Sensing Civility

When my daughter is at home, she knows that any clothes she leaves outside her door will magically disappear and be returned all clean and folded. It's a perk of visiting the place where she spent her childhood. I've heard her mention to her friends who might be staying overnight, "Be careful. Anything you leave on the floor will be scooped up by my Mom and washed, dried and folded." Thus far, not a single friend has objected to this service.

While having your own personal laundress is definitely a plus, I believe that I was even more indulged (spoiled) as a young person. My own mother simply handed any items needing washing to Daddy. He took the bundle to the laundry and dry cleaners that he owned with his three brothers. The care was exquisite. Blouses or dresses with special buttons were set aside. All buttons were removed before the laundry process commenced and were re-sewn afterwards. Skirts with multiple pleats were carefully ironed. The business's customers paid by the pleat. I paid nothing.

Giant washers tumbled with mesh bags filled with assorted laundry. Huge metal pins with numbers assured that clothing could be identified and the owners would be able to retrieve exactly what had been left at the plant.

Steam pressers and a flatwork machine created a cauldron of heat that few people could endure. No air conditioners and few fans dotted the area. Workers endured these unhealthy conditions and were paid little for their service. As a child, I was oblivious to these matters and I'm sure I focused on the condition of my clothes, not the sacrifice of those who prepared them so expertly.

With this background, I emerged from my teens never having encountered a washing machine personally. What a shock to learn that quarters were required if one did not own a washer. Lots of mistakes and ruined clothing ensued.

Through the years, I've discovered that home washers are not designed to accept large pillows. No matter the placement of these items, the washer becomes unbalanced. Trying to heave a water soaked pillow into a different position and coax the washer to continue it task is exhausting. I will admit that I actually wrecked one washer some years ago. When pillows became entangled, I was not vigilant enough and the motor simply burned out. A very costly error.

With these experiences haunting me, I decided to start the year by taking a collection of pillows to a local laundromat. If there were going to be a malfunction, let it be at a business, not my house.

The back seat of the car was piled high with an assortment of seven pillows. Two standard sized, two king, and three rather large square-shaped decorative pillows.

Before taking the pillows from the car, I stepped inside the laundromat to inquire if the machines would accommodate my cargo. I immediately encountered a young man who may have been the manager. Though I was obviously not a regular customer, his attention to my question could not have been more helpful. Machines were available but he needed to warn me that pillows were finicky. (As if I didn't already know.) It did not matter if they cost a little or a lot, things happened. Sometimes the results were ruinous. Lumps, uneven sides, disintegration altogether. Horrors.

I responded with calming aplomb. Even if the pillows were less than perfect, at least they'd be clean. We'll proceed. He suggested pairings of the various sizes and showed me how to pack three extra chubby pillows into an oversized washer. Two more machines were needed for the remaining pillows.

All around me, other customers were unloading laundry, stuffing it into machines, getting change, and settling into the chairs to wait for the cycles to conclude. One lady asked if I needed a washer and said she'd mistakenly plopped nearly $5 into a machine before she realized it wasn't a dryer. Oops. At least I was not guilty of that error. I agreed to move my pillows and return to her what had already been deposited. She said that wasn't necessary at all.

Before I could move anything, the congenial attendant rescued her. He brought a bedspread and put it in the ready-to go washer and returned the money she'd mistakedly inserted.

Feeling very confident and $10 poorer after feeding my own machines, I walked over to the nearby grocery store to get a jar of peanut butter. Upon my return, I learned that one of the washers had a mechanical problem. Again, the affable attendant had identified the difficulty and resolved it without being asked. My pillows were now rotating in another washer further down the line.

As I sat reading a few pages of the book I'd brought with me, I couldn't help but overhear continuing conversations between arriving and departing customers and this angel of the laundromat. All people were treated with dignity, no matter the appearance of their personal circumstances. Smiles were dispensed with quiet decorum and genialness. Assistance was offered without being requested. The atmosphere exuded friendliness and made a routine chore much less onerous.

My pillows survived their tumbling and I toted them out to the car, still wet. With our winter days creeping into the 80's, setting pillows outside to dry in the sun seemed like an excellent choice. I detected no lumps or shrunken sizes. The fresh clean aroma remained later in the day when the perfectly dried pillows were returned to their spaces on the master bed.

During the intervening days since the pillow pilgrimage, I've thought about people I encounter whose demeanor assures me that civility survives. The ladies who work behind the deli counter at Ralph's, my grocery store, smile when they see me. Most of them ask immediately if I want my usual order of 1 1/4th pounds of Boar's Head low-sodium turkey, sliced super thin. I do realize that I order the same amount of meat twice a week but I am only one of so many customers. I appreciate the personal attention and feel a bit badly that my needs are so specific.

Down the street there's a Rite-Aid drugstore. It's in somewhat neglected condition and will soon be abandoned for a brand new facility a few blocks to the west. Whenever I enter the store, the clerks smile and greet me. If I'm picking up a prescription, the Pharmacy Technician calls me by name and hands me my medicine. How does she remember me so clearly? I am a very irregular customer yet she knows me and my husband.

Aspen Mills Bakery prepares delicious and good-for-you whole wheat Omega-3 rolls, studded with flax seeds. They also make sinful cookies, croissants, muffins, and huge brownies. I have relinquished the desserts and other baked items with slight regret. Here, too, the staff is unfailingly engaged with customers. The owner is nearly always present and he consistently thanks me for my continuing patronage. A couple of times, I've ordered rolls and upon arriving to get them, learned that they weren't ready yet. Immediately, the owner stepped forward and offered to bring the rolls to my house. I politely refused his generous overture and returned later for my packages.

I'm aware that many companies insist that their employees continuously display a sense of welcome to customers. I believe I am able to discern the forced from the truly friendly. I also understand that the 'whole person' arrives at work each day. He or she may not be feeling well, may have a sick child or spouse, could be facing the loss of a home or is just having a bad day. It is difficult, if not impossible, to shed these concerns at the door of the workplace and be transformed into an amiable associate who displays pleasant attributes.

With economic conditions imperiling so many people's lives today, I am even more cognizant of those who remain steadfastly courteous. The zest for life which I glimpse reflected in their eyes gives me hope and reminds me to ingrain my own behavior with greater graciousness.