I love a good industrial port city and
Morgan City definitely fits the bill. I do some banking and tour around a bit but laundry is critical. The crowded laundromat parking lot is full of homeboys,
large families and other rough looking folk loitering outside which has me
going into reverse. A lap around town, demonstrates that this is the only
option and I return to the same intimidating scene.
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| On The Road |
I enter and fill two front loaders noticing that it seems
cleaner than it appeared from the outside. Thinking that if these folks see my
computer they might try to rob me when I’m in doing my laundry, I return to the
van to work. Best to get in and out of here. Well, I go back in and find one of
my loads sitting in two inches of water. The attendant is nice and helps me get
them into another washer but this means I’ll be here another two hours. Annoyed
and a bit pissy, I return to the van and work on my now camouflaged with
newspaper computer. When finally packed and ready to go, I can’t find my
wallet. I search and search and begin to unload the van. A woman, who looks
like she has emptied all her polyester bedding from her trailer into her barely
running beater, yells “Honey, you lookin fer your wallet?” Stunned, I nod and
she says she saw it atop of the washer and turned it in to the attendant. I
thank her profusely, feeling the shame of my preemptive judgment of her, this
place and its patrons. I’m such a cracker from the north.
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