Yesterday evening I did laundry up at my apartment in çallı. Ordinarily laundry is a boring and uneventful task. I got to do my laundry by hand for the first time down at Olive Grove and learned what a chore it is going to be when I am in Africa (hopefully). Yet, after a week and a half sweating through my clothes, I was in desperate need of some suds. Vedat insisted I let him know when I was planning to do some laundry and I soon learned why. As I mentioned in a previous post the laundry machine is a sight to behold. My theory is that it is original to the apartment building because it matches the tile and there is no way it could fit in the cramped elevator. It is jammed in the bathroom with curtain-less shower and inoperable toilet. The basin in side of the washer looked only slightly larger than a Quaker Oats container, but Vedat insisted that I smash all my clothes in there. Once the door had been forced shut Vedat began a small ceremony to appease the ancient spirit of the washing machine. He got on his knees and began to fiddle with the big dial on the front. Each time he cranked it around he would delicately jiggle it when the red A was pointed up. He explained to me in broken English that “Sometimes turn 3 or 4 times to work.” After 8 or 9 tries something clicked and the great beast came to life. “And don’t forget put hose here or water flood.” I told him I would be letting him help every time I do laundry.
About 30 minutes later I was working on my computer when someone in the next room decided to turn on an industrial belt sander. It took me a while to realize that the noise was actually the washer on spin cycle. After the beast stopped convulsing violently, I ventured in to remove what was left of my clothes. Amazingly the washer had left my t-shirts intact and had given them the best spin dry I had ever witnessed. I left the bathroom with a big smile and a weeks worth of clean shorts. However, I had one more cultural experience to endure before I could sleep that night. As I hung my laundry out on the porch to dry, I suddenly realized that I was displaying all of my unmentionables in front of four lanes of busy traffic. I am not ashamed of my briefs, it is just I have never had the opportunity to showcase them in front of thousands of passing commuters. I originally tried concealing them behind other shirts but it was too much work and organization so they just ended up front and center flapping in the wind…. When in Rome.
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