Thanks to the biggest little wee and poo generator next to a racehorse, I find myself where I haven’t been for more than 20 years. At the laundromat. But when a bad little puppy decides to let loose on a down comforter, there’s no place that can handle it but a launderette equipped with those industrial-sized machines. Luckily, I’m in San Francisco and laundromats are a breed apart here.
So I’m installed at “The Little Hollywood Launderette” on Market Street. Which is appropriately decorated with pictures of classic movie stars. Many of them doing laundry. You’d be surprised how many stars of the Thirties and Forties had scenes that involved laundry. And you thought that was the era of glamour in the movies! And I’m not even counting all the stills of The Three Stooges handling the spin cycle, which apparently was a comedy goldmine for them.
I’m in what is affectionately called “San Francisco’s Deco Ghetto“. Next door is The Orbit Room, a great bar/espresso bar featuring pressed tin ceilings, Sputnik lamps, space age furniture and nearly floor to ceiling windows through which you can watch the nightly parade on Market Street. I’m not sure if we are just that close to Halloween or if there is some strange sort of observance of Guy Fawkes Day, but the passersby seem to be involved in some sort of costume theme.
Who cares? I’ve plugged into the Wi–Fi network. I had my cappucchino during the wash cycle and now my wheat beer during the dryer phase (which might take all night, given that a down comforter needs to be dried endlessly on a low delicate cycle.) From my vantage point, I can snap pictures of the traffic on Market Street and catch up on my blogging.
Almost makes me nostalgic for the student days of Sunday mornings spent at the laundromat. Almost.
On a parting note:
“Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.”
