So I guess I’m pretty spoiled. I’ve never been to a laundromat. Ever. When I was an undergrad, living on campus at Ramapo, I did all my laundry inside our lobby, where I’d often forget about it and come back DAYS later. Seriously. Days.

All the places I’ve lived in have all had a washer and dryer, but unfortunately, my house in Queen Village, lacks just that. So this weekend (during a delicious lunch with Lex), I went on a little adventure, once I realized I could no longer get away with Febreezing my t-shirts.

Strike one. I was deeply concerned with the lack of watter. Perhaps, this was not the laundromat for me…

Dammit! This is outrageous. I won’t clean my clothes here again, no sir. You mean to tell me I can’t use this washer as an amusement ride AND I can’t put my cat inside? Preposterous!

It amazes me that people really need this sort of warning. Is it seriously that tempting to go inside? *sigh* I suppose people still end up doing these things, which is why we need painfully obvious warning labels.

All in all, I’ll be back to the laundromat down the street from my house. The people there didn’t laugh at me when I asked how long I should put my clothes in the dryer for. I did hear several chuckles from patrons who watched my quarters spill all over the floor at the change machine, scattering across the floor. Those coins just fly out man.

Where’s the warning label on THAT?