Which laundry specimen are you?
It’s a zoo in there
If there’s anything students agree on it’s this: everyone HATES doing laundry. Not only is it a mind-numbingly boring procedure, you also come face-to-face with the animals which roam there. Unless you want to start a collection of snakebite-stained clothes, or throw out your fave trainers because your best pal vommed on them, there’s no other choice. Grunge may be in at the moment, but stanky is not. So what are the possible species that might come your way?
You carry your washing over to the laundry room in colour co-ordinating bags and have a full set of detergent (powder and capsules obviously), softener and some freshening spray just for a little something extra. Walking in on one of these rare university specimens can be quite a startling experience: they fold every piece of clothing as it comes out of the dryer. Underwear included.
Not quite obsessive but you try to keep up with a weekly wash, even if it is just to retrieve your fittest top in time for Walkabout Wednesday. After a rocky start of squeezing the liquid capsule all over your clothes, you’ve got the hang of what goes where and nothing has shrunk too drastically (yet). You’ve got a couple of Bags for Life, sure they’re not piff but who wants to spend money on fancy-ass laundry bags over a cocktail pitcher or two?
Momma’s boy (or gal)
Whilst doing laundry is not your speciality, batting your eyelids at mum or dad is. It broke their heart to see you becoming independent and moving away to uni. The Momma’s child argues, ‘surely, it’s only fair for them to stay connected to me somehow right?’ How very noble of you.
You have various potential motives: are you after a pal, a lesson in linen, or has the laundry-room become the breeding ground for romance? ‘Bab you have the finest delicates in this joint.’ Now that would be a story for the grandkids.
Shifty-eyed, head bowed, maybe even hood up, you’re a dangerous one to watch out for. Be warned everyone, they’re quick and silent, preying on any powder left behind. No one is safe.
Ick. Your room at home was a junk-pile of clothes but at least they were clean. At uni there’s no emergency intervention from parents and no reminder to make sure your work apron is clean. Whilst it was all fun and games when your student finance first came in, buying socks instead of washing them is no longer an option. The faint odour of cheesy feet that was first detected in month one has now become funky on a whole new level ( and if you nick your flatmate’s Febreze again she’ll throw a hissy fit). Help is needed. The rest of us will pray for you.