She liked coming to Suds. It was nicer than the other 24-hour laundries in town that were basically well-lit homeless shelters. The Suds was homey, like being at grandma’s house. It didn’t smell like mildew and old piss. Here is was more of a combination of french fries and Flirty Fresh Gain.
Risking the chance of sharing the shop with sketchy night people. Stacie liked coming to the laundry late. During the day she would have to share machines with perky stay-at-home moms who brought their annoying kids with them. Juiced on sodas and vending machine candy, it was like a zoo in there.
The quiet calm that was midnight wash day, was more her speed. Most evenings she had the place to herself. Well, her and Patsy. No matter what time of day Stacie came in Patsy was there. Tonight, Patsy was spending her time talking with a young man. The way she acted around him, you would think he was her son. If he was, she should smack his daddy. He didn’t look anything like her.
Getting back to her chore, Stacie already had her clothes separated and had brought her own soap and softener. A roll of quarters laid on the table next to the washing machine she was filling. Unwrapping the coins, she slide four into the slot on the washer and pushed in the drawer.
Immediately the tubs began filling. Checking her watch, Stacie pulled a magazine out of her tote bag. If she needed to, Stacie could probably live out of that bag. She kept the latest book she was reading, several magazines, bottles of water and individually wrapped snack bars. There was a resealable bag of yogurt covered raisins and a small zippered pouch filled with makeup essentials – lip gloss, a cover stick in soft beige, mascara and eye liner, rouge and a wide-toothed comb.
Stacie also had an extra pair of warm socks, and a long-sleeved shirt. During summer, she would have sunscreen and a pair of flip flops in there too.
Instead of staying in what Patsy arguably called the lounge, Stacie grabbed one of the plastic lawn chairs and pulled it over to the washers. She liked to be close to her clothes, and got twitchy when other people put their wash loads into machines beside hers. She leaned the back of her chair against the dryers, and began flipping through the magazine.
When she came to one of the many subscription postcards stuck in the spine of the magazine she would tear it out with great flourish. She hated those pesky things and couldn’t enjoy her reading if she had to fret about one falling out onto the floor. Satisfied she found them all, she could finally settle back and read the cover story of the woman who was about to give birth to an alien’s baby. A green-skinned, almond-eyed, melon-headed alien.
If she was being honest, Stacie often daydreamed of being abducted, transported into the sleek, time-traveling space ship of some otherworldly creature. She didn’t believe the stories about how aliens experimented on human in the most heinous ways. Stacie imagined that they were benevolent lifeforms that just wanted to bestow their advance culture and intelligence on earth inhabitants, and she wanted to be one of the bestowees.
Stacie was just getting to the end of the narrative where the alien baby-momma was explaining how she became impregnated, when the washer began shaking, letting her know it was on its last rinse spin. The second machine started whining a few seconds later. Folding down a corner of the magazine page to hold her place, Stacie stood beside the machine until it came to a complete stop.
Both loads would fit into one of the oversized dryers, so Stacie carried wet arm-fulls and shoved them in, checking to make sure a rogue sock wasn’t lagging behind. Once she had the timer set, she left her magazine in her chair to take her customary walk around the shop.
She pinch the leaves of what potted plants were still alive, checking the dirt to see if they needed watering. Tsking at Patsy’s lack of gardening skills. Then a quick perusal of the reading material left in the lounge, hoping to find a Reader’s Digest she hadn’t read yet, but the periodicals were all at least two years old. She made a mental note to bring some of her outdated magazines to donate to the cache the next time she was there.
A quick inventory of the snacks in the vending machine only made her glad she brought her own munchies, wondering if those were all two years old too. Stepping to the diner counter, Stacie glanced over the menu board, deciding on a BLT and Cherry soda, she sat at the far side of the diner away from Patsy’s pseudo-son. He looked like he was engaged in some serious studying.
After eating her sandwich, Stacie continued her rounds, checking out the different detergents and fabric softeners offered in single load boxes, or tiny bottles of bleach both Clorox and all-fabric versions.
Her last stop was the community bulletin board. Here patrons could post ads for their used cars, seeking roommates, and kitten giveaways. Handwritten lost dog flyers hung beside posters for Avon or Mary Kay. A few help wanted ads, with tear-off phone number fringe, were also prominently featured. One of those job posters stood out from all the rest.
The poster was looking for a part-time care giver for her grandmother, and Stacie loved old people. The list of duties seemed reasonable, and none of them were jobs she wouldn’t be able to manage. Patsy always dated each ad, so she would know when to take them down. Each one only got two weeks, and new ones could take their place. Today was the last day for the ad, and none of the numbers had been pulled.
That should have been her first red flag, but the pay offered, and other perks, seemed too good to be true to not at least call.That should have been her second flag. Tearing off one of the phone number tags, Stacie finished her circuitous lap of the laundry just in time for the dryer to shut off. Pulling over a wheeled basket, she gathered her clothes. As she grabbed the last pair of jeans, she saw a crumpled dollar bill at the bottom of the drum.
She thought she must have left it her jeans, until she got a good look at it. Clearly, it was old, and had red lettering stamping along the outer edge. She would have remembered that. Looking around, she focused on the young man at the deli counter. Maybe he left it in one of the machines. Turning it over and over in her hands, she decided to keep the bill. Maybe it would bring her luck in getting that caregiver job. She stuck it in her huge tote, safely tucked into her neon pink Hello Kitty wallet.
Stacie finished folding her clothes, then before leaving, walked over to the deli counter to pay Patsy for her earlier meal. Patsy had seen Stacie taking one of the job ad contact numbers. Knowing the family seeking the help, she wrestled with telling the younger woman to be careful when answering that particular help want ad. Then dismissed her concerns. Stacie was old enough to make her own choices. She would figure it out, if she didn’t, she would get what she deserved.
Once home, Stacie put away her clothes then took the little scrap of paper iwtyh the telephone number and stuck it to her refrigerator with one of the hundreds of novelty magnets decorating the front and sides.
First thing in the morning she’d call about the job, asking for more information and maybe setting up an interview appointment. This might just be the break she was waiting for, a job that would give her a purpose.
Turning out the light at her bedside, Stacie went to sleep excited about what tomorrow may bring.
