自助洗衣店里的禪道

I can hear the spinning wheels of the cart chatter as they move across the unevenly tiled floor. The cart’s pilot is a well-dressed woman in her 40s， loudly talking into her mobile phone while she tries to 1）manoeuvre the cart with one hand.

It’s overflowing with white fabric， decorated with 2）crumbs and lipstick—a clue that her cart is full of soiled restaurant-quality tablecloths and napkins. Her conversation with the attendants is loud enough for all to hear， and it’s clear she’s at first glance 3）agitated， rushed and 4）frantic. This is not a place she’s familiar with， nor is it the place she wants to be.

I’m in my local laundromat， and this display has ripped my attention from my morning newspaper. The space is well-lit， clean and mostly quiet， save for the rows of rumbling washers and the rhythmic sounds of clothes flopping around in the glass-fronted dryers. Fellow launderers sit reading magazines or books； some work on laptops. Every time the door opens， the notices on the nearby 5）bulletin board briefly rustle in the breeze.

I’m tempted to feel superior here because I’m comfortable and familiar in this place， while the loud woman is obviously not. I’m tempted to smirk at her questions about the machines’ settings， since I can roll my cart to any machine and operate it with ease， like my mom works her knitting needles.

Because I’m still tempted， it’s clear I have not yet fully achieved Laundromat Zen.

The laundromat hasn’t always been a positive element in my life. When my wife and I moved to the city a couple of years ago， we were excited to find a basement suite in our price range that had high ceilings， counter space， windows and storage—but no laundry machines hid in any of the many closets. This meant that， for the first time， we would have to leave the house to wash our clothes.

Our landlords have a set of machines that we are not welcome to share， the sounds of the thumping spin cycle taunting us through the living room wall. Outside， sweet-smelling dryer exhaust escapes the house a few feet from our entrance. 6）Lugging our full laundry bins and bags to the car is especially 7）onerous under these conditions， and it was easy to grumble while spending the majority of my Saturday morning at the laundromat. There were many things I’d rather be doing； I could be sleeping， going for a run， or even wrestling hair out of the bathroom drain.

But， after spending so much time here， I slowly began to learn from the laundromat. It has shown itself to be a great 8）equalizer in the midst of a frantic， material city. Outside the doors， indicators of wealth and status become obvious. Expensive 9）strollers， designer umbrellas and bags full of organic groceries point to bank accounts more flush than my own.

Inside the laundromat， however， the only currency that matters is measured in quarters and 10）loonies. We all hope for side-by-side machines， but don’t always get them. We occasionally forget the 11）detergent. And we must all sit， wait， and occupy ourselves while the laundry continues to cycle. There are no shortcuts.

This sitting and waiting has become an integral part of Laundromat Zen. Listening to my clothes spinning in the washer， or watching them being rhythmically rolled around in the dryer， I’m able to relax， knowing that for the next couple of hours， there’s nothing to strive for， nothing to accomplish， and no standards to live up to. There’s only my laundry.

The laundromat also has a unique way of breaking down conventional privacy barriers. Experienced users aren’t timid about displaying their choice of bedroom sheets， bathroom towels or exercise clothes. I was initially shy about taking my wife’s bras and my boxers out of the dryer and folding them.

I soon realized that being embarrassed or trying to hide these was time-consuming and energy-sapping； it would be easier to simply own the idea of advertising our underwear choices to the public. Yes， world， I wear Christmas-themed underwear out of season. The state may have no place in the bedrooms of the nation， but it could certainly get a few sneak peeks at the corner 12）launderette.

My weekly ritual at the laundromat has shown me that everyone is equal inside its doors， and I have learned to take this teaching outside them as well. I must avoid thinking I’m superior to anyone， no matter how loudly they’re talking on their cellphone while they manoeuvre their cart full of restaurant linens. Similarly， I must remember that there’s nobody better than me， no matter what stroller they’re pushing or the origin of the groceries in their bag. I remind myself that wealth and achievement are not 13）harbingers of happiness and success， and should not signify self-worth. Equally important is remembering to look deeply into the machines to check for any 14）rogue socks.

When I first began frequenting the laundromat， the experience cast a pall on my day because I thought I could be making better use of my time. Now， it serves to remind me of what’s important in life， and has given me insight into the human condition that I didn’t expect.

Now， when I begin to strive， compare， and doubt myself， I know it’s time to grab my laundry bins and head for the door.

我能聽到飛轉的手推車輪子在凹凸不平的磚鋪地板上滾過時咔嗒咔嗒的響聲。推車的是一位穿著講究的四十多歲的婦女，她拿著手機大聲地講著電話，并盡力用另外一只手控制推車。

推車上載滿白色的布料，布料上點綴著糕點屑和口紅印——這說明她的推車里所載的皆是些弄臟了的餐廳用的桌布和餐巾。她和餐廳服務員的對話音量大得全世界都能聽到，而且一眼就可以看出她是急躁、匆忙、狂亂三位一體。這兒是既非她熟悉，亦非她想來的地方。

我正在家附近的自助洗衣店里，此情此景將我的注意力從晨報閱讀中給揪了出來。這地方光線充足、干凈，且通常比較安靜——除了一排排隆隆作響的洗衣機，以及帶玻璃門擋的干衣機里衣服翻動發出的節奏性聲響外。來洗衣服的“同道中人”，有的坐著看雜志或書，有的在筆記本上忙活著。每次有人開門，旁邊布告欄上的告示就會在一陣微風中窸窣飄揚一下。

因為對這個地方感覺舒適和熟悉，我不禁有一種高人一等的感覺，而那位大嗓門的婦女則顯然不如我。對于她那些關于機器設定的問題，我不禁付之一笑，因為我能夠把推車推到任何一臺機器前并輕松自如地進行操作，就像我媽媽做她的針線活兒那樣流利。

顯然我還沒能完全參透自助洗衣店的“禪道”，因為我還會情不自禁，被干擾分心。

自助洗衣店在我的生活中并非一直起著如此積極的意義。當我和妻子幾年前搬到這座城市時，我們當時為能在我們的租金要求范圍內租到一套具有高天花板、柜臺空間、窗戶和儲物室的地下室套間感到無比興奮——但是在那么多的壁柜里卻找不到洗衣設備。……