Laundry Lessons

Another post to this irregularly upated blog. 

I’m working three evenings a week at a laundromat lately which is in the same plaza as a Publix grocery store. There are a couple kids working there who are deep on the ‘spectrum.’ It is nice that Publix is offering them some work. I learned an interesting cultural lesson from one of those kids last week. 

Tom (not his name) is funny and almost annoying. He has a pitch that he picked up along the way. Every chance he gets, in his best radio voice, he will tell anyone entering the store: “Welcome to the downtown Stuart Publix, where shopping is a pleasure.” It’s nothing bad, of course, but if two people are entering the store, one after the other, he makes sure to say the whole pitch to each of them. I hear it nearly every time I stop in for provisions. If someone else is just trying to walk briskly by, he will compensate by reciting his pitch, the full pitch, as quickly as possible. 

Tom has apparently picked up some general cultural themes and seems to obsess about things that interest him. I once heard him talking to a cop in fine detail about license plate readers and guns. On the cultural side, he seems to have picked up on the hustle and grind. 

Last Tuesday, I rowed to shore from Ruth Ann, my boat, and walked up to the plaza for work. I had arrived a bit early so that I could pick up some groceries beforehand. As a treat for myself, I had picked up a cinnamon raisin bagel. 

I have a small cart, like a luggage cart with a built-in folding crate, that I drag around town to carry my stuff. I always bring a book to work and other supplies. I carry a lantern to use when I row home in the dark and a spare shirt among other trinkets. Other times, I’m hauling groceries, my own laundry, or other supplies. 

I stepped out of the store and stopped to enjoy my bagel. I had resisted entering the milieu around work just then. As I stood there, Captain Morgan-style, with one foot up on my crate, the kid from the store came out to gather empty grocery carts. 

“You must be waiting on an Uber or Lyft,” he said confidently.

I looked up from my bagel reverie and said, “Nope, I’m just taking a pause.” 

“A what?” 

“I’ve just stopped, that’s all,” I replied attempting to clarify.

The kid scrunched his face in a strange disgust and said “Oh” with a wilting terseness.

I could tell that he had no idea what I had meant and was frustrated that he had been wrong and couldn’t understand how. It felt as if, in his stripped down cultural assimilation, he could only assume that there must be something wrong with me if I wasn’t on the move. 

-^-

Just a few hours later, the universe hit me again. A good looking, young man came in to do his laundry. He looked a little out of place; not one of the leading laundromat demographics. After getting his wash started, he came to me asking if we had WiFi. When I said that we did not, he scrunched his face and wandered off muttering under his breath that he had stuff to do; couldn’t afford the downtime. I suggested that Dunkin Donuts and Publix had WiFi nearby. 

So, at nearly 7:00 pm on a Tuesday, this guy was still neck deep in the hustle. He apparently couldn’t imagine sitting still, chatting, reading, or anything else “not productive.”

-^-

Lastly, for me that evening, the weather was going to be blustery the next day, so I had planned to move Ruth Ann to a quieter spot. I had even given away my Wednesday shift to avoid having to row to shore for work in the gusty winds.

The new owner of the laundromat doesn’t like to have a hard “Last Load” deadline. We work with people, let them finish up, etc. without harassing them about the clock. About 7:15, a family came in. They’re some of my regulars, so I knew they were fairly efficient. I also knew by then that I wasn’t going to be able to lock up the store right at 8:00 pm, our usual closing time. 

I was going to move Ruth Ann after my shift. A little impatience started to well up in my gut.  

-^-

The following will sound like a “humble brag” and maybe that’s not totally wrong, but I’m using my own story in a way to show the freedom that mindfulness can bring. 

Mindfulness is related to the ability to pause. Meditation, in many forms, is literally pausing. Another aspect to the pause is that I can begin to see things, like the hustle and grind, for what they actually are. Perhaps the most valuable aspect of mindfulness is that it slows down my reactivity. A space has developed, or can develop (I’m not perfect by far), where I can feel an emotional reaction building. With just that bit of warning, I can decide how I will react. There is a freedom in deciding before reacting. 

Back at the laundromat, when I started to feel some impatience brewing, I took the opportunity to examine my own ‘vibe’ first. It was going to be dark by the time I left work even if I managed to leave at the normal time. My trip up the river would not be different. Further, the weather was forecast to turn in the middle of the next morning. Technically, even if I didn’t leave until first light, I could likely get to the safer anchorage before the winds got strong. 

Then I thought about the entrance to the little cove where we were going. It might be a little dicey to make it through in the dark. I checked the phase of the moon and a quarter moon would be shining that night. I had been up there before, so I also knew the way in. There is a marina, condos, and some houses on the cove. Between the moon, the porch lights, and a few dock lights, I felt that I would have plenty of ambient light. Even if it seemed too dark when I got there, I knew where I could anchor in a wide spot just outside and move into the cove at first light. 

There was really nothing for me to worry about. 

-^-

I was mopping the floor and emptying the trashcans when one of the ladies came to ask nervously when we closed. 

“We usually close at eight,” I said with a smile, “but we don’t kick anyone out.” 

Her eyes widened when she looked at her watch and realized that it was already about ten to eight. 

I had already checked her dryers and knew that they both had about twenty minutes left to cycle. 

I smiled again and said, “Don’t worry. Take your time. It’s fine.” 

Because I had already considered my own situation mindfully, I could say those words free from any nuance in my voice. My face was open and happy and there was no attitude peeking through. 

When I finally locked up and left, the fun began for me. It was about a quarter mile walk back to the park where my dinghy was tied up. I then rowed about a half mile out to Ruth Ann. After climbing aboard, I changed my clothes and set about to do my engine checks. I started the little Yanmar diesel and went forward to raise the anchor. 

The very first part of the voyage was tricky. In motoring into the North Fork of the St. Lucie River from the anchorage in the South Fork, I had to pass a sand bar. Motoring toward the flashing green channel marker and then past the marina, I watched my chartplotter and flashed my spotlight to locate the unlit red buoy that marked the shoal. We managed to squeeze through the “S” curve, and after the next narrow section, the North Fork opened up before us. 

The moon was obscured by a bank of clouds but there was plenty of light around. The softened glow of the moon was augmented by the radiant city lights of both Stuart to the south and Port St. Lucie to the north. Before leaving, I had switched my cabin lights to red and dimmed the chartplotter screen. It was amazing how well I could see. 

The river shimmered around me as we motored north and west. Houses along the shore marked the wide boundaries. There was no one else out at that time, so I cut straight for my destination without regard to the “channel.” Up ahead a dark spot marked the undeveloped wilderness near the opening to the cove. We headed toward a bright red vertical beacon up ahead. I had met the skipper at a party, weeks before, who had lit his mast in red LEDs. It was handy that he still kept his boat at the marina that sat at the entrance of Kitching Cove. 

As I got closer, there seemed to be enough light to head all the way and anchor. Hilariously, some neighbors from the previous anchorage who had already moved up to the cove, were in that very marina having pre-squall drinks with other friends. As I ghosted by, someone exclaimed “there’s a guy coming up the creek in the dark!” 

“Yeah, ... that’s our friend, Todd.” 

Peace, Love, and Moonlight.