Delicate cycle

The laundry room brings out the best and worst in people. Few people like doing laundry, and the added hassle of doing laundry in a public facility that charges entirely too much certainly doesn’t brighten the day. However, I think laundry facilities neatly sort people into two piles: those who’re willing to smile and be pleasant for the greater good and those who will simply be scowling wankers until their clothes are dry (sour rat bastard from tonight, this is directed at you. I do realize that your first quarter at Wharton effectively sapped your last dregs of humor and decency – believe me, I know a thing or two about this – but you’re not doing anyone any good with your crappy attitude. If you think that crossing your arms, looking at your watch and impatiently tapping your toes is going to make me remove my clothes from the dryer more quickly, you are sorely – nay, laughably – mistaken. Oh wait. It just occurred to me that you’re doing your own laundry, Chad – may I call you Chad? – so the chances are pretty good you dropped out of Wharton. It’s OK. Happens to the most mediocre of them. Not everyone can handle the intense stress of networking, theme parties and binge drinking, I know. Poor Chad. Maybe that’s why you’re so dissatisfied. Still, do not take it out on your fellow clothes washers. Honestly, didn’t your mother teach you better than that, Chad?).

As you can see, Chad and his kind rub me the wrong way. But for every Chad in the laundry facility there are several sweet German women who smile and say thank you when you help them navigate their cart around the folding table, or kind men who offer tips on how to negotiate with the owner next door, or friendly young women who, when they see you struggling to keep an enormous blanket from touching the filthy floor, insist on helping you fold it. I’m glad they outnumber the Chads of this world.