The ringing of bells, high pitched dings telling us someone had dealt a decent hand on the machine, could be heard over the whirs and thumps of the washing machines. The dryers were quiet enough, that is until the time ran out and they sang out an off key note. What words would you use to describe the sound of quarters being inserted into the machines? A click? A thunk? Both? It did have that two-part rhythm to it.
The crane machine, silent in sounds but loud with lights, had the usual ‘out of order’ sign. Rubber ducks, beanie bears, and pokemon would just have to wait a while longer. The other games were silent as well, in pause mode while they waited for the next player to sit down and feed it quarters.
The p***r machines were different of course. They were never idle. Never silent. Never allowed the respite that the others got. Were they jealous or proud? Were the others jealous or relieved?
There is a rhythm to this place, none of it really matches in beat but actually, it does. Perhaps it is influenced by Spike Jones or P.D.Q. Bach. The machines whir in a definite 4/4 beat. The beat of the larger washers though were off. They were their own band.
Ah, the race game was being played with! The pedals pounded and the wheel jerked as the kid pretended to be playing it. He won’t put in quarters, his mother won’t let him. He’s fine with it though, he was more disappointed he couldn’t get a rubber ducky from the glass crane box.
The smells were calmer here. The room is big enough that it is not overbearing, at least here by the door. Perhaps up further, in the canyons formed by the top loading washers, the perfume smells were stronger.
My comforters spin, trying to tumble but too tangled to do much good. I’ve pulled them out twice now; they’re on their third quarter. I wonder, not for the first time, if it is sunny enough to drape them outside, letting Mama Nature do the drying for me. She doesn’t charge quarters.
Unedited freewriting whilst at the laundromat yesterday.