Memoir

The Day I Knew I Was Damned

Trauma at the laundromat

Photo by James Lee on Unsplash

We lived in a trailer until I was in junior high, which meant we didn’t have a washing machine.

Driving to the laundromat in the next town was a weekly chore for my mom, and she usually brought my sister and me with her. None of us enjoyed it.

But there was one bright spot.

My mom would usually give us a quarter to buy a can of soda from the vending machines. Sometimes we had to split one, but sometimes we could each get our own.

I usually chose a lemonade. Sometimes there was some extra money to spend at the candy store next door. My sister and I would stand and peruse the selection behind the counter for a long time.

I would almost always eventually settle on several individual Andes Crème de Menthes.

(The last time I hit an Olive Garden, they were handing those out with the check. This shocked me the first time I went there. Such luxuries for free? Yeah, you could say I have a poverty mindset. I don’t think winning millions in the lottery could shift that.)