During the mid 1980s I moved to Chicago. I had always lived in a small town, and in fact, had spent most of my youth out in the country, living next to a small farm. Living in the big city was a huge step, and it took me years to finally get up the courage to make such a big change.
I found an apartment in a brick buidling on the north side. It was roughly 10 blocks north of Wrigley Field in a neighborhood known as Andersonville. Most of the Scandanavian people from the area had long since left and the street where I lived was populated by virtually every ethnic group imagineanable - Italians, Iranians, Irish, Polish and Mexicans. In fact, my landlord was Filipino, as was the family on the east side of my building.
Since I didn’t have my own washing machine I went to different laundromats in the immediate vicinity. I had several, and if I went to one and found a parking place, I went in. If not, I went to another one. This particular Saturday I went to one over on North Damen. They had a small lot right in the back and I parked and took my laundry bag out of the back seat of my car and walked in.
There was a big woman there, with several little kids, and she had all but two of the ten washers full. There was one free, and the other was out of order. So that left me with one washer to do my two loads. And she actually had more loads to do after her machines all stopped. But I was already there, so I started my load of jeans and shirts and sat down. Her kids were running all around the place laughing and screaming, and she was just ignoring them completely. As I sat there I just felt more and more pissed at the situation, but I knew nothing I said or did would make any difference. So I grabbed a magazine and tried to read it.
Finally, my first load was done in the washer. I grabbed one of the wire carts and unloaded the washer into the cart. When I looked over at the dryers, she had them all full, so I loaded my second load of white clothes into the washer and sat back down to wait for a dryer. By this time I’m in an even worse mood than before.
Eventually she starts catching up with her stuff and by the time my second load stops in the washer, a dryer opens up. I guess she ran out of quarters and toward the end she just bagged stuff up and finally left with her all bratty little kids.
By the time she’s completely packed up and gone, my first load is almost dried. So I load my whites into another dryer and take out everything but my jeans from the first machine and start folding. Finally it’s quiet, and for a little while, at least, I have the whole place to myself. I’m thinking “Thank God they’re gone!”
I’m standing there, leaning against the counter, hanging shirts up on, yes, wire hangers. I’ve got other things stacked up on the counter and the first dryer is almost done with my jeans. I walk over and pull them out and almost burn myself on the zippers. “Damn! These things are...” Before I finish muttering to myself, in comes a Mexican woman with several little kids. She looks around a little bit and the kids run around the place laughing. She says something in Spanish to a cute little girl that seems to be a little older and she obediently goes running out the back door.
A few minutes later the little girl comes back in with an older couple. She’s helping them and guides them over to some plastic chairs over in another area of the room. As soon as they sit down, other women start coming in, some through the back door and some through the front, and they’re all carrying dishes and pots of food. They start spreading dishes and arranging cups and pans out onto the folding tables. Eventually they start putting stuff onto MY table and I kind of get a little nervous. “What the f....., I’m trying to do laundry here...” and I feel like I’m being pushed farther over into a little corner of the table.
My second dryer buzzes and I go over and unload it into my wire cart. I get back to the table and start to transfer everything as fast as I can because I want to just get the hell out there! When I look up, there is an older woman standing there with a big smile and a plate full of food. “Te gusta?” she says. I almost said no, but it smelled so good.. and she had such a nice smile on her face... so I said “gracias” and took the plate over to the chairs and sat down. I think there was a tamale and some rice and beans, and God did it ever taste good! I was almost starting to feel a little less pissed off. I wasn’t sure I was even ready for that. Then a short, older man came over. He had two styrofoam cups with some kind of juice in it and he gave me one. Before I could say anything he opened his coat and pulled a bottle out from an inside pocket and poured some of it into my cup, then some into his cup. He smiled and lifted his cup and said “salud..” We both took a sip and he walked back over to the rest of the group.
Everyone was talking and laughing and eating and drinking, when all of a sudden a couple comes in through the back. It was a beautiful young bride, all dressed in white, with a huge flowing white veil, and her handsome new husband. They looked like such a wonderful couple. Everyone cheered as they walked into the middle of the laundromat, then people started singing some song in Spanish, first one guy, then everyone started joining in. A few minutes later a band of Mariachis came in through the back door and eveyone was singing and dancing.
One of the bride’s aunts came over with another huge plate of food, and an uncle came over and handed me a bottle of Mexican beer. I thought “jeez, I need to finish folding my clothes.” I started to get up and move toward the table and there were two women stuffing my laundry bag full of the clothes that they had already finished folding. Meanwhile the party kept going. I don’t know if they owned the place or what, but the last wash was supposed to be done by 8 pm, and it was already 11:30. I had more food and more drinks. I think I even danced with some of the younger sisters and cousins and nieces. I can even remember speaking some Spanish and trying to sing some songs.
Finally, a couple of the uncles came and helped me out to the car with my laundry. One of them asked me if I was OK. It was late and I was only about three blocks away from my apartment. When I woke up the next morning and had to go to work, I had a really bad hangover, and I couldn’t even remember what had happened right away. Did I dream all of that? I made it to work, and I eventually remembered everything. But I never saw any of those people again.
No comments:
Post a Comment