Orphans

May 24, 2000

There was a time in my life when I had to go to the laundromat if I wanted clean clothes. At that point in my life I would wait and wait and wait. Often trips to the store for new panties were necessary. Anything to delay that woeful journey just one more day.

Work clothes are, for the most part, dry-cleanable. Panties, bras, and panty hose are not. But they're so easily acquired that they were not an issue.

I got to the point where I had about 60 pairs of panties in my collection. I was set. A two month supply.

When enough finally got to be enough I would finally sort the great mounds of unwashed items, bag them up into all the dirty pillow cases (bed linens were also not in short supply), toss them from the second floor where my apartment was, down the stairs to the first floor landing. My trusty Datsun 280ZX would be parked right outside the back door. It would all get loaded into the hatchback. Overflow would go onto the passenger seat. And I'd make that 1/2 block journey into hell.

There is a beauty in using the laundromat. OK, there are a couple.

The first is those big triple load machines. You can fit a lot of stuff in one of those bad boys. Usually all the bed linens in one, towels in another.

The second thing is, even if you have 14 loads of laundry, you can do them all at one time. There are bound to be 14 machines, even if you're spread all over the place. All that many loads doesn't really take that much more time than one or two--except for the dreaded folding.

Chalk it up to prehistoric time management.

On the down side of laundromats is that things often go missing. You know you left the house with 60 pairs of panties but for some strange reason only 57 make it home. OK, chalk the panty issue up to that weird wall-eyed guy who always sits in the corner rocking and talking to himself. We can only hope the panties were washed before he got a hold of them.

But socks. Socks are another matter.

I have two feet. Normally, if I have a sock on one foot, the mate of that pair is going to be on the other foot. I don't make a habit of knowingly wearing mismatched socks. Both socks get dirty at the same time. Both socks go into the hamper simultaneously. Both socks make it to the Laundromat together. But when all is said and done and you're sorting socks, fresh from the dryer, one or two--but never a pair--always one from two different pairs--will go missing.

You thoroughly inspect the washer after loading those convenient large baskets with wheels and hanger racks before heading off to the dryer. Likewise, you thoroughly inspect the dryer before relinquishing it to the next waiting patron.

But somehow you're down two socks. It's a mystery.

OK, it's a mystery but understandable. Sort of. I mean your laundry has to actually leave your home in order to get cleaned. A single sock could easily fall out of the bag or basket and get lost in the shuffle.

You end up with orphan socks.

Here's the deal though. I have a washer and a dryer in my home now. My clothes no longer go out of the house unless they're on my body. But somehow we still end up with orphan socks.

There are a finite number of places where they could be.

I mean, socks don't get up and walk out the door by themselves. I know the dogs haven't taken them. Nor the cats, or my daughter.

Still, the orphan problem persists.

Just tonight I was folding a load of laundry. Ten socks came out of the dryer. But there were only four pairs. The remaining two socks were each orphans. From two different original pairs of socks.

Imagine the frustration.

Until next time...