misplaced fleece that, despite severely grazing his cheek, he re-mounted the scooter, and only fell twice more before reaching the laundrette.
As he struggled to fold up his XLsior 3000 upon arrival, Steve caught a glance of the treacherous scene unfolding in the Wash-O-Mat: his wife Lynn loading up a drum with Danny D by her side. This was the final straw for Steve, a man perpetually on the brink of a crisis. He marched towards the laundrette; jaw locked, fist clenched and scooter dragging by his side, like a lightweight aluminium dagger through his heart, but with wheels!
“What is this?!” Steve bellowed out as he stormed into the moist premises. “You told me you were on a business trip, Danny D! But instead I find you here at the laundrette… with my wife!”
Danny D turned around, startled. “Steve… it’s not what it looks like…”
“Actually, it’s exactly what it looks like” interrupted Lynn. “We’re doing laundry. A great deal of it.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course you are” retorted Steve sarcastically. “And why exactly are you sharing a drum?”
Lynn rolled her eyes exhaustedly, by now a veteran of Steve’s paranoid accusations. “It’s more economical Steve. I’d never try and tackle one of the big drums myself. And don’t expect me to listen to your laundry advice after The Washing Machine Incident!”
“The business trip was cancelled Steve” Danny D explained. “Quite a relief really! I’ve got a huge amount of laundry to do!” Danny D paused, assessing Steve’s facial wound with concern. “Why are you bleeding Steve?”
“Because of your fucking scooter, Danny D! I hate it! Are you trying to make me look like an idiot to steal Lynn? Is that it?” screamed Steve.
Danny D retreated from the heated discussion, hurt by Steve’s angry comments. He had spent days on the internet researching premium scooters, and he was certain that the XLsior 3000 represented the best value and quality in two-wheeled, single-decked personal urban transport. Danny D briefly considered mentioning the excellent reviews it had received on Amazon, before deciding that now wasn’t the best moment.
“Steve you’re making a scene” said Lynn.
“I want to make a scene!” yelled Steve, reaching the crescendo of his anger. “This is the last straw! I’m cancelling the timeshare!”
“Whatever, Steve. Do what you want. Far be it from me to interrupt one of your ‘moments of passion’. Perhaps you could stand in the corner and shout at the change machine while I fill up the detergent tray?”
“But… but… but he can see your pants!” exclaimed Steve with desperation.
The laundrette was actually a very good location for a nervous breakdown. The repetitive hum of the oversized drums, relentless low brow soap opera blaring from the 15” Panasonic 220, and total vacuum of judgement from other customers was a recipe for a kind of budget therapy. Plus, the dryer room was normally quiet enough after 9pm to crack open some cans of cheap lager and drink away your paranoia.
“What do you want me to do exactly?” rebuked Lynn. “Just leave the washing for another day? I’m not wearing stained delicates, Steve. That’s not the woman you married.”
“I think your concern is misplaced Steve” interrupted a bystander. “I’ve been eavesdropping intently and, apart from some very mild fabric conditioner related banter, their conversation thus far has been decidedly unflirtatious. If I were you, I wouldn’t go so far as to cancel your timeshare. You really shouldn’t be allowing your long-term investments to be influenced by your lack of ability to process emotion – it’s just not financially sensible.”
“Also, you’re overloading that drum” another bystander chimed in, sensing an opportunity for laundry advice. “Don’t fill it that close to the top or else your wash is going to be uneven and you’ll risk damaging the motor.”
“There simply isn’t a better scooter on the market” mumbled Danny D to himself, still distraught.
Assessing the overwhelming mundanity of his surroundings, Steve began to suspect he may have once again overreacted. Taking a deep breath, he forlornly presented Lynn with the now considerably overshadowed problematic knitwear.
“I found a dirty fleece in the pantry” said Steve under his breath.
“Would you like me to wash it for you, Steve?” Lynn asked mockingly, as if talking to a child.
“Yes please” replied Steve ashamedly, still bleeding from his face.
“You should probably rinse your wound” advised one of the now very involved bystanders. “My cousin left a cut on his arm until it got infected and ended up having the whole left half of his body amputated. You don’t want that to happen to your head, Steve! Imagine that! Awful!”
Steve nodded vaguely to acknowledge the bystander’s odd intervention before making his way to the door.
“If you don’t want the scooter I’ll have it!” barked a scruffy teenager inexplicably sitting on the floor despite plenty of free seats, eyes fixed to the tiny omnibus-ridden screen in the corner. “An XLsior 3000, you know, that’s a premium bit of kit you got there.”
A smile returned to Danny D’s face.
“This is a very busy laundrette” observed Steve, before leaving glumly, head facing the ground.
With order restored in the Wash-O-Mat, Danny D and Lynn finished loading the drum, set the temperature to a firm but agreeable 55 degrees, and began their hefty wash.
Afterwards, they retired to the dryer room and had loads of sex.
one thousand and one writes 