Day 110: Late-Night Laundry Lessons

Some nights, the universe conspires to remind you that adulting is a skill I’ve yet to master. Tonight was one of those nights.

It all started with me realizing that I had no clean clothes left—not even my “emergency” hoodie that I only wear when I’ve officially given up on life. The smell emanating from my laundry basket was a blend of gym socks and despair. It was 11:30 p.m., and I had two choices: stay up and deal with it or risk showing up to class tomorrow in a questionable outfit.

Reluctantly, I grabbed the overstuffed laundry bag and made my way to the dorm’s shared laundry room. The fluorescent lights buzzed ominously, and the room was emptier than my motivation. A single dryer was humming in the corner, but otherwise, I had the place to myself.

Or so I thought.

As I dumped my clothes into the washer, the door creaked open. It was Faisal, dragging his own laundry bag.

“You too?” he asked, looking equally disheveled.

“Last resort,” I replied, tossing detergent into the machine.

He nodded solemnly. “Same. I’ve been reusing socks all week.”

“Too much information,” I muttered, hitting the start button.

We both sat on the plastic chairs lined up against the wall, the rhythmic sloshing of the machines the only sound filling the awkward silence. After a few minutes, Faisal spoke.

“You ever think about how laundry is a metaphor for life?”

I stared at him, baffled. “What?”

“Think about it,” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “You pile up all this dirt and mess, avoid dealing with it, and then one day, you’re forced to clean it all up at once. It’s basically life, man.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been watching too many motivational YouTube videos.”

He grinned. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

Just as I was starting to appreciate the rare moment of Faisal’s introspection, disaster struck. My washer beeped, signaling it was done, but when I opened the door, water gushed out like a scene from Titanic.

“Eddie, what did you do?” Faisal exclaimed, jumping up.

“I don’t know! It’s not supposed to do that!” I yelled, trying to block the flood with my hands (a completely useless tactic).

The water soaked the floor, our shoes, and pretty much everything in its path. Faisal grabbed a mop from the corner and started trying to contain the chaos while I fumbled with the machine’s controls.

“What button did you press?” he demanded.

“I just hit start! Like a normal person!”

By the time we managed to get the water under control, both of us were drenched, the laundry room floor was a soggy mess, and my clothes were still half-wet.

“Well, that was fun,” Faisal said, wringing out his socks.

“Define ‘fun,’” I muttered, stuffing my damp clothes into a dryer and praying for no further disasters.

As we sat back down, exhausted and defeated, Faisal chuckled.

“You know, this is another metaphor for life,” he said.

“If you’re about to get philosophical again, I’m leaving,” I warned.

He grinned but didn’t push it. Instead, we sat there in companionable silence, waiting for our clothes to dry and reflecting on the absurdity of the night.

Lesson of the day: Adulting is messy, chaotic, and sometimes leaves you soaked in the middle of the night. But it’s a little easier when you’ve got someone to laugh about it with—even if it’s over a mop and a broken washer.