Airing the Dirty Laundry

The other morning I washed some tops and underwear in the hotel sink. I used my Magellan’s travel laundry kit, which consists of a flat rubber sink stopper, a tube of laundry detergent, and a flexible clothesline with a loop on each end. I rolled the wettest garments in my featherweight Packtowl to absorb the extra water and hung everything in the bathroom, the shirts on hangers and the underwear suspended from the clothesline. I strung the line across the doorway by hooking one loop to my towel rack and the other to the robe hook on the back of the door.

It was only after walking in on the cleaning person one afternoon that I realized a man was cleaning my room, and that he would be walking into the bathroom through a curtain of wet lingerie. But I needed clean clothes; I couldn’t worry about appearances.

The hotel has a laundry service, so why would I go to the trouble of washing my own clothes? It could have been someone saying the previous night, while bragging on the high quality of the service, “You can see the women washing the clothes right in the river, beating them against a rock.” More likely, it was my spirit of adventure.

Something comes over me right before I travel: A primal urge to buy travel gadgets and new clothes. My favorite clothes are the ones designed to be tough; they dry fast, don’t wrinkle, and have the advantages of technology woven right into the fabric. These clothes can take what you dish out—in my case riding in a car, shopping, attending meetings, and sitting at the computer.

The main reason for my reluctance to turn my clothes over to strangers was that many of them were new. For my trip to India I bought four pairs of quick-drying travel underwear, a knit top, two blouses, a pair of slacks, and a sock wardrobe (to go with my two new pairs of walking shoes).

There was another reason for my hesitation. With all of my traveling, I’d never had my clothes cleaned by a hotel staff. The idea made me anxious.

The clothes I washed myself didn’t dry in a matter of hours; in fact, some weren’t dry by the next day. In addition to that, we had little time of our own during the work week and I didn’t want to spend it squeezing the suds out of garments. It was time to give “The Unwind Island’s” laundry service a chance.

Here’s the laundry routine at the hotel. They put a cloth bag labeled “Laundry” in the bottom of your closet. When you have a load of dirty clothes, you put the filled bag on your bed for pickup, and your things are returned clean within one day. But here’s the hitch: They can’t return your clothes unless you are present to sign for them; so, the minute anyone in the hotel sees you cross the lobby to go to your room, word spreads. You’re back.

The first time I left a bag of dirty laundry on my bed, I didn’t hear anything until the next morning. The phone rang at 7:00 a.m. A male Indian voice said something ending with “Joe.” I didn’t understand; was my brother, Joe, trying to get in touch with me? No chance. He didn’t even know where I was staying, and anyway we e-mailed every day. I figured the early phone call was a wake-up call, and I explained that I hadn’t asked for one.

At 7:02 the phone rang again and the same voice said something I still didn’t understand. I explained again that I had not asked for a call and to please stop calling my room. We hung up.

At 7:05 the phone rang for the third time, same thing. I said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand,” and hung up. I called Sally, who said she had asked for a wake-up call and didn’t get it. This is what I figured; the desk had made a mistake.

I started to worry that the persistent man on the phone would come to my room in person and knock on the door. I was undressed, just about to get into the shower, so hearing a knock would be an unsettling event. I’d had little sleep, my body still adjusting to India time. There was no knock, but in my mind I responded, covering myself long enough to open the door and shout into the startled face, “Did you think the three phone calls didn’t do the trick? And why would I need a wake-up call in the first place? I’ve been awake since MIDNIGHT!”

That evening my phone rang, and it was Sally. “I just got one of those mysterious phone calls,” she said. Neither of us had any idea what message was being sent, but we found out when a hotel staffer showed up at each of our doors with our clean clothes. They were making sure we were "home" so that they could bring our laundry. Now when they call I just say, “Thank you.” I figure I’ll find out what it’s about if they show up at my door.

Once I had my clean laundry, delivered folded in a bag, I was afraid to look at it. Would my socks now fit my five-year-old granddaughter, Annie, instead of me? Would I be wearing high-waters on casual Friday?

The laundry was fine. In fact, sending my laundry out has become habit forming. It’s very inexpensive and fast: I put the laundry bag on the bed when I leave for work in the morning, and that evening I have clean clothes! That has never happened before in my adult life; usually I’ve had to play a part.

So, that’s the latest installment in the tale of life on The Unwind Island. Until next time.