The Brave Laundry Lady

The night laundry shift at the hotel was a comfort that I have not been able to replicate. The dryers weren’t started until an hour after I clocked in, but the white noise was always welcomed and eagerly anticipated. I didn’t blot out the monotony, I didn’t try to smooth the routine with music, smoke breaks, or a cell phone. I never watched a movie on the rolling cart or read or did crossword puzzles. I was there every minute of every night, present and productive. I ran the hotel at night alone efficiently both recovering from the day prior and preparing for the day ahead, neither of which I liked to see. I was the elf helping the cobbler finish his shoes. I was the one peice of the machine that without it, the machine would cease to function. There were no demotions and there were no promotions to concern myself with. There was no one to fill in for me and there would never be a need for that. You could set a watch to me and to it all.

Separating the linens could be done by touch, towels from bed sheets and comforters, so that is what I did. I closed my eyes until it was done. The sooner I finished the sooner I could start the washer and in turn the sooner I could turn on the dryer, which is what I started thinking about on my drive to work. There were fewer washcloths and floor mats, people took those two things most often. There were only a few comforters every night, we don’t wash those after every guest. There is a certain point when a towel or sheet has been washed too many times to keep it in the rotation, and when I felt the roughness of one of these I full force overhand pitched it into the far corner. I don’t know what the day folks did with those towels that felt terrible, but they were out of my rotation. Every night it was a relief once I got those awful towels out of the bunch.

The detergent was a sickly pink and I’ll never forget it. The washer door looked like something from a bank vault and it made me feel important any time I opened it. Get the wash in to start the dryer, get the wash in to start the dryer. 

A banging on the side door. It was a guest and I wished they were in their bed instead of delaying my wash. They wanted some clean washcloths, I got them two new ones I had sitting by the lost and found for this reason. If you don’t wash them first they’re more likely to stain. The night air crept in from the side door, a contaminate in my enclosed rooms about to be filled with warm air. It reminded me to put my lunch into the fridge, another annoyance opening that fridge. The first hour was the worst, I jumped at cars and sirens, my ears twitched at every unknown sound. It was the only time I felt alone there, even though I was alone there all night. 

The times in between I must have looked frightening, if anyone was there to see me. That didn’t start until after the dryer started. I would usually stand. I took a moment to think about my posture, pulling the invisible string above my head to align my spine. I would set my feet apart and bend my knees slightly, having learned the hard way that standing with them locked could make one fall. Standing at the center of the room I would stare straight ahead. I would know I could disregard time, the end of the whirr of the machine would alert me, the low buzzer that immediately followed it would signal my return to the back room of the hotel office. I would stare and quiet my racing mind to think about nothing. I was in control of myself and my environment. The complex central nervous system was completely mastered by me, as were the machines and lights operating in my domain of the hotel. All this happened, of course, only after the dryer came on.

My nerves calmed down like the flick of a lightswitch. Set-Dry-Permanent Press-Start. My feet on the tile on the ground vibrated and the whole room filled with a kind of light I could feel and not see. The temperature changed gradually to less feeling like an empty room and more like a safe haven. My anxiety that started on the drive to work gave way to the confidence of someone in a well protected and fortified place. I didn’t feel like a short unarmed woman weary of every stranger within six feet of me never fully trusting my surroundings, I felt like I had a large bodyguard there with me, a tall and strong bodyguard that made me unafraid of anything and anyone. I answered the door differently, I answered the phone differently, I walked differently across the laundry room, and was back to my old self when the manager came in to relieve me. 

I was a giant, I was an expert, I was the master of the laundry room. There are nights I can’t sleep while I’m alone in my apartment and I wish I was there. I would be able to feel safe sleeping there, knowing that the tasks were all being handled like clockwork with the deadline of the new day starting. I can only be awake at night, there are too many choices during the day. There is more of a chance for unwanted interactions with strangers or relatives wanting to visit. All situations that I feel completely inept at, like I have no control over my environment or what my distracted mind decides to ramble on about. The white noise is replaced by utter banality combined with chaos, feelings that nothing is going to happen and anything could happen, but nothing does. 

I don’t know what’s next, but I think I can harness that feeling, and call upon it when I feel small. I need that at my disposal, I need that learned defense against feeling helpless, you can’t always reach your pepper spray after all. No one knows what it’s like to be a woman alone in this world except for a woman alone in this world. What a great thing to have learned from being the night shift laundry lady at the hotel.