The Laundry Diaries Part 3.

What I learned about neurodiversity from two years at the laundromat

The Early Days Were… Dicey

The first few weeks of heading to the laundromat on a busy Saturday morning were rough. But Allen and I developed our own strategies.

He’d gather the laundry and carry it out to the car while I grabbed detergent and mined for quarters in my purse. Then came the hard part.

He’d open the laundromat door, basket in hand, and physically brace himself for the sensory onslaught.

“The different scents make my eyes water.”

Fluorescent lights.
Voices blending.
Vibrations from fifty washers running at once.
Everything came at him at once through his heightened senses.

But every week, Allen pushed through the overload and headed straight for the washers in the third row.

Always the third row.

Photo by Bianca Jordan on Unsplash

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🌀 Slowly, It Became Routine

Over time, he stopped tensing at the door. He adjusted to the scents and even the overhead hum of the lights.

He was doing what I thought would be impossible for him:
He was adjusting.

Just how intense is a busy laundromat on a Saturday? Imagine:

• Voices

• Echoes

• Shifting images

• Spinning washers

• A constant rush of water

And in the middle of all that, Allen was learning new skills.

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🧺 Life Skills in the Spin Cycle

He sorted lights from darks.
He stopped complaining about the feel of different fabrics.
He followed the instructions for how much detergent to use.
He even made change at the coin machine.

“Excuse me,” he’d say politely, squeezing past other laundromat captives.

No, he didn’t have long conversations. But he greeted the store clerk and even asked her name. Those brief social interactions were big wins.

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🍔 The Chi Cafe Connection

It helped that Chi Cafe—Allen’s favorite diner—was across the street.

While the washers spun, we’d slip away for breakfast:

• Creamed chipped beef on toast for me

• A pizza burger (well done, with fries) for him

The waitresses quickly learned our Saturday orders. Without even knowing it, they became part of Allen’s social circle.

Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash

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🧍‍♂️ A Step Toward Independence

After a few weeks, I let Allen go back inside the laundromat alone to gather our wet clothes.

Would he remember we had two washers going?
Would he bring someone else’s laundry by mistake?

He never missed a sock.

Back home—where we still had a working dryer (more on that in another post!)—Allen would dry the clothes and lug them upstairs.

And with unmistakable pride, he’d shout:

“Laundry’s done!”

Photo by Kate Laine on Unsplash

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🛠️ The Surprise Invention

Six months in, I floated the idea of calling a repairman a few times. Allen always had a reason not to.

Then one afternoon, after bringing up a fresh basket of clean clothes, he paused at the door.

“I invented a washer a few weeks ago,” he said.

“You did?”

“Yeah. I used a plastic tote and a little battery-powered fan. If we put water and laundry in, it can clean the clothes. Just like a washer.”

I waited.

Then he shrugged.

“But I didn’t tell you. I sort of like going to the laundromat on Saturday.”

Excuse me while I wipe my eyes.
I’m not crying. It’s the scent of the detergent, you know.

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💬 Let’s Talk

Have you ever had to grow into a noisy or uncomfortable environment—like Allen did—just to get something done? What helped you get through it?

Do you know someone who would benefit from reading a story about an autistic adult? Please share it!