LAUNDROMAT QUANDRY

I despise laundry. As much as I say I hate Boston sports, hungover mornings and rainy Saturdays - they can't compete with laundry. I'm not even sure where laundry comes from. Pulling things out of the hamper and throwing them in the wash is a never-ending cycle of "when the hell did I wear that", "is that even mine", and "wow, that smells rank".

And, by the time I get my clean load from the laundromat (NO, I do not have a washer/dryer in my apartment, and NO i don't have the hookup for one...of course I've looked into it) and bring it back to my apartment, there's already a new pile of laundry that's formed in the old laundry's place...it's absurd. So you can imagine my mood when I finally get to the laundromat down the street with my 34 pounds of smelly t-shirts (four of which inevitably fell all over Washington St. in Hoboken because I fill up the basket too high).

What's that? You want more back story? You got it.

So there are two laundromats close to me in Hoboken, both of them are literally one and a half blocks away from my apartment. One of them (the one I go to) is a little more run down and pretty cheap . I like it because there's mid 90's Yankee memorabilia all over the walls, and the owner looks like he's never left Hoboken since his 3rd grade field trip (he's now about 50). But as the saying goes, you get what you pay for. The other one is much nicer, cleaner & newer, but also a little more expensive (it's part of a corporate chain). I say I don't go there because I don't like to support corporate greed, but really it's just because I don't want to use the three quarters I'll save at the old place.

ANYWAY, in reality the washers and dryers suck at the place I go to. The other day in my pissy mood I hit the trifecta of shotty machine-performance. The washers ate some of my quarters (DAMMIT!), the dryer I chose and loaded all of my wet clothes in was out of order, and I had to switch after putting like 8 quarters in (AHHHH!), and to top it off the damn dryer door on the one I moved too wouldn't stay closed so I had to stay there to make sure my undies wouldn't fly all over the place. I swore in that instant I would never go back.

But as I was swearing off, all I could see was the owner's sad, friendly face under his 1996 beat up ALCS Yankees cap. I walk in the door of the chain laundromat down the street, and I'm basically kicking this guy in the pants. So before I make any rash decisions, I need your help readers:

Am I supposed to stay loyal to my lousy laundromat?