Poo Chunks

When we first moved to our apartment in the Mission (the NICE part of the Mission…you know, the part where crackheads and prostitutes roam at a minimum), we were a bit disappointed that there wasn't a washer/dryer in our building, but we were encouraged by the fact that there was a Laundromat literally about 50 feet away.

My first impression of Sunrise Launderette was that of repulsion. The two inches of dirt on the concrete floor and machines assured me that the place had not been cleaned since it was opened, which was probably in the 90s, based on the fact that only about 10% of the machines worked (no exaggeration - AND if you mistakenly put your quarters in a defunct machine, it would, of course, keep them. Irritation). None of the machines had any signs on them indicating whether or not they were broken, so you basically just had to remember which worked. Helpfully, one of the machines that DID work had the words "Poo Chunks" written on it in permanent marker, so that one was an obvious go-to every time.

Every single time we went to Sunrise Launderette, there was a new adventure to be had. Sometimes the homeless people sitting on the bench inside (and there were ALWAYS homeless people just hanging out in there; the door was always wide open) would grunt and nudge each other while gesturing to your lady pants. Sometimes the experience was as drab as losing 6 quarters in a dryer that tossed your clothing around, but had no heat. Sometimes a woman wearing pale pink polyester stirrups would flash you when she bent over because her elastic waistband failed to keep her pants securely at her waist. This one time Cody had two pairs of pants stolen out of the washer. It was a crap shoot, really. You never knew what you were going to get.

Every single time we would vow "Never again!" but to be quite honest, nothing could outweigh the fact that THE LAUNDROMAT WAS 50 FEET AWAY. We were just too damn inert to seek out another Laundromat.

Until…it happened.

One day we headed over to Sunrise Launderette. It was curiously empty: there were no homeless people having an intense argument with themselves about the nature of God; no downtrodden people wearing polyester stirrups sadly shoveling their clothes into a broken washer. The eerie quiet resonated as I walked over to Poo Chunks and stalwartly placed my unmentionables in it. Cody walked over to Washer #12.

He quickly slammed the lid shut. "Oh. My. God." he choked.

"WHAT WHAT?" I screamed excitedly. A new Sunrise adventure!

C: "Um…you don't want to look in there. You really don't want to know."

K: "YES I DO! WHAT WHAT?"

C: "Baby…Someone shat in that washer."

After ascertaining that it wasn't some animal droppings or something (concluding factor: the presence of newspaper used in place of toilet paper), a wave of disgust passed over me, to be quickly replaced by indignation and anger. "That is SO DISGUSTING!" I shouted. It was ONE thing for a homeless person to annoy patrons by sitting on the bench making lewd comments (and possibly stealing pants), but another completely to leave the bench and venture over to a washer, unbuckle the pants, perch on the washer, and leave a gigantic crap present for some unsuspecting soul to find. While Cody retrieved our clothes from Poo Chunks, I ran back to the apartment (stopping quickly to update my Facebook status, of course) and returned with my own permanent marker.

On Washer #12, I wrote:

WARNING:

This machine contains ACTUAL POO CHUNKS.

I would end this post by taking a picture of the message, but fortunately, Sunrise Launderette closed almost immediately after The Incident. I guess the owners didn't want to deal with the actual poo chunks either.