LAUNDRY

With my complex's laundry room being located down a flight of stairs and a brief walk south of my apartment, and with my roommates producing a cacophony of Saturday sounds this morning, I decided that today I would bring a book with me to pass the time while my clothes did their time in the machines. It didn't seem like a "frequent trip" sort of day.

One corner of the laundry room is basically a tiny Goodwill. When tenants have old clothes, books, (anything, really), they are welcome to add to the pile in the corner where people can take it for free. I had never actually seen anyone going through any of  it before. Until today. 

I was sitting on the couch, reading my book alone with only the sounds of swishing washing machines accompanying me when a mother and daughter walked in. They were wearing worn and ill-fitting clothes, the kind that signal a type of distress we all see but rarely acknowledge. 

I tried not to watch as they started scouring the pile, the mother on her knees and the daughter standing there nodding her consent to the various clothing items her mom held up to her. I didn't want them to feel more humiliated than they probably already did.

And here I was with two loads of laundry going, having complained only ten minutes earlier that I had to do two loads instead of one because I had so many clothes to wash today. And a bursting closet of clothes back in my apartment that I flip through every single morning in a desperate search for "something to wear." 

If this wasn't a humbling experience, I honestly don't know what is.

Because I'm so cheap, I'm pretty sure that over half of my wardrobe was purchased at a thrift store. I have found the most amazing vintage dresses, oversized-suit jackets, and name-brand collared shirts and brought them home for pennies each, rejoicing in how much money I've saved in the process. But...I still have enough money to occasionally purchase more expensive clothing items. And still I'm never satisfied— always looking for something new, always making mental lists of "what I lack" in my closet.

I've never thought about the people who shop at thrift stores because they have to. I've never thought about the people who can't afford even that and must go to free donation spots at college student apartment complexes to find clothing. I've never thought about how degrading that must feel. I've been so blessed, and yet I've been so selfish.

I've had a grocery bag under my bed full of clothes and old shoes I've been collecting with the intention to donate since last May. Last May. And for some reason I still haven't donated it. But after today, it's time. I'm bundling it up, and I'm dropping it off.

Someone needs it far more than I do.