Clean and Jerk

Clean and Jerk by Timothy Dewey
copyright 2005


It was once again martini night at the “Clean and Jerk” Laundromat. I have tried to convince them to rotate the cocktail theme so I could be there for Zombie night, or White Russian night, but they would not stray from tradition.
“Hey ladies.” I set my bar bag down and un-sling the laundry bag from my shoulder. On the folding table on this end of the laundry, our end, are several martini shakers, a bowl of dip and some Wheat Thins.
“Why do you always show up late?”
I pull my martini mixings out and start concocting. “Sorry, you know I don’t get out of the office until 4pm, and I have to get my supplies and laundry.”
“Bring them with you in the morning.” Shae puts out the suggestion with a bit of a slur. She was always the first to arrive and is well mixed by the time the next of our group arrives.
“I walk to work, Shae. I am not toting my laundry into the Chronicle building every other day.” I looked over at the mixing table, “Ice?”
Shae hurries her sip from brimming martini glass, “Bev went to get more at Colley’s.” Colley’s is the liquor store down the street. I get the feeling Shae has a credit line there.
Shae has been my friend since I found this place four months ago. Came in to do a load of whites and found out that all the noise from this corner was a regular event. My only regret is that I don’t have more laundry. I only make it in three times a week; Vodka tonic day, Singapore Sling day, and today which is Martini day.
Today I am making the perfect Apple Martini, one of Shae’s favorites. I don’t know that she is ever going to make it around to try one of mine. From the looks of her she has had at least three or four from the shakers already.
Bev returns with her chromed ice bucket and sets it on the folding table. “Use the tongs.” Even though this soirée is taking place in a laundromat, that doesn’t mean is should be void of class. We always use the proper glasses, cocktail shakers, and ice bucket.
Bev inspects what I have brought and nods her approval. She is a middle aged divorce, very stand-offish at first glance, but warms up after she knows you. It was Bev that started this gathering a year ago. She has seen dozens of regulars come and go. Some of them move, others commit the sin of buying their own machines, that self appointed exile that reduces a social scene into just doing laundry… alone.
I tong some ice into my cocktail shaker and create my contribution. After I pour myself a brimmer, I set out the container of thin green apple slices and float one on top.
“Cheers.” I sip my drink. It occurs to me that we are missing a couple of people. Where is Ian, and that girl?” I am horrible with names.
“Jessie.”
“Yeah, Jessie. Where are they today?” Ian and Jessie were the other regulars. It was just Ian until he rescued Jessie’s clean laundry in the horrible cart accident last month that nearly ruined her $70 pair of jeans. To young for him. She is a twenty something and we just celebrated his birthday on a rare Champagne Day here in our corner just last week.
“Fight.” Shae reported with no further explanation.
“No kidding. What could they be fighting about. I thought they were in love?”
“I think her parents grounded her.” Shae said, barely able to get the words out before cracking up altogether. I liked Shae. She and I came close to going home together several times. We did share a long kiss several nights ago, but she was drunk and I am still a gentleman. I am going to have to knock on her door some time in the morning one of these days to catch her when she isn’t drunk. She is always drunk. Doesn’t have a job, and doesn’t need one. She has a monthly stipend from her father’s estate that puts her in a higher tax bracket than me. I think she is my age, mid forties, but she might be younger.
The actual laundry part of our get together usually takes place upon our arrival. Wait to long and you leave with dirty clothes in your bag a helluva buzz. We are all adults here and realize that work comes before play.
There is a personal exposure when you do your laundry in a public place, with your friends looking on. It is akin to taking a group shower, except you are not naked and don’t get wet. You see socks and underwear, and bed sheets, and anything else that remains hidden from the public view. So you have a bit of an unspoken relationship, a kinship, with those around you. On many occasions I have folded Shae and Bev’s undergarments, and they mine. And so the friendship began. It always helps when you are plied with liquor.
“What is that kid doing?” Bev’s alerted us to a greasy looking kid with a well stuffed backpack. He was breathless and jumpy, looking from side to side as he tossed the entire backpack into the dryer and closed the door. His back is to us, and I figure if he noticed our interest in his actions that he will probably turn and leave with his belongings. But he is too busy looking at the door and the windows. He started the machine on air fluff, and then turned and bolted out the door. We watched him turn and walk quickly out of view down the street. Then, a moment later, he is running the opposite direction.
We all look on in amazement, and then to the dryer with the bulging bag knocking around inside. A cop car went by, then another. Moments later the kid is running for “Clean and Jerk”, but gets corralled down the side street. All of the action that follows is out of sight down the street.
“Strange.” Bev turns and looks at me. I nod and point at her empty glass.
“You need to try mine, and don’t forget the apple garnish.”
I pick up one of the other two shakers, pull the pour top and take a sniff. Fruity, but I am stumped.
“Ocean Breeze Martini. Try it” Bev suggests.
Obviously it is her contribution. I pour and marvel at the pearled blue liquid. “What’s in it.”
“I’m not telling.”
Shae slips an arm around my waist. “Don’t bother with mine. I don’t think I did it right. I wasn’t sure if the beef bullion is supposed to be hot or not.”
Bev and I trade startled glances. “In a martini?”
“The recipe was in Cosmo, so shut up.” She pulled the top and gave it a sniff, “Its not that bad.”

The afternoon turned to evening. The girls and I had finished the three shakers, leaving Shae’s until last. It really wasn’t that bad, kind of au jus with a kick. I think she was reading a steak house add in Cosmo and just thought was a recipe.
A strange quiet came over our corner, and it took a moment to realize that there was no more thumping coming from the kid’s dryer. It had stopped, and the black backpack lay at the bottom of the drum.
As if to answer our question on the whereabouts of the kid, a cop car stopped at the red light on the corner. In the caged back seat sat the greasy kid, hands behind his back, half laying in the seat. He did not look our way, and the cop car proceeded.
“He looks kind of familiar.” Bev says while running her index finger along the rim of her glass, making it sing.
“Well… he won’t be back,” Shae slurred. Her hand came up and muffled a long burp. “Oops.”
Our trio fell silent as we all watched the dryer like it was on prime time, apparently waiting for a commercial before we actually moved on what we were all thinking. I stepped up to the plate.
I walked over to the dryer and looked through the door. Yep, a backpack. I made a quick, nonchalant turn to see who was watching. In our current condition, we hadn’t realized that the place had temporarily emptied, with the exception of Candice, the girl that sits in the little make-shift office in the very back.
With fluid movement, I opened the door, retrieved the backpack, and spun around to head back to our corner. The girls huddled around me as I set the booty on the table and paused.
“Go on, open it.” Bev started to reach for it herself, but I slid it out of her reach.
“In a moment. What ever this is we can’t keep it.” I heard myself speak and wondered why we couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t think of one good reason.
“Open it,” the girls said together.
I unzipped the pack and spilled the contents out on the table. Money, and lots of it.
We spread it out on the table to try to make a quick assessment. “There has to be a couple of thousand dollars here,” I offered.
“What is this?” Shae picked up a stack of paper clipped checks from under the cash. Each of the checks were written out to Colley’s Liquors. “Oh crap, this is Colley’s money.”
We all took a moment of silence at the loss of our new found treasure. Within moments we stuffed it all back into the bag and, after gathering up our things, we all walked up the street to Colley’s Liquor to re-unite him with his daily take.

The police were still there, the investigation nearly complete. Bev was our elected spokesman seeing that Shae was too drunk to make much sense. The story was told about the kid and the backpack and the dryer, and our discovery that it was our good friend Colley’s money. That last part was an unabashed effort to gain some type of consideration from Colley in the way of libation of some kind.
When it was all said and done, Colley was extremely grateful. He offered to sponsor our Clean and Jerk get together for one month, whatever we wanted. Nice guy, that Colley. I would definitely need to dirty more laundry.