And so began some of the most tedious work Kaethe had ever done.
The very moment the laundromat closed, the employees set straight to work on unloading the truck outside, as well as the second that had arrived ("The other three will come tomorrow," the man in the blue uniform had explained). One by one, crate after crate after crate was removed from the back of each vehicle and placed in the laundromat. It took quite a time, but eventually, the crates were unloaded -- and as soon as the last one was removed, both of the trucks departed.
"Now," said Mrs. Armani as she studied the enormous crates that were now stacked everywhere, "let's open a few and see just what we're dealing with, shall we?" She nodded to Stella. "The honor's all yours, mia cara."
A wicked grin came across Stella's face. "Why, thank you," she said, positively swaggering over to one of the nearby crates, and taking the lid off with a flourish -- but the instant she did, her face fell. "... oh dear."
"Stella, what are you saying 'oh dear' about? Is this just you being theatrical?" Anise said drily.
"Normally that would be the case, but, um..." Stella grimaced as she reached into the crate, and pulled out a sweat-stained blue t-shirt that was covered in bloodstains and dirt. "Not this time."
Maria made a sound of disgust. "¡Ay guácala!"
Anise snatched the filthy shirt from Stella and held it at arm's length, scoffing a bit scornfully. "Ugh. What on earth?"
Took the words right out of my mouth, Kaethe thought to herself, equally aghast.
Wrinkling her nose, Mrs. Armani took the shirt, brought it the ever-so-slightest bit close to herself, and began to gently tug at the seams around the sleeves. "I wonder how sturdy it i--"
But she never finished her sentence -- for in that instant, there was a loud RRRRRIP and the shirt fell to the floor in several pieces.
There was a collective gasp of appallment at the shirt's lack of integrity. "Are they all like that?" Maria whispered, her eyes wide.
"It would seem so," Stella said, holding up another t-shirt. She pointed to the seams, which were so loose that the shirt was all but falling apart. "And look at this." She reached into the back of the shirt's collar, and revealed its tag. "You see who made this shirt?"
Mrs. Armani retrieved her reading glasses from the pocket of her apron and put them on, before reading the words on the tag aloud: "'Manufactured by Mann Co. in Australia.'"
"Mann Co.?" Lisa repeated with dismay as she came out of the back. She had arrived just as they had finished unloading the truck, and had been putting her things away up until now. "We're gonna be here a while, ain't we?"
"Yes," Stella said with barely contained hostility that was rare for her. "They make nothing but worthless trash -- and I bet you every last piece of clothing we've got to wash has been made by them."
A somber silence fell over the laundromat as the full realization of the mess in which they had likely been ensnared sank in. However, it stayed this way only briefly as Mrs. Armani spoke up: "Well, regardless of that, we still have work to do, and it certainly won't get done if we continue standing around like this. We've got two days to finish this and fifty grand on the line, ladies, so let's get to it!"
The reminder of the sheer amount of money they had been promised made the girls' despondency fade and become sheer determination. "Yes, Mrs. Armani!" they all chimed, and went to work.
The rest of that day was spent in hard labor. Soon after Mrs. Armani's reminder of the fifty grand, they set up stations and began to dash around as they frantically shoved clothing into all available washing machines and driers. Time itself ceased to exist as naught but a few distinguishable acts were performed: wash, dry, mend (if needed), fold, and repeat...
.... wash, dry, mend, fold, repeat...
... wash, dry, mend, fold, repeat...
... over, and over, and over, and over, and over and over again -- and despite its exciting implications, the work soon settled into a mundane pattern.
The pattern soon led to Kaethe fighting to keep herself from falling victim to her own musings as she did nothing but fold vast quantities of clothes as fast as she could -- and with every other item of clothing falling apart in her hands, it was maddening beyond words. I can't wait for the weekend, she thought desperately as she handed the pieces of a button-up shirt to Maria to be mended.
Mercifully, the time passed quickly despite the ever-present monotony -- and before they had even realized it, they had worked through the short remainder of the afternoon and into the evening until almost seven at night. It was then that Mrs. Armani made them stop and told them to go home. "We've gotten a good headstart, and we still have all of tomorrow and the next day," she told them. "That's a job well done. Go home, ladies -- I'll close up shop tonight."
And so it went. With the next morning's dawn arrived the three additional trucks of clothing that had been promised, and after they had been unloaded the previous day's madness resumed as the girls returned to dashing about and haphazardly flinging filthy clothes across the laundromat to one another in an attempt to speed up the process. The situation was made ever more ridiculous by the absurdly cheerful Beatles record that Stella had put on in an attempt to make the process more enjoyable -- but after the first batch of clothing was finished, the previous day's pattern of washing, drying, mending, and folding returned, as did its former monotony.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat...
... over, and over, and over, and over again...
Once more, it did not take long for Kaethe to become largely exasperated by the dullness that she and the other girls were wading through, and she found herself longing for a customer to walk through the front door. I'd take anyone at this point, even Mr. Bleu -- just to have something to do besides wash these confounded clothes! she thought despairingly as she dumped a cupful of detergent into one of the washing machines, shutting the lid, and starting the load.
And the tedium wasn't only affecting Kaethe -- it was beginning to wear on the other girls, too. Anise's tone had become sharp and pointed whenever she was asked questions, Lisa's usual amiable nature had become the slightest bit unusually hostile, Maria constantly muttered to herself in an anxious manner, and Stella... well, Stella was a hot mess to an even greater degree. "This will be the end of me," she groaned despairingly at one point after a pair of pants that she had been holding had ripped in the seat for no apparent reason. "If I'm destined to go to hell, my eternal damnation will be endlessly folding clothes that are bound to tear at any given time without any real cause!"
This statement summed up Kaethe's sentiments almost perfectly. The preposterousness of the matter was nearly too much to bear -- the mountains of laundry surrounding them, the ambience sound of the washers and driers combined with the record of 'Help' playing faintly over the speakers, the clothes all being varying shades out of the same palette of blue -- it all led to an unparalleled and unprecedented air of surrealism. It seemed to her as if though she were in a trance, as if though any instant she would wake up and find that she had only had a horrible dream about having to fold dozens of poorly-made shirts in two days.
Yet against all odds, Wednesday came to pass. The operation continued to run smoothly without incident, with only a brief interruption for lunch before they continued to work -- and once again, they worked into the evening. "Great work today, ladies! I'll close up again tonight!" Mrs. Armani told them again, dismissing them with a wave of the hand. "Go home -- we'll finish this job tomorrow!" And just as before, everyone did as they were told and just went home with tired eyes and hearts weary of folding blue shirts.
Thursday morning had the same gentle, rainy weather of both Monday and Tuesday, creating a drowsy, peaceful contrast to the atmosphere inside the laundromat -- for the moment the girls had arrived, they had begun working as fast as they possibly could, and by midmorning, the situation had degenerated into complete and utter chaos. "Guys, we've gotten through four and a half truckloads!" Stella screeched as she hopped up on top of the counter, banging a ladle on a cooking pot. "WE CAN DO THIS!"
"She's right!" Lisa yelled in agreement. "Y'all, we got forty crates to finish, and then we gotta get everything packed up again for tomorrow morning! LET'S DO THIS!"
"Raus, raus!" Kaethe cried, contributing to the viciously motivational atmosphere.
And thus the madness ensued. For hours, the pattern from the past two days went on, the same dreamlike state settling over the laundromat as dirtied clothes continued to fly and the girls scrambled to finish the work.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, mend, dry--no, wait... dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat (that's more like it).
Wash, dry, mend, repeat.
Wash, dry, mend, repeat...
On and on and on and on, without end. Reality morphed into something new altogether -- blue fabric, frayed threads, loose buttons, broken and stuck zippers, the smell and taste of detergent (yes, the taste) -- an endless ocean of the sensations accompanying the quintessential laundromat experience.
And that's how it stayed for hours on end, with an ever-present awareness of the number of crates left to finish... counting down from forty...
... then thirty-five...
... thirty-one...
... twenty-seven...
... twenty...
... seventeen...
... eleven...
... seven...
... five...
... four...
... two--
"THAT'S IT!" Anise shrieked with delight just before noon. "I'VE JUST FOLDED THE LAST SHIRT!"
Dead silence. Then, Maria's shaky voice saying what everyone was thinking to themselves: "It's over...? Just like that? But... surely there has to be more..."
"No... she's right," Stella said, eyes wide with disbelief. "That stack she folded... that was the last load." She smiled, laughing a little as tears came to her eyes. "It's over... guys, we made it... the fifty grand is ours..."
Devastating silence resounded through the laundromat with those words: "The fifty grand is ours." Then, one of the girls gave a loud whoop, and they all began to cheer and dance around before they hugged and cried and talked about how glad they were that the ordeal was over.
All of them except for Kaethe, that is. She stood apart from the other girls with a knit brow and an overwhelming sense that the celebration was not meant for her. I don't understand, she thought a bit desperately. I helped just as much as anyone else here did. And yet... for some reason I've got this feeling that for me, this somehow isn't over just yet... but why?
Suddenly, Stella spoke up, interrupting Kaethe's thoughts: "Kaethe, get over here! You need your hug before we start packing those crates!"
Smiling, Kaethe walked over and obliged with a laugh as she joined the group hug, but her impending sense of something more happening to her would not go away.