Queen of Subways and Laundromats

Sorry for the delay in posting. The wireless internet I’ve been stealing from my neighbors has been a bit spotty. Some days it works, some days it doesn’t.

Don’t give me that look. I PLAN on paying for wireless internet in the near future, but Time Warner refuses to set up cable and internet before next Thursday, so I’m forced to steal for the time being. I will soon have both internet and Project Runway back. Does life get much better?

While we are on the topic of cable, why do cable companies have monopolies in certain areas? Isn’t there some law prohibiting monopolies? Maybe I shouldn’t complain about paying $70 per month (split with my roommate) for cable and wireless, but in some cities, wireless internet is FREE, so I’m a little bitter.

A lot has happened since we last chatted, and I may have to break my recent life events into multiple posts so that you don’t get too bored with me. One thing I’ve learned in journalism school is that people get antsy easily and if my audience gets fed up, they will inevitably drift their attention to another article, or another website in this case. Gofugyourself, perhaps? I don’t blame you. Those catty girls entertain me to no end.

Okay, back to NYC.

I have officially mastered the subway. I feel like I have been on every line. Okay, I just looked at a subway map and I may have been exaggerating. But, I have been on every major line in Manhattan, plus the 7 train out to Queens. Yes, I have been to Queens, twice actually, but that little adventure will have to wait for another post.

I have fallen in love with the New York subway to a fault. I realized this sad fact the other day when I met two of my best friends from college plus my old college R.A. from first year at happy hour on the upper east side. I looked at a map expecting to see some sort of magical crosstown subway, but saw only a giant green rectangle. Central Park. I had 30 minutes to get to happy hour, so I considered walking, but the last time (and first time) I walked through Central Park, I became severely turned around. I tried to convince the Scooby Snacks that West was South, but then remembered sheepishly that I have no sense of direction.

So I decided to take the subway. It seemed pretty simple to me: I took the 1 train from 110th downtown to the 96th street station, where I switched to the express train that took me to the 42nd street station at Times Square. From there, I transferred to the 7 train, which I took across town to Grand Central and then switched to the 4-5-6 train uptown until I hit 86th Street. When I sat down to drinks with my friends, I told them about my 45-minute adventure. They laughed their asses off. “Ummm. Have you heard of the crosstown bus?”

No, as a matter of fact I hadn’t. The idea of a bus, for no reason in particular, is much scarier than the subway. Here I was assuming that they would applaud my ingenuity with the intricate subway system, and instead I was completely humiliated. Luckily my friend Katie practically held my hand after happy hour and led me to the bus, which dropped me at the 1 train. It took me 15 minutes to get home.

You learn something new every day. Or in my case, you learn many new things each day, including how to do laundry at a Laundromat.

Stop laughing. When I lived in D.C., I did laundry in my apartment building exactly 3 times. The other hundred or so occasions I had to wash my clothes, I took them to my parents’ house and did a couple loads while I enjoyed Sunday dinner.

Sunday dinner. I’m actually drooling right now. Mom! If you’re reading this, I’m sorry I made fun of the 5 meals you continually make. I would do anything for a nice flank steak with some twice-baked potatoes right now. Instead I’ve been reduced to Smart Ones, which are the cheapest frozen, microwave meals at DAG (my new grocery store), and since I’m now a connoisseur of (subways and) Smart Ones, I can say with great conviction that the fettuccine alfredo with broccoli is the best. My runner up? Macaroni and cheese. Sometimes I think that there are two things that have gotten me this far in NYC: Smart Ones and this song by Neko Case called “Star Witness.”

I have the attention span of a gnat. I was talking about Laundromats. My roommate took her clothes and had the people do her wash for her. We were both a little sad to find out that a bag of dirty clothes costs $18 to wash. If you do it yourself at the same place, you pay about $2.75 in quarters.

I threw my clothes in the double capacity washing machine (I would have loved to see the single capacity, because the thing was tiny), threw in my quarters and waited for the clothes to start spinning in a tornado of foam. But nothing happened. The machine said there were 22 minutes left of the cycle so I just stared at the minutes, waiting for them to decrease, but they didn’t. I was about to go up to the front and ask the lady, and THANK THE LORD, I didn’t, because after I fiddled with the door a bit, I realized that I hadn’t actually closed the thing fully. Embarrassment #1 averted.

In my neighborhood Laundromat, there is one small bench in the front of the store where people can sit and wait for the washing process to end. I squeezed myself in between to fellow launderers (just like on the subway) and waited. Pretty soon, a woman with a big rolling cart came up. She needed to dump her wet laundry into the cart to take it over to the dryers, but there was not room for both waiting room legs and the cart. I followed my bench-neighbor’s lead and switched to Indian style so that she could scoot by.

When she was finished and wheeled her clothes away, she left a hot-pink thong on the ground. I immediately turned red and pretended to read my book. Luckily my neighbor on the bench was less bashful than me. She actually picked up the underwear and followed the woman to the dryer, yelling, “you forgot panty!”

I didn’t think it was possible; I turned even redder.

When it was time to take my clothes out of the washing machine and move them to the dryer, I actually contemplated the process a little. Here’s how I initially envisioned the transaction: I will pick up a load of wet laundry in my arms, and sort of jog over to the dryers, which are across the room about 30 feet away. Repeat 4 times, all the while hoping that MY underwear doesn’t land on the dirty floor.

Luckily embarrassment #2 was averted, as a light bulb flashed above my head and I remembered the thong lady. “The cart,” I thought to my self. “It’s ingenious!”

I had some trouble with the dryer as well, which I won’t bore you with. Let’s just say that I have towels that no longer smell mildewed and I don’t have to dip into my backup stock of Costco-brand granny panties.















Mmmmm. Delicious dish.