Coming Clean

Today was laundry day, which was a new and interesting challenge. See, not only are the washers and such a little different over here, the fact that I am still a little discombobulated makes even the most ordinary task seem complicated.

Still, I was running out of clothes, and was determined to somehow 1) find the laundrette on campus 2) have enough change to do at least two loads of wash and 3) do it all without embarrassing myself.

The thing to remember about Trinity is that the whole place is overrun with tourists. TCD houses both the Book of Kells and Ireland's oldest harp, as well as being 400 years old and super gorgeous. Almost anyone who comes to Dublin comes to see the Book of Kells at some point, whether they know what it is or not (admittedly, I didn't know until two days ago what, exactly, its significance was). The amount of people wandering around makes it quite difficult to smuggle your dirty clothes across campus without accidentally displaying it to at least 20 tourists.

But I had prepared for this, packing my clothes in a small duffle bag and my trusty Dunnes Store shopping bag (Always Better Value!). Sure, together they weighed approximately 50 pounds, but no problem, I thought. I'm tough, I carted sewing machines around all summer for my job, surely I can carry two bags of wash across campus.

Have I mentioned how large the campus is?

Have I further mentioned that, being 400 years old, it's hard to find anything in a timely manner?

Twenty minutes later, I found myself wandering through the Atrium looking for something, anything, that resembled a washer or dryer. The Atrium is a large building near the front of the campus, older than my home country, and which houses the bank, two dining halls, the coffee shop, and a large room where I think fancy dinners are held. This is not the place you want to be wandering with a bag full of dirty sweat socks.

On my second pass, I got desperate and approached two students in Philosophy Society sweatshirts who were probably flirting with each other and were not going to be pleased with my interruption. Still, I thought, Philosophy Society? They were definitely fellow geeks, and more likely to be sympathetic than the girl with a fake tan and faker Gucci bag using the ATM. Trying my best to hide the contents of the shopping bag, I took a deep breath, and made the approach.

"I'm sorry, excuse me, sorry, but could you possibly tell me where the laundrette is, please?" I stammered. I tend to compensate for my accent and my stupidity by being over-polite, which generally leads to more confusion. Both students stared at me for a second, during which I could see the wheels turning in their heads as they tried to translate my American English babble into something comprehensible.

"Oh sure," said the one after a few moments. "Go out that door and turn right, there's a gap in the buildings, then turn left and right and go through those three doors before you hop the hedge and mind the barbed wire, if the dragon's not grumpy you'll be fine."

Or something like that.

As always when I get directions from an Irish person, I find myself forgetting them, or unable to follow them in any form. Still, I thanked them and hefted my duffle higher on my shoulder, determined to make the journey and come back with clean clothes.

I turned right. There was, in fact, a gap in the buildings. I'm not sure how to convey the narrownness of this gap to you, except to say that I doubt Jonathan Swift (who, by all accounts, was a rather portly man) could have fit through this gap. Somehow, I managed it, only to be faced with a series of gates and swipe card acces points, which I also managed to navigate.

"What do they keep back here," I muttered to myself. "I hardly think the washers are worth guarding this strictly." I began to worry that maybe I had heard right, that there was a dragon, and Trinity's resemblence to Hogworts wasn't just in my mind.

Finally, after another narrow channel, I found myself in a gravel courtyard, facing a tiny little building labelled "LAUNDRETTE." At last! I practically skipped to the door, turned the handle, and --

Nothing. I rattled the door. Nothing. It was locked. But wait -- was there someone --

With a suddenness that startled me beyond reason, a large male face with what might have been a smile but I read as a grimace, appeared at the window. The disembodied head jerked itself to the right, indicating that I was to go around for access. After picking my dignity and my socks off the pavement, I did so.

"Hi!" said the guy, once I finally managed to get into the room. He regarded me sympathetically, with more than a hint of condescension, and added, "Hangin' in there?"

Excuse me? I thought. Just--what? Hanging in? I'm fine. Why would I be otherwise, jackass?

I didn't say this, of course. Instead, I laughed charmingly and said, "Yeah, trying to!" before turning to the washers.

"You know, washer 12 doesn't work, but I just used number 13, so it's fine," Laundry Man helpfully added.

"Thanks," I responded, opening washer 14 in what I hoped was a rather final manner.

"Soo...where are you from?"

Ugh. I hate this question, because it's such a complicated answer, more than I really want to share with random laundrette customers. Besides, I thought, could he have come up with a less original line? Why didn't he just open with, "So, come here often? What's your sign?"

But, in the spirit of being friendly, I responded, "Originally Buffalo, New York, but my family just moved to California."

This was a mistake.

"Oh, California! I've been there, yeah, my company used to send me to Santa Barbara all the time, until I told them they'd either have to transfer me or keep me in Maine, that's where I'm from, Maine, but my family is from the North, you know, the North of Ireland, though I've been in the South off and on for about fifteen years now..."

"I thought your accent sounded a little Irish," I offered politely. This was apparently ego-stroking to the highest degree, as he puffed up immensely and launched into another monologue, this time with an exaggeration of the accent.

"Oh, sure, it's being back here, it is. I've been back two weeks now, lots of craic, I live in the suburbs, I do, lived there for years, and you know it's hard to find places to eat in the city? You live near Pearse street? There's a great sandwich place -- you like sandwich places? It's Italian, great food, sure, what kind of food do you like?"

Oh geez. I prayed this wasn't headed the direction I thought it was.

"Italian's fine, but I'm not picky," I said. "So long as it's cheap, I guess." Silently, I cursed myself for saying I wasn't picky, on the off chance he might think that applied to other areas of my life...but thankfully, he let this one go.

"Have you found the grocery stores? You should get a Dunnes card, you know, not Tesco, because Dunnes is really a better deal and Tesco is so far away, and you know they give you vouchers so you end up saving 25 percent overall so it's really better than Tesco, you should really do that, and have you registered with the Garda yet? You know, you don't need a letter from student records, get one from your department, it's so much faster and it'll be much easier for you, what program are you in?"

"Popular Literature?" I managed to say. He stared at me for a moment, which I took as an opportunity to pull The Blind Assassin from my laundry bag, as if I could not wait to get my hands on a book. I had him pegged as a business major, and figured the book would not go over well.

"Oh. Well." More silence. Never had I been so glad to belong to a relatively obscure master's program. As he stood up and went over to his stopped dryers, I cracked open my book and read and read and read as if my life depended on it.

I have never seen a kid fold towels so fast. Never. Two minutes later, he gone, with a quick, "Good luck," and a slam of the rickety door. I heaved a sigh of relief and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not had to either go eat Italian sandwiches with this kid or reject him somewhat awkwardly.

I spent the rest of my time buried in my book and staring at the clothes going around in the dryer. Finally, 90 minutes and 8 euro later, they were all fresh, clean, dry and ready for folding. I happily folded everything, packed my bags, and prepared for the walk back to my dorm.

It was then that I noticed it was raining. Figures.