Friday Night Laundry

More than thirty years ago, I met a man at the laundromat. It was a Friday night and usually only we old folk are there doing laundry. Primary reason to go on Friday night was to bypass the younger group with small children, loud radios and a zillion questions.

This man wore a full beard – black as a raven. He appeared to be about my age, give or take a few years. While dressed neatly, he wasn't over dressed or in jeans. He was leaning against the folding table in front of a whirling dryer. He didn't have a book, or a radio, just kind of leaning there peacefully. I let him lean.

Meanwhile, I sat on a folding table in front of two dryers. Reading. I am pretty sure it was the latest Stephen King novel. Probably “The Tommyknockers”. It was fairly early in the evening. I had come home from work at six, gathered up my laundry and decided to get it done then. So, by the time it was in the dryer, it was about seven. There was no one else in the laundromat when I arrived and I am not sure when the man came. Must have been soon after as his clothes were also in the dryer.

I was five or six chapters into the book when he approached me. He leaned down to see the title of my book. “I think my oldest son is reading that now.” I looked up and put my finger in the book as a marker. “It's the latest, I think. Probably a lot of people are into it right now.” I reopened the book and went back to reading.

The man continued to stand next to me. Finally, he said, “What brand detergent do you use?”

“What?” I put the book jacket flap into the book and closed it. “What kind of detergent do I use?”

I thought that was the oddest pick up line I'd ever heard.

He didn't seem embarrassed, just nodded. “Lately, I have been getting a light rash after laundry day. I'm thinking it's the detergent. You seem to have very fair skin. Do you have a problem with detergents?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. My dermatologist recommended this brand.” I slid off the folding table and reached into my basket sitting under it. I handed him the box. He turned it around and read whatever they print on the back of soap packages. He handed it back to me and walked over to his laundry basket and picked up a package.

Looking at it, I nodded. “That's what I used to use. Had to rewash everything twice once I quit using it.”

We both returned our detergents to our baskets and stood talking until my first dryer stopped. I pulled everything on to the folding table and began folding clothes. He stood there a few minutes and said, “Is there much of anything to do around here weekends?”

“Are you new in town?” I knew I had never seen him here before and there aren't that many laundromats on this side of town.

“No. I live in West Covina. But my parents live in Pasadena. It seemed sensible to me to do my laundry after I left my Mom's. The laundry I go to closes at six...used to be open to midnight. I saw this one last week when I stopped at the market here.” The laundromat is in a large shopping mall.

So we talked about entertainment – movies, bars, etc. I mentioned that there is a live band every Sunday evening just a block or two from where we were. In a small neighborhood bar – starts about 6:30 and plays for about three hours. He asked if I usually went to that and I said, “Usually.”

His dryer turned off and he went to fold clothes into his basket. I finished folding my second dryer load about the same time he finished. We walked out of the laundromat together. He said, “I might stop by that bar Sunday.”

Being friendly, I replied, “Well, save me a stool if you do.”

Sunday evening I was ready to walk up to the neighborhood bar and wondered if he would show up. Probably not. He was being polite. But, just in case, I got a new bar of castile soap out of my cupboard. It's a fine body soap and, if he has a problem with his detergent, he might be using the wrong body soap as well. I put it in my jacket pocket. By the time I leave for home, it'll be cool enough to wear a jacket. I laughed at myself all the way to the bar. It's called The Brass Elephant. And is definitely a neighborhood bar. I usually know everyone there even though Sunday nights are about the only times I'm there.

The bar was cool and dim, as usual. I could see the band setting up. The bartender flagged me down as I came in. “Some guy looking for you. Were you expecting him?” I kind of laughed and told him I had met this guy while doing my laundry and recommended the band when he asked what do you do around here on weekends. “Okay. Just wanted to be sure. If things don't feel right, excuse yourself and leave by the main door. I'll keep him occupied.” I thanked him and he told me where the bearded man was sitting.

He was turned away from the bar so didn't see me coming. But there was an empty stool to his right. “Well, you found the place.” He turned with a smile that lit up his face. “Yeah, and I saved you a stool.”

The bartender brought me my usual drink and said, “So you're who he's waiting for.” As if he didn't know. The band was setting up and we engaged in small conversation. Thankfully, I suddenly remembered his name was Tony. I know I told him mine but, while walking up, I couldn't recall his name.

“By the way, I got to thinking about your detergent problem. You might have a shower soap that isn't too kind to your skin. I brought you something. I've used this all my life – good castile. It's suds well and rinses well.” He seemed shocked; definitely surprised. He thanked me and put the soap in his pocket.

The music was exceptionally good that night. More oldies than rock and roll. It made for a good background when we talked but we didn't talk a lot. When they played the last song, they announced it was the last. I told Tony I had to leave as I had an early day the next day. He offered to take me home and I said, “Thanks. But I'm good.” He decided to stay for another drink as he didn't work the next day. I didn't want him to know I had walked up so was glad he did stay. I thought he was a nice guy but he didn't need to know where I lived.

Friday night he was in the laundromat when I arrived; a bit later than the week before. So his laundry was nearly done by the time I started mine. He stayed and talked until my laundry was folded and he walked me to my car. He thanked me for telling him about the Sunday band. Would I be there this week? I told him I would. He also thanked me for the bar of soap. He couldn't believe the difference it made. He thinks his skin looks and feels better. I told him he could buy it in any super market.

Though we saw each other Fridays and Sundays, it was another two weeks before he asked for my telephone number. He gave me his number. I was feeling fairly comfortable with him by this time. The bartender and several of the regulars have gotten to know him and think he's pretty okay.

One Friday he suggested that we have dinner before going to hear the band. We talked and decided where and I said I'd meet him there at five. Sounded good to him. At four that afternoon, he called and said “Why don't I pick you up? Silly to have two cars going to two places.” Or something like that.

This began a relationship that has lasted more than thirty years. Every year on November 6^th, he sends me a bar of castile soap with a note. “I blame this soap for our friendship. Thank you.” During these thirty plus years he has asked me to marry him at least six times. And, while I find him attractive, I can't see me married to him. Each time he says, “Why not? We enjoy the same things; have the same values. Why not?”

And each time I tell him that I'm afraid it would ruin a beautiful friendship.