LAUNDRY DAY 1

Every other week like clockwork, this couple came into the shop and never failed to bring some entertainment with it. The way they always argued made me feel like a kid caught between a breaking marriage, they began to feel more like family than customers.

“You always do this,” screamed the woman. “We've been married for close to a year and together for almost five and you still mix our loads.”

The silver in the washing machine reflected a vibrant pink that I could see from the office window, their faces just as pink almost red with frustration.

“Well by now you would think you would separate your things, so I don't mess them up again,” the man says. His eyes dismissive of her, and laser focused on his once white shirts now presenting a vibrant bubblegum pink. “I can’t believe it my favorite shirt looks like barbie took a marker to it.”

“Well, maybe if you had paid attention instead of running out after putting your load in you could’ve realized my things were in it too. I told you before we left the house to put it in two washing machines anyways”

“I was trying to get us to McDonalds before they stopped serving breakfast since you want to wake up late like always. Plus, what do you mean I asked if you needed to wash and you just said to take the bin.”

They bickered for a couple minutes like usual, blaming one another for each other’s faults as they moved their sopping wet load across the building to the dryers. After calming down while loading the clothes in an instant, frustration rose out again.

“Ugh, this stupid machine is always taking my change,” she said, pounding on the side of the machine trying to force money out of it like a bully in the lunchroom.

Nothing ever changed, from their arguments to the specific machine they chose to use, the latch slowly wearing down from the frequent slamming sessions between the two. They always seemed to choose to beat my equipment rather than each other.

“Calm down, Jess, it's just a couple of quarters,” the husband says, shoving his wife out the way to take a closer look at the machine.

“Maybe I could be calmer if we could afford to lose those quarters, did you forget that we have a kid on the way and you haven't had a job in months?”

“I know I know I'm try—”

“No, Michael, you're not trying anything you have no initiative all you do is play your game all day. I'm not even asking you to be rich, just do something to support us before your savings run out,” Jess says, ripping the now hiring ad up on the wall next to them and pushing it into his chest. “We can't keep living off our parents' money they have helped us with more than enough already.” Her voice weakened as tears started to form in her eyes.

“You’re right.”

“I know I'm right, now I'm going to go to the car and relax while you deal with the machine and think about what we just talked about.”

Frustrated Michael gave one solid hit to the side of the dryer. Unintentionally knocking the quarters into position, the machine started turning. His once sour face turned into a slight laughter towards the situation. Flipping a switch in his mood, he looked up at the now hiring ad and began walking to the front counter where I sat.

“When can I start?”

“Tomorrow if you can bring me some McDonald's breakfast,” I said, grinning playfully.

“I see you got some good ears on you, sorry about the ruckus. I got you with that McDonalds as an apology.”

I looked over at the uniforms sitting on my desk and handed him a fresh one. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

“Thank you, sir, this will help a lot,” he said, practically sprinting to his wife to try and cheer her up with the news.

“Hey and uh... Michael...” I shouted before he walked out the door.

“Yes sir?”

“I like Mcgriddles by the way.”

Romel Hernandez is an aspiring director from the border of Juarez Mexico and El Paso Texas. When he’s not writing scripts, he can be found analyzing books, comics, movies, and even music. Follow him on Instagram @M4zia4H.