The Foorce

One of the perks of living in NYC is door-to-door laundry service, which I have been gratefully utilizing since baby #3 was born. Our laundry is picked up in big bags and returned clean, folded and sorted. The delivery guy is usually the same and over time we’ve become friendly acquaintances, which means he’s definitely seen and heard more than he bargained for.

I’m incredibly grateful that he’s taken on my children with such good humor – over the last two years he has responded politely, even pleasantly, to horrifying comments such as “There’s poop in that bag because James had an accident today!,” “My brother barfed all over that laundry today – ewwww!” and “Will you get the poop and sand out of my swimsuit?”

When I sent James to answer the door I didn’t think there was too much to discuss regarding this week’s load, but leave it to James to find a way. Here is the most recent exchange between him and our laundry man (James is italics, I’m in bold italics, and the laundry man is in bold):

Hi!

Hey there.

My mom is getting the laundry for you.

Oh, ok.

Here are your dollars (holds out some crumpled dollars as a tip).

Thank you.

So, there’s no poop or barf in the laundry today. Pretty good, right?

(chuckles a little) Yep.

How do you feel?

Good, how about you?

How do you feel about no poop or barf in the laundry? Pretty happy, right?

You bet.

At this point I am able to mercifully bring this conversation to a halt as I reach the front door with two giant laundry bags.

Sorry about that.

It’s no trouble – I’ll see you tomorrow?

Yes, thanks. After 2pm, please.

No problem – have a nice evening!

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He’s so darn polite that I pretend not to notice how quickly he is able to exit our building with 30 pounds of laundry in tow.