I hate going to laundromats. If there's not a gang of six year olds running around and getting in my way, there's crying babies or old men who hobble up to me and start sorting through my clothes for no apparent reason (alright, so that only happened once, but that's one time too many for me). One time I was there when the cleaning guy came in to wash the floors, and as I sat on the bench trying to read as my clothes tumbled in the dryer, he fired up the impossibly loud floor waxer and began trying to have a conversation with me (that mostly consisted of him shouting about how much he hated (or "fucking hated") his job.

You do work at a laundromat, right? Otherwise all my little anecdotes here were pretty pointless.