Lin’s Laundromat, former haven for dealers, addicts, and people who steal quarters from children. — Photo by Diego Cupolo

If you ask me, the ideal apartment should be within walking distance of three absolute necessities: a supermarket, liquor store and laundromat. For too long, I lived too far from the third item.

I would waste entire afternoons lugging dirty clothes halfway across town. Sweating, dropping socks, getting rained on, and taking occasional breaks to rest my shoulders, all before last wash at 7 p.m. because the penny-pinching owner closed early.

So about two years ago, when I was looking at an apartment near the Myrtle-Broadway JMZ stop, my first priority was to survey the neighborhood amenities. The place was surrounded by a vibrant commercial area, full of generous offerings, but it was the colossal 24-hour laundromat on the corner of Park Street and Broadway that put my signature on the lease.

Back then it was called the Greater New York Laundromat and while it was definitely convenient, it only took a few laundry trips to realize it was also providing 24-hour services of a different brand. My glorious laundromat, the one that drew me to the area and saved my aching shoulders, turned out to be a major drug trafficking hub, complete with the incomprehensible howls of mentally disturbed visitors and routine fist-fights in the back parking lot.

During my first few visits, I hid behind books and newspapers while curiously observing the scene: hyperactive children running around, yelling and then getting yelled at; four televisions blaring four different channels on maximum volume, making it impossible to hear any of them; and the laundromat attendant blasting mid-90s rap on his boombox while smoking blunts in the office with a group of friends. You could say it was a hard place to read.

Luckily, there was a great selection of arcade games. I played Ms. Pac-Man religiously until a homeless woman rigged the coin slots in a way that the machine wouldn’t recognize any inserted money. It took me a while to figure it out, but I would see her come by at the same time every night to fish out coins with a paper clip; she cackled to herself as she walked out, jiggling the change proudly in her hand. The victimized children were not amused.

And then there was the drug dealing. I always suspected something was up when people came in and the laundromat attendant would walk them to the back corner, but confirmation came one day when a super-skinny, middle-aged woman came rushing in and said, “Give me one right now.”

“Oh, wait, wait,” she hesitated. Then with the tips of her fingers, she pulled a crumbled clump of cash out of her tight jean pockets and said, “Yeah, just one for right now.”

They quickly went to the corner and while I saw the attendant walk back to the staff office after a few minutes, I didn’t see the lady leave until an hour later when I was folding my clothes. She walked very slowly.

For two years, I watched the laundromat chaos boil until it spilled over during an armed robbery last winter. Almost immediately after, the place changed ownership and currently goes by the name of Lin’s Laundromat. Everything instantly became peaceful — no more car stereo competitions in the parking lot, no more junkies walking back and forth trying to figure out which way they were originally going. It all disappeared.

The new staff keeps the place clean and collects laundry detergent bottle caps, though I’m not sure why. All 53 washers and 68 dryers are functional and if they are having problems the staff tapes a piece of paper to the faulty machine that simply says “No.”

The changes are nice, but what was once a wild, unpredictable experience has been transformed, like Cinderella at midnight, into the plain old chore it always was. I’m sure it’s safer place; sadly, I will no longer be there to enjoy it due to a recent move. But it goes to show a lot can change in two years, both in a laundromat and a neighborhood.

I look forward to exploring the complex inter-workings of another clothes washing station near the Gates Avenue J stop. I already have my eye on a place with a 24-hour sign around the corner… now all I can hope for is a proper Ms. Pac-Man machine.

Related Posts