Laundromat Pick Up

We were three days out on a motorcycle trip heading west on the trans-Canada highway. Rain was still off and on.  We were somewhere north of North Dakota,  wet, dirty and unshaven. We decided it was laundry time, maybe a bit overdue. 

We found a laundromat. It was midday and there were a fair number of people already doing their laundry. We added five more. It was a typical laundromat with many big machines lining the walls. Some were in use and others not in a random pattern. I found an open machine between two others in use. I put in some clothes, mastered the Canadian coin slots and started it up. I turned back to my gear and, as I was sorting it out, I found some underwear that I had missed. I picked it up, turned around, opened the machine door, threw in my underwear and closed the door. Bob, one of my guys, came up to me and, in a whisper, said “Do you know what you just did?”.  Yes, I replied, “I put some underwear in my machine.” Bob said “No you didn’t. You put them in the machine on your left. The one being used by the girl next to you.”

 Would she take my forthright and true explanation of what happened as a crude laundromat pick up?  Would she respond by saying “Let’s dry them out and try them on, motorcycle stud.” or would she call the manager.  In a most apologetic manner, I got her attention and explained the situation. She looked at me, wide eyed, and withheld a response for what seemed like minutes. Who and what was this bearded, dirty man with a fake “Fargo” accent asking me? Could he retrieve his underwear from my machine? I hoped that my earnest approach, engaging smile and big blue eyes would carry the day. She stopped her machine and I removed my soapy, wet underwear. Did this cold, wet day in Canada, at noon in a cheap laundromat, offer any chance of a male/female liaison? I’ll never know. She withdrew in haste and this laundromat liaison, potential pants pickup, ended immediately.