The self-service laundry in France is an experience. Most of us have modern machines in our homes that seem to automatically hand the clothes from washer to dryer, and then fold them and put the clean product away in our closets. At least this is how it works in our house. If it is different chez vous, I can send you the name of our manufacturer.
For tourists and the working poor, the process involves stuffing all the dirty things into bags (IKEA bags are the perfect size) and taking the bus to a public laundromat. For women born in France before 1930, the laundromat was a public facility with large concrete basins of soapy, then clean, water. Everything would need to be wrung out and then hung to dry outdoors for days; weeks if it happened to rain. At least you could catch a little gossip while washing the wine stains out of your husband’s best shirt at the communal laundry. These days, many French still prefer to hang the laundry out to dry, even though automated solutions are available. Me… I am just as happy to spend three bucks extra and run everything through the dryer. I like the fluff.
As I enter the self-service place in Nice, a woman says “bonjour” and as I leave, another says “au revoir.” It is all so civilized. Today, I worked next to two young women about nineteen years of age, and then noticed, after they had left, that one of their items had been left in a machine. Since I am about a half-century older than them, I was concerned that if I chased them down the crowded pedestrian street waving some short shorts, I would be viewed as a dirty old man. I decided to do it anyway. They said “merci.” Today I also helped a young man, obviously a fellow-traveler, who could not manage the central payment machine, or the soap dispenser. He also said “merci.” All in all, a pretty good day.
