Spin Cycle

I’ve only been here two weeks, and despite a penchant to let my laundry pile up until I am stuck wearing clothes I no longer like, I thought I would take in several pieces of clothing to have washed before heading out to Iraq. Trying to escape the HoJo’s exorbitant prices, F, J and I had been looking around for an alternative laundry service in the area and found one at C-Town, the local grocery store/shopping center. Since J had her clothes done without incident, I decided to give it a try. They said there would be a 24 hour turnaround, meaning I could pick them up by Wednesday night. Feeling lazy, I didn’t wander back in to get them until Thursday afternoon, when I was told that they weren’t ready yet and I could pick them at 6 PM. Annoyed, I left without dropping off the additional clothes I had brought to be laundered.

Feeling that clearly they needed more time to get their act together, I didn’t go back until 7 PM tonight, where I was told AGAIN that my clothes were ready and to come back at 8 PM. Ugh. So, J, AC and I went off to dinner and afterwards, I dragged them back grudgingly to C-Town. And guess what? They weren’t done! This is where having J there came in handy, since she took care of all the yelling that needed to be done in Arabic, while I stood by trying to keep a stern expression on my face even though I had no idea what was being said and really just wanted to start laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. At first the clerks kept asking us to come back later; then they said that the delay was due to having to redo some clothes that hadn’t been pressed properly; then they said that the tag had fallen off my clothes so they didn’t know which ones were mine.

J continued to yell at the clerk in Arabic, causing his friend who happened to be a bystander to try and mediate. J was telling them to either bring me my clothes or pay me $300 to replace them (which exceeds their true value by far, but who cared by that point?). After further “discussion,” the clerk promised them by 10:30 PM, but we didn’t budge from the shop. We knew if we left they would find another way to put us off, so J, AC and I just stood there glaring. Feeling guilty, the shop manager brought us some guava juice from the supermarket, and tried to get us to sit down. Finally, the clerk J had been yelling at brings my wrinkled clothes to me in a plastic bag and when J commented that they hadn’t been ironed, they actually suggested that I leave them there until the morning so they could be pressed. Ha! Excited simply to be reunited with half of my clothing supply for the next year, I grabbed the bag and got the heck out of there.

So what did I discover upon opening the bag back at the hotel? Dirty laundry.