Dirty Laundry Secret - Laundry Overload.
What a sh–tty day.
It’s downpour raining. There’s tons of laundry. And, we’re short staffed.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my job, but aren’t we all allowed to have bad days? And today is definitely one that should be allowed.
Anyways, let me walk you through what’s happened so far today. It’s only 3 p.m.
Well, we had our regulars: the woman off W 84th Street, the guy near Carnegie Hall (who always has weird stains on his shirts?) and that woman in the Upper East Side who owns the most beautiful fur coats.
But, just now, we got two laundry requests from two families. I’ll tell you right now – this might turn into a nightmare.
We’re bringing in two to four bags of laundry at a time and are grouping it by family. Family 1 are parents with a newborn. Family 2 are parents with a son and daughter.
Alright, maybe I was exaggerating. Today can’t be all bad, right?
Ok, well, you’re reading this in the next sentence, but in reality nine hours have gone by. It’s now 12 a.m. and we are f@$%d!
Like I said before, there’s tons of laundry today. Of the loads, two families sent in their clothes.
We’re washing them, drying them — all the good stuff — and then we realized we mixed all the clothes together. We don’t know who belongs to who and at this point I say to myself, “Wow, I’m royally f%#ked.”
Now, I could try to pull off some miracle, but quite frankly, I’m tired, stressed and a mess. I need to call in backup.
Time: 12:30 a.m.
And that backup’s name is Joey, the stay-at-home dad of Family 2. It’s only past midnight and I hardly know this family… That’s no problem…. right?
“Right!” Joey barged in, with two coffees and a smile.
“Joey!” I gasped, putting down the clothes I’ve been going through. “I didn’t think you’d actually come?!!” I laughed, shakily from the stress.
Joey slightly shrugged and put down the coffee on a table near me, “Don’t even worry about it. Let’s get through this laundry.”
He zipped up his hoodie and fixed his hair under his hat before he went towards the finished load I was working on. Thank you God for Joey.
Time: 2:00 a.m.
So, now we’re down to the last chunk of the laundry. My eyes are begging to go to sleep, but at least Joey’s humor has kept me alive to this point.
Here’s a recap of how Joey figured out which clothes belonged to his family (especially his wife).
Any cotton panties
Joey: Yep, that’s my wife’s!
Joey: *examines it, slightly confused* Not my wife’s!
Joey: *still slightly confused* Nope! *tosses to side*
Joey: Yep, this is my wife’s! *nodding head*
Thong that says “Crime Scene” on front
Joey: *picks it up in slow motion; holds it up with two fingers (barely)* DEFINITELY not my wife’s! *tosses to side*
The Next Day
It was a long, brutal night, but thank G- thank JOEY, we got that settled.
I don’t even remember what time I got home — the number of bras and panties Joey shouted that were “Not my wife’s!” has distorted my sense of time.
But apparently it’s 10 a.m. and looks like I have a text message from the man himself:
“Crime scene belongs to my daughter.”