Washed and dried

The laundry room of my building is odd. We are just above a dozen apartments, most of them pretty small, so I think virtually nobody has their own washing machine. We all use it, and it often takes a bit of foresight to get an evening time on work days.

The cliché is that the laundry rooms are a source of frustration. A place where people's forgetfulness or ignorance of the common rules annoy everyone else, and where communication only happens through increasingly aggressive written notes.

Here comes the weird thing: our laundry room is nice! There probably is an advanced theory of quantum physics which explains how this can be, but to mere mortals it is nothing less than an outbreak of fairy magic. Today, I started my washing a little early and so ran into the neighbor just before me on the schedule. We ended up having a long and fun conversation while handling our clothes. We even ended up introducing ourselves, shaking hands and totally breaking all those invisible walls normally between me and most neighbors.

Very strange, very nice.

Perhaps even stranger: on the noteboard outside there are a whole bunch of positive notes! Wishes of a happy new year, little fun poems and other things, sometimes turned into short conversations by readers adding their own comment at the end.

Neighbors: I do not know you, I rarely even meet most of you. But you are a great bunch. Keep it up, I sure will try to.