The Laundromat Diaries: In York County, washing clothes is about the experience

I don't know what it is about laundromats. They seem to attract the most peculiar people. I guess I'm not the one to talk. I visit them regularly. York is the first place I've lived where a washer and dryer haven't been included in my residence.

A few weeks ago, I hauled my stinky running clothes to the laundromat in the Westgate shopping plaza, near our offices. I wanted to get in and get out.

There, a very large man and woman were bickering over how to unload their garbage bags of clothing, enough for a small army. I kept my head down, trying not to stare.

Then, the muumuu clad woman boisterously thrusted me into the argument. "Isn't this the right way to do it?" she asked. "Aren't men jerks?" she continued. I really didn't want to get involved. But she left me no choice. My clothes were trapped in the washer, so I was trapped -- listening to this woman's life story.

She told me the clothes belonged to her children -- fathered by three different men. She told me she was a cancer survivor. She told her life was an "episode of Jerry Springer." Her man-friend told her I was going to need therapy if she continued to ramble.

I thought I had problems.

I wish I knew their names. I didn't ask. I was in shock. I'd only ever seen people this dysfunctional on television. I didn't understand it. Somehow, despite their issues and illegitimate children, they seemed pretty happy. In a twisted way, it was almost inspiring.

I used to think laundromats ripped you off. Some days, you can burn $5 in quarters for a single load.

Sometimes, I guess, this pays for more than a few rinses and spin cycles. It's about an experience, and you never know what you're going to find.