The Perils of...."Doing Your Own Damn Laundry"

"After enlightenment, the laundry." - Zen Proverb

Tonight, I, The Cheap Chic, vowed to get my life back in order. First on the list, laundry.

"Why laundry?" you, my gentle reader, may inquire.

Well, I still hadn't unpacked by bag from Mardi Gras. I know, I know. It's a week since I've been back, but I actually was considering just handing over my rucksack to the Hazmat team, but I'm too cheap to replace all my clothes. Plus, then I would have to give up my precious, precious beads.....

Anyway, feeling like Karen Carpenter singing, "I'm on the top of the World, looking down on Creation...." for the first time since I got my swamp cold, I decided to start my laundry as soon as I got home from work. With my 1st laundry basket in hand, my iPod wailing Italian Baroque (I know. I'm such a laundry badass), I headed down to the first floor to begin. I added $20 to my laundry card, put in two loads, and headed back to my apartment on the second floor to pick up the 2nd basket. Then I headed up to the 4th floor with my 2nd basket to start two more loads (This is actually a Math word problem. What floor is The Cheap Chic actually on?).

Once in the 4th floor laundry room, I took out my laundry card and my two laundry detergents, tossed them on the top of the washers, and started loading my stuff into the washers. When I finished loading, I straightened back up and reached for my laundry card....but it wasn't there.

"Did I mistake having it in the first place?" I thought. "Did I drop it while talking to my Super in the elevator? Did I leave it in the apartment? Did I forget to clean out the lint trap the last time I did laundry and now I have bad laundry karma?" (It's funny how when you lose something, even though you swear you had it in the first place, you think of tons of different scenarios than the one that actually happen.) Thus, the search began.

I retraced my steps, gazing at the black and white checkerboard hallway tile floor (getting slightly dizzy) looking for my laundry card. Then I hit the elevator button, hoping maybe it was in the elevator. The left elevator opened and my Super stood there. "Did I drop my laundry card?" I queried. He just gazed at me like I was stupid. "You were in the other elevator," he said looking at me like I'm an idiot for forgetting what elevator I was in just 5 minutes ago. The doors closed and I hit the button again. The right elevator lifted, the doors opened, I looked down on the black non-skid mat and....nothing.

So I went for it. In my desperation, I had the audacity and tenacity to pick up the bottom of the mat and look underneath. Not only was this hazardous to my health (being that the mat had the streets of New York times 200 over all it), but it was ludicrous to believe that the laundry card could have managed to fall out of my basket and underneath the mat. But, what can I say? Desperate times called for desperate measures.

See, one downfall of being the Cheap Chic is that $20 is ALOT of money. It is 80 packages of Ramen, 10 trips to the bar for $1 Beers (tip included) at the Underground during Happy Hour and food cart lunches for a week. Plus, it was my last $20 and of course I didn't have any $5s or $10s, which are the only other bills the laundry card machine takes. Added to that, to buy a new laundry card from the machine is $5 itself. Its a freakin' laundry racket! Where are the RICO Laundry laws when you need them!!!

Alas, I dragged myself through the building for one last search. My apartment-nothing. Two different laundry rooms-nothing. All the checkerboard tiled hallways of three floors of my apartment building and....nothing.

At this point, I had already started washing clothes on the 2nd Floor and now had no way to dry them. However, there was nothing I could do about it. I guess that's what shower rods, backs of chairs, tops of doors and ledges are for. I said the Serenity Prayer and trudged up to the 4th floor where I was going to collect my 2nd basket of dirty laundry that started this whole debacle.

And that's when it hit me. In the laundry room, there are three large capacity washers side by side and what if......

Well! Wha'dYa Know? (Obviously, not much)

Afterall, it took me 20 minutes to figure out that my laundry card was stuck between two large-capacity washers. I was instantly elated and back to feeling like Karen Carpenter.

"No worries!" I thought. "I am the Cheap Chic. I can get my laundry card out between the two, 60lbs a piece, large-capacity washers lickitty split." (yeah, right.)

I thought back to my Girl Scout days (you know, camping, fire, nature stuff, etc...) and then I dismissed them (I was more Troop Beverly Hills. All we did is make Gingerbread houses and teach Brownies how to Polka. Seriously, the Polka. It was "West-con-sin" afterall).

Then I thought back to my Singleton Survival Training (Mandatory for all Singletons. It involves various covert activities I'm not at liberty to discuss, along with frequent viewings of Bridget Jones' Diary.).

I quickly ran back down to my apartment. I hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest Chef's knife I could find (6 inches of pure steel) along with my Marie Callender Pie Cutter/TakerOutter thingy (You can tell I use it alot). Next, I went to the linen closet and grabbed a kitchen towel (Do you really think I'm stupid enough to run around my apartment building with a knife? I don't want to get evicted! Plus, a gun beats a knife any day and I don't want to find out which neighbor has one.). On my way out I grabbed the postcard my rents sent me from Hawaii, because afterall it was cardstock and I always found cardstock to be handy in any situation (However, in this one, it was not).

I gently scampered up to the 4th floor, via the stairs as I was less likely to run into any neighbors this way (Afterall, I did have a ginormous knife and a Pie Cutter/TakerOutter thingy in my hand). I knew I had to make it fast. If the Super found me trying to jimmy anything out around these washers there will be hell to pay, especially with my makeshift tools.

I got to the laundry room and laid out my surgery kit on top of the washers. The laundry card was about 3 inches down from the top of the washers. I gently caressed my chef's knife and my Pie Cutter/TakerOutter thingy in line with both sides of the laundry card and started to ever...so...gently pull the card up. It moved a half of an inch, then another half of an inch, yet another fourth of an inch and...SWISH! It fell down into the abyss between the washers.

Instantly, my mantra went off in my head (the one I usually use, along with the Serenity Prayer, for my Subway commute so I don't accidentally push one of the many jackasses on the tracks.). "Breathe deep, seek peace. Breathe deep, seek peace, Breathe deep, seek...." Another deep breath and on to plan B.

I bent down on my haunches and looked under the washer. There is only an eighth of an inch gap between the washer and the floor so I saw...nothing. I got up, bent over again and pulled the washer up. As I struggled to hold the washer up, I looked and what I saw was...the washer. I couldn't hold the washer and look under it at the same time (I can't be at two places at once). "DammnnniiiiittttalllllltoHellllllllll!" I growled and growled. "Where is a Ross when you need one!" (Or at least some East German laundry detergent. Did you really think I could make it through this story without a FRIENDS reference?). Having given up some of my two favorite stress relievers for Lent I knew I was on the verge of nervous breakdown.

Then I got an idea. An awful idea. The Cheap Chic got a wonderful, awful idea.

Sitting before me were two bottles of laundry detergent; one full and one I had just used up. I took the bottle that was full, thought better of it, then took the bottle that was empty and placed it side down next to the washer. Then I bent over again, lifted up the washer and managed to finagle my leg to kick the bottle under the washer and put the washer down. Eureka! The washer was now jacked up on the laundry bottle. Death to physics! Yippie to The Cheap Chic!

Then got down on the laundry floor and....there was my laundry card- fully intact with no scratches on it. Even the chip (which is the brains of the card that makes everything run) was pristine. I grabbed it and kissed it (Yes. Even though it had been underneath the washers.). And I am not discussing what else was underneath there. I've blocked that image from my memory.

When I put my laundry card in the slot to start the long awaited two loads of laundry, the 20 bucks was still on it. And all it took was 30 minutes, a Chef's knife, a Pie Cutter/TakerOutter thingy, a postcard, a mantra, the Serenity Prayer and a back ache for the rest of the week.

So, the moral of the story is this. Screw everything I said in Do Your Own Damn Laundry!. Doing your own laundry sucks, majorly. You live in New York. Send it out!

Okay. Just kidding.

The moral of the story actually is...Ingenuity, My Dear Watson. That is how The Cheap One survives in this City. Pure ingenuity and maybe..."Brother, could you spare 3 Bucks for a bottle of Chuck? After this, I think drinking the bottle and watching Abbott and Costello is the only movement I'm going to make the rest of the night (And maybe laying on a heating pad.).