87 Pairs: The Unwashed Uniform of a Suburban Escape

Ordinary residents of Orange County no longer need to visit a laundromat to clean their clothes, yet a recent taxi ride in Las Vegas revealed that the practice holds appeal for a specific demographic. The shift in routine marks a change for those who can afford private laundry facilities but still seek out the communal aspect of washing machines.

The column author, who lives in a small suburban tract house with a washer and dryer, spent last weekend in a Las Vegas taxi. The driver and a friend in the back seat both admitted to liking laundromats. The author noted that the friend is wealthy enough to purchase multiple machines but prefers the public option. The driver also expressed a fondness for the establishments.

The friend resides in another state and owns a functional washer and dryer. She stopped using her dryer after a short circuit caused a small fire. Instead of hiring an electrician, she abandoned the appliance. She continues to use the washer at home but visits a local laundromat for the experience. Her preferred location is a bar where patrons can drink margaritas while waiting for their clothes.

The author contrasts this with his own history. He views the laundromat as a relic of his college years. He recalled owning 87 pairs of underwear that he refused to wash, preferring to buy new pairs instead. By the end of his college years, he possessed 60 pounds of unwashed underwear. He now washes underwear in the sink while traveling and uses local laundry services for the rest of his clothes.

A 1994 episode of the sitcom “Friends” illustrates the social dynamics of the space. In the scene, Ross teaches Rachel how to separate whites from colors and how to defend machine space from pushy New Yorkers. The author notes that this matches his own memories of college laundromats, where securing a machine often required physical positioning.

The author recently stayed in an apartment hotel in Madrid that featured a washer-dryer combo in the kitchen. He and a friend struggled to operate the machine. They eventually hung their clothes from the balcony to dry. They also failed to use the coffee maker until the author posted a photo on Facebook and received help from readers.

The author brings only enough clothing for five days on any trip. He relies on finding a place to wash them, whether it is a hotel service or a local establishment. He once had clothes cleaned in the Sand River in Kenya by Masai ladies. The clothes were stiff from being pounded on rock and dried in the sun, but they were clean.

The author defines his relationship with laundromats as part of a college experience. He compares the memory to drinking beer from red Solo cups at fraternity parties and losing the way to his dorm. He invites readers to submit their own endings to the story via email.