Narrator: Imogen W. | Bristol, England
I closed a launderette for a few months when I was a student. There was a woman who came in near closing with a blue shopping bag. She never spoke beyond asking whether she had time for one wash.
One evening I went over to tell her the machines had finished. Her chair was empty, her bag was gone, and the front door was still locked from when I’d turned the sign around. I’d been behind the counter facing it.
The washer she’d used contained a single white shirt. I opened the drum and reached in. Something took hold of the other sleeve.
There wasn’t room behind it for a hand. I could see the back of the drum. The sleeve straightened until the seam began to creak, and I let go.
I left the shirt there and went outside. The owner arrived annoyed, went in alone, and came out holding an empty laundry basket. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
He paid me for the rest of that week. I had only asked to leave early.
