There’s a lot to think about at Choate, and lately I’ve been thinking about the laundry room.
That’s right — the laundry room. When I close my eyes, I can clearly visualize that squat white building, a lowly mound separated from the rest of campus life. The unassuming white brick of the laundry room’s exterior hints to the simple comforts inside. Constantly heated by its dryers, the warm air of the laundry room envelops all who enter. A black vending machine stands to greet guests, its colorful snacks begging to be consumed. Walking through an interior doorway, those guests see the washing machines on the right. The relentless noise of clothes being washed and dried buzzes in the background. A few people sit in the cold metal-and-plastic chairs, their iPads and textbooks lying on the cream-colored table that lines the one side. A rainbow of socks and lint arcs across the blue-flecked floor. Nobody talks, and the loudest noise is a startling beep signaling the end of one’s time there.
The laundry building may be my favorite place on campus. Sure, I need to head there every Friday to do my laundry, but going there also clears my head. The laundry room is nothing but relaxing, especially at the end of yet another frenzied week of school. The experience is almost meditative, the pace of my inhale and exhale blending with the easy rhythm of the machines’ low rumbles. The basic and elegant equation of the laundry room — clothes that enter the room dirty leave fresh and clean — satisfies me in a way that the messier parts of Choate life do not.
I especially love the laundry room in the winter because of its constant warmth. And the truth is, I’m more productive in the laundry room than I am anywhere else. Once inside, I’ve completely cut myself off from campus. No one else is ever really in the laundry room on Friday nights, so I can slip into my own world, in which I can focus and never be pushed off track.
There’s something else, too. I admire the humility of the building, and its homey feeling appeals to me. It believes in itself. It doesn’t feel the need to show off, a gentle but firm rebuke to the otherwise often oppressive grandeur of Choate. We’re washing clothes, not changing the world. And sometimes that’s okay.
No drama in the laundry room. No chaos, either. Here, I am calm, relaxed, and focused on resetting. The laundry room is my locker room during halftime, a place where I can catch my breath and prepare for another demanding week.
