Beer Suds While You Soap Your Duds
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I was just sitting here folding laundry wishing I had live musical accompaniment while I worked. That's how it's done in New Orleans — at least at a handful of places. I'm sure this is not a wholly unique concept, though I've never seen it anywhere else: The bar and laundromat. And I don't mean a bar of soap.
Now don't get me wrong — I wouldn't trade the convenience of having an in-home washer and dryer for all the beer suds in the world. But I'm well familiar with the pain of lugging your laundry to a fluff and fold. If life threw me some curve ball that required going back to that lifestyle, I'd definitely want to be in a place that serves.
A friend and fellow Big Easy transplant at the time made that choice. He walked in with a basket full of clothes to find a typical crowded bar scene dancing to the live band. He stood in the doorway for a few awkward moments realizing he was the punchline in a joke that begins, "so a guy walks into a bar with an armload of dirty shorts."
Damn.
He casually stepped back outside to double-check the sign. Yep. Bar and laundromat.
He decided to give it another go. As he stood in the doorway for the second time, scanning the room for some sign he hadn't been punk'd, he caught sight of the band. From the stage, the drummer had watched this scene play out, and must have felt some sympathy for my poor, laundry-toting friend. He used his drumsticks like he was marshalling a plane — He kept time with one stick, while pointing at my friend with the other. Then he pointed it to the door that led to the washing machines.
A-ha!
"Excuse me... pardon me...," my friend said as he maneuvered his basket through the crowd. He started a cycle and got a beer. Sat down to listen to the band.
I'm grateful for my own little laundry room that makes life so much easier. It's just too bad we don't have room for a stage and live band.








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