The first time I used a laundromat was in Milwaukee the summer of 2011. I worked at a missions camp for three months, and every weekend my team and I would venture to the laundromat down the road to take care of our dirty clothes. I’d always had a washer/dryer wherever I’d lived, so this was a foreign experience for me.
I actually enjoyed it. I enjoyed sitting to the side with my laptop while my clothes tumbled in a chamber next to those of an African-American man twice my age and a single mom’s on the other side, her three toddlers nipping at her heels on the other side of the room.