Gay Club Jet Lag

I’m never seeing the laundryman again.

It’s been over a week since I moved, and life couldn’t be better because I haven’t seen Rick. The sun’s shining a bit brighter- especially now that I have a window in my bedroom. All week I’ve been looking forward to laundry day, at my new laundromat across the street. Finally, I’ll be able to walk in and wash my clothes without having to look over my shoulder, as if a vampire was following me.

After filling up my hamper, I put on my shoes and skip down the sidewalk. I could float on air. I keep thinking about him, as much as I’d like to forget. He steals my dreams and turns them into nightmares. All I see is his furrowed brow and those dark, piercing eyes. It’s an image that’s been haunting me ever since I moved. But today, that changes. I believe that once I get used to my new laundromat, Rick’s ire will become a distant memory and I’ll heal from my wounds. I just have to be rehabilitated. It’s exposure therapy.

As I enter, sweat pools down my lower back, and I notice this place doesn’t have the same blessing of AC as my old spot. Never mind that what’s a little heat compared to the hellfire of Rick’s presence? 

This place is massive. There are two or three times as many machines as at Rick’s joint and I smile. I’ll never have to fight to do laundry again. As I load up the washer I hear steps come towards me. I turn and I see a big, gruff man with a giant smile stretching from rim to rim. 

“Howdy.”

My jaw drops a bit. What kind of person says “howdy” to a total stranger?

“Hello,” I offer back.

“You new around here?”

I nod. I tell him I’ve just moved. I want to tell him to back off my grill so I can do my laundry in peace, but I stay mum. He starts asking where I used to live. How is that any of his business? He senses my apprehension, probably because it’s painted across my face.

“I’m the owner here. Name’s John.”

I laugh. I apologize. Luckily, he laughs with me. I realize I should make a positive effort for a fresh start if I want to be successful at my new laundromat. I tell him where I used to live, my old neighborhood, my street, my favorite businesses, and suddenly, he scoffs.

“Are you one of Rick’s old customers?”

How did he know that? Are they friends? Did Rick somehow find out where I was moving and tell him some lie about me? 

“No wonder you’re so on edge. Relax, we’re nothing like him here.”

I breathe. For my first time here, this could not have gone better. John tells me that he and Rick have a bit of a rivalry. They started in business together at the old spot and went their separate ways. We swap stories- I tell him about the money I never got back and John shakes his head.

“Don’t you worry. You stick with us, you’ll never have anything to worry about.”

He flips me a quarter-

“Can’t give you everything he owes you ‘cuz it’s not my debt, but I want you to feel at home here.”

With a smile on my face, I thank him. Who can believe such kindness can exist in a laundromat? He saunters away and I resume washing my clothes. 

After taking my time in the new laundromat, inspecting every machine, getting a lay of the land, and picking my clothes out one by one, I head home to fold. Getting to the bottom of my hamper, I fill my dresser– socks, t-shirts, underwear… wait. I can’t find my favorite jockstrap. I dig inside the drawers, then the hamper… off to the closet, my suitcases… it’s nowhere to be found. What the hell? What am I supposed to wear to my next rave? What am I supposed to wear tonight? Every time I’ve worn that pair of underwear, without fail, someone’s bought me a drink. I don’t know what power they seem to have, but they attract good fortune. I can’t lose them.

I didn’t forget them at the laundromat or in my old apartment, because in both cases, I was very thorough in making sure I left nothing behind. Where could they be? Is one of my roommates trying it on because they’re thinking of updating their wardrobe? Did a rat sneak into my apartment and take off with them?

Shit. I know where they are. They’re at the laundromat alright… the old one. Rick’s place. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I banked on never having to go back there. Someone might have swiped them by now. Maybe Rick did, and they’re hanging in his closet like a trophy. Do I let it go or reclaim my property? I want to cut my losses but their power is too good to give up like this. More importantly, the thought of Rick donning my precious underwear is enough to put fire in my bones. 

I march towards the front door and stop myself- why don’t I just call them and see if they happen to have it? If they don’t I’ll save myself the trip and avoid face time with Rick. I track the number on Google Maps and shudder. My biggest fear right now is that he’ll answer the call and I’ll have to hear his voice. Would he even understand why this is so important to me? Reluctantly, I proceed. 

BUZZ… BUZZ… BUZZ…

“Hello?”

Thank god. It’s his wife.

“Hi. I’m an old- a current customer, and I think I left some of my underwear there last week.”

“Okay.”

“Do you-”

“One moment.”

I hear some rustling, some chatter, and I wait for a good while. Then, she sighs. She tells me they have it. I thank her-

“Okay.”

She hangs up abruptly. Okay… I shake it off and head over to Rick’s old place. Time moves slowly. I feel like I’m being summoned to the principal’s office. But I’m not in trouble, and I’ve done no wrong. I’ll just go in, get the underwear from his wife, and then this whole embarrassing journey will be over with. 

When I arrive the cold air blasts in my face, nearly reviving me. I hobble inside and look for a familiar face. The butch Latine’s gone, and Rick’s wife isn’t in her swivel chair. She must be in the office. I step over to the door and give it a knock, but looking in… I only see Rick. Shit. Part of the reason I came up here was because I didn’t think he’d be at the laundromat. I thought I’d only have to deal with his wife, and I’ve never really had a problem with her. But this is an entirely different beast.

“Hello?”

Crap. He knows I’m here. I’ve made it this far, I might as well take the plunge. I enter the smoke-filled room.  He’s wielding a cigarette, stinking up the whole place. I’ll be so pissed if my underwear smells like cigarettes after this. I tell him I’m here to reclaim my property. He laughs. What’s so funny? He digs around the back, and I see it. My jockstrap, floating on a hanger. He snatches it and chuckles again. 

“This is yours?”

He inspects it, raising the hanger to see it from every angle.

“Is there a problem here?”

Rick shakes his head “No.” Despite this, he’s not giving it to me. He keeps looking at the underwear and then back up at me. Finally, after enough of this humiliation, I swipe the jockstrap and thank him. 

“Sorry.”

Look at that, he’s unlocked a new word in his vocabulary. I’m curious now. Sorry for what? For the theft of my 75 cents, for holding my underwear hostage, or for this attempt to shame my choice of undergarments? Returning to my theory- maybe he can read minds. But then I realize why the universe put me in this room, why I haven’t been able to get him out of my head– this is the last chance I’ll get to give him a piece of my mind. So I tell him I’ve moved and I’m never coming back. He looks sad now. Boy, I feel a little mean. But this has been a long time coming. I promise him he’ll never take my money or see me again. 

“Goodbye.”

“Wait-”

He grabs my wrist. What the hell does he want? I feel like he’s about to punch me in the face. And then he does, with his lips. That’s right, he just planted a big wet kiss on my mouth and I’m left speechless. What the fuck? 

Stunned, I don’t say anything. I just slowly walk out and return home. Maybe this jockstrap is a little too powerful. 

For context, read about my beef with the laundryman here if you haven’t already.