Laundry

I've been in the middle east for 2 weeks now and in this sweat dripping region not managed to get my washing done once.

Sure I could pay for the hotel to do my washing, but with each piece costing the same as your average MP's salary to get clean, I was far from comfortable with throwing any more money down that hole.

On a side note, do you think MP's would cut the benefit if that's what they earned for being dutiful representatives of the community? I think not. I think you'd find most beneficiaries would suddenly have free access to penthouse inner city living.

Anyway, rather than have to dig out a kidney with a spoon in order to get my pants clean, I have instead spent considerable time finding a nearby laundromat.

When first I heard rumour of this divine quarter I sought its location from the helpful staff here at the hotel. Except no-one at the hotel knew what I was talking about, but were more than happy to point me in a myriad of directions.

I've thus spent most of my frugal days off exploring the city in a vain attempt to locate anywhere that could make my shirts stop sticking to me like some kind of sci-fi exo-jelly, each futile step only adding to my already icky predicament.

Desperation came in the form of a footbath full of my undies, an absurd attempt at trying to hold out as long as I could against the organ harvesting nature of the hotel coffers. In the process I managed to flood my bathroom floor and break the showerhead off, so all in all a pretty successful day.

While the laundry soap I bought was effective, drying my undies proved to be anything but. The irony that the desert outside could dry my unmentionables in mere seconds, but that I was forever separated from this blessing by my airlock of a hotel suite, was not lost on me.

I wouldn't exchange my pure air conditioned paradise for anything, except maybe some clean undies.

I have been absolutely parsimonious with my last two pairs of gruts. I've not worn them around my room and have avoided being outside in them as much as humanly possible. Even at work I have only chosen to sit in the breathable nylon thatched chairs, fearing anything cushy would only lead to perspiration no matter how minor.

This entire time my other five pairs have lived the high life, strung ineffectively across the air conditioning duct. There I hoped moving air would dry them quickly and enable me to move more freely without being fraught over bum sweat and tears. To no avail.

Crucially while preparing myself by the hotel's back door for another trek into the unknown, a kind chap asked me where I was heading, when I said I didn't know and explained why, he pointed to the building next door and said "there it is". I've not wanted to punch and kiss someone all in the same moment before, so did neither, in fact I don't think I properly uttered a response of any kind, just swallowed my emotions, turned and left.

Sure enough the building next door has a laundromat and while not cheap, is certainly not in the league of having to have children to sell them off to afford their services.

However the hours they keep, despite the proclamations of their signage, are irregular. On no fewer than six occasions did I venture there only to find them closed. On the one occasion I did find them open and hurried home to gather my clothes, they were closed by the time I got back.

Then came Tuesday, sure enough they weren't open when I bundled up my belongings to take them for a walk, but "lo" they were open upon my return two hours later. My joy was unparallelled and the man behind the counter did very well to avoid a hug, he was fortunate his confused face from my constant thanks put me off him.

And so today, Thursday, I returned, not once, not twice, but thrice. Not because they were shut, but because on some level I managed to forget my inventory slip on two separate occasions. This despite one of those occasions being me returning solely to my hotel and to my room for this specific purpose.

Somehow I managed to come in, pick up the slip, move it to the other side of the room and forget it again. I see this playing out like an episode of 'Unsolved Mysteries', but was no less amusing for the door staff or laundry people.

The other side of the coin is that I have an inner ear issue from an accident I had when I was 12. What it means is that I don't always balance.. good, and even standing up can be a bit of a rollercoaster. Riding an elevator is always a mixed bag and after five trips of 23 floors I was walking absolutely sideways. Old Wobbles was getting the looks from the locals as I negotiated the footpath like it was the deck of a vessel in high seas.

But it was worth it, well not exactly $100 worth it, but dammit if I'm not happy to have clean everything again. For the next week I can look forward to having clothes which don't require me peeling them off.

Then repeat cycle.