Laundry Room Visit

Marcus had no clean underwear left. In fact this was going to be his third day in a row wearing the same pair. Marcus wasn’t normally such a slob but this had been a bad month. It was a month of seeking frequent refuge in his bed, laying a large bath towel down so as to not dirty the fitted sheet and mattress, and masturbating himself to sleep, sometimes for the night, sometimes for an hour in the middle of the day. There wasn’t any circumstance that would appear to necessitate such repeated retreat, but just a lot of feeling bad about himself. Like when he’d eat too much and the underpart of his chest, yes his manboobs, would touch the top of his belly and he’d be so disgusted he’d want to disappear. Marcus fantasized about hibernating, sleeping for months and waking up 80 pounds lighter, and reentering society chiseled and new. But, alas, on this Saturday morning he stood pear-shaped, looking at the large pile of dirty laundry in his closet at 11:40 am, having had two breakfasts already, a mid-morning wank followed by a 22-minute nap. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore and he drew a line at putting on the same boxers for a third day so he decided to do the laundry. 

    It didn’t make sense to wear the dirty boxers while he did his laundry, so Marcus went commando, throwing jeans over his naked bottom, and he put on an extra-large black t-shirt that draped his upper half like a poncho so as to minimize his curves. Marcus deliberated putting on socks. The laundry room was just down the hall from his apartment and if someone saw him barefoot they probably wouldn’t judge but the whole point of dressing was to look normal if he crossed paths with an attractive woman. Socks it was. He was about to put them on when he froze and pondered whether to shower -- if he might have an actual interaction with someone shouldn’t he be free from the film of sweat and funk that had developed since yesterday’s shower? No. He was making this laundry room trip too big a deal. He put on his socks and then, in a minor compromise, vigorously washed his hands, hoping to erase the residue of lotion and semen from that morning’s onanism and the salt, grease and food product from his fast food drive-thru trip earlier that morning. 

    The hall outside his apartment was empty. 900 units across 24 floors and yet on any given day the halls of this apartment complex felt as barren as those in The Shining. This was often a blessing for Marcus, though. Usually he could pull into the garage, hop on the elevator and zip into his apartment without any humans seeing this obese man-child with his arms full of junk food and his face full of shame. 

    No one was in the laundry room. Marcus’ stress over seeing a neighbor was for naught. He put his clothes in the wash and felt slightly better about himself. Upon returning to his apartment he didn’t know how he’d spend the 25 minutes the wash took and then the  subsequent 45 the dryer took. The idea of consuming more food or drink pained him as he still felt disgustingly full from his two breakfasts. Marcus googled “best way to spend 25 minutes” and saw a number of wellness suggestions like taking a walk, meditating, and chopping ingredients for cooking. In the end, Marcus settled on self-grooming, which wasn’t on the list. A shower would take him at least 10 to 15 minutes, he thought, and when he got naked he happily realized he needed to trim his finger and toenails which would add another few minutes and kill the washing machine time. 

    When he went to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer he found his wet clothes on top of the machine, as someone had come in to use it now that his load was done. Marcus felt a second of rage and then imagined himself yelling and attacking whoever had done this. He smiled at the ridiculousness of this idea. Back in his apartment Marcus got out his laptop and turned on the TV. Having both devices engaged meant he didn’t focus on any single thing but nevertheless the time for the dryer flew by. Marcus was back in the laundry room collecting and folding his dry clothes when a cute young Asian woman walked in to move her load from a washer to a dryer. Marcus’ dry clothes were spread across all three dryers where he was folding them so in a grand gesture he gathered his clothes onto the top of a single machine to give her space. “Sorry,” he said, barely audible. The woman made no indication that she even saw him in the laundry room. He figured he spoke too softly but then saw she had earbuds in and decided she was likely listening to music. 

    As the woman loaded her clothes Marcus diligently folded socks while occasionally glancing up at the signs on the laundry room wall which listed rules of use. He tried to get a look at the woman without turning his head and could see she had tan skin, so he figured she was from Thailand or Cambodia. He wondered if she was a student or a nanny. The clothes she put in looked like they might be her clothes as opposed to those of say children or even serious working adults, so he decided she was a college student. The woman left and Marcus took a few deep breaths like he had just survived an interrogation. He had looked normal, he thought. How the fuck could he have an interaction with her, though, if this woman was using earbuds? It hit him, it was so simple. He would leave behind an item of clothing, a sock, cheesy as it was, and come back for it in 50 minutes, a few minutes beyond when the woman’s drying cycle would be over. He would loudly announce he was looking for a sock, and playfully accuse the woman of stealing it. It was bound to provoke a laugh followed by a neighborly introduction. 

    Marcus went back to his apartment and tried to keep being normal, as if he had a girlfriend, as if this very laundry room woman was already in his life, and he had a busy productive day ahead. He put away his clothes with zeal. He made his bed which consisted of straightening the comforter. He threw out the beer bottles in his recycling bin, took out the trash, and got rid of the pizza box and dirty napkins on his coffee table. He wasn’t expecting to have this woman over today but he felt energized after seeing her and wanted to act like the man that would win her companionship. 

    It was time. He returned to the laundry room to find the woman picking up her clothes but there was a man helping her. Marcus didn’t announce he was looking for a sock like he planned. But he also didn’t see the sock on top of the machine where he left it. After quickly scanning the room he went to leave. On the way out he saw the black sock in the open trash can next to the door. He slowed his exit when he saw the sock in the trash but didn’t grab it and instead lifted his head as if he hadn’t seen it and walked out. It was time to go home and masturbate.