If you’ve never spent a Sunday afternoon in a packed laundromat, I envy you.
It’s a special kind of chaos—people waiting for machines like they’re seats at a concert, dryers humming in unison, and the faint, constant whine of someone’s kid asking when they can leave.
I’d planned to get in and out quickly, but all the dryers were full when I got there, which meant waiting.
A lot of waiting.
That’s just how it goes, though, right?
You wait your turn like a civilized person, because the unwritten rule of laundromats is simple: you don’t touch someone else’s laundry, and everyone gets their turn at the machines.
Unfortunately, not everyone got the memo.
The Self-Appointed King of the Laundromat
There I was, sitting on one of those cold metal benches with my basket of wet clothes balanced on my lap, waiting patiently.
I had my eye on a dryer in the corner that was about to finish. A perfect spot—just a few minutes left on the timer.
I shifted in my seat, ready to pounce the moment the cycle ended.
And that’s when he appeared.
He didn’t come in with a big entrance—no, this guy wasn’t that obvious.
He was one of those entitled types whose selfishness sneaks up on you.
He was in his thirties, dressed casually in joggers and a hoodie, scrolling on his phone like the world existed solely for his convenience.
Trevor, I later heard someone call him. And Trevor, it turned out, had zero respect for laundry etiquette.
Just as the dryer beeped and the door unlocked, Trevor swooped in.
He grabbed my wet clothes out of my basket, dumped them onto a folding table without even looking at me, and tossed his own hoodie and a single sock into the dryer.
I blinked, stunned. Did that really just happen?
“Hey,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I was waiting for that dryer.”
He didn’t even bother looking up from his phone. “Yeah, I still need it,” he muttered, like that was explanation enough.
He slammed the dryer door shut, set the timer to 99 minutes, and walked off—completely unfazed by the fact that he’d just hijacked the machine.
I stared after him, too shocked to say anything.
Who does that? I mean, sure, I’ve had to deal with some rude people before, but this guy took it to a whole new level.
And it wasn’t just me. He’d claimed two other dryers, too—one filled with what looked like a couple of towels, and the other spinning with, I swear to God, a single sock.
It was beyond ridiculous. But the worst part?
He just set all three dryers to run for the maximum time—a full 99 minutes—and waltzed out of the laundromat without another word.
I sat there, clenching and unclenching my fists, debating whether it was worth making a scene.
But what would that do?
If I yelled, it would just make me look crazy.
No, I had a better idea. Something subtle. Something perfect.
A Better Plan
I watched the clock, waiting until Trevor’s first dryer finished.
He was nowhere to be found—probably off getting a smoothie or whatever people like him do when they ruin other people’s day.
I took a deep breath and stood up, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely.
It wasn’t technically against the rules to touch other people’s laundry—only a serious faux pas.
I opened the dryer door and pulled out his hoodie. It was barely warm—definitely not dry. Perfect.
With a grin, I grabbed one of my damp towels from my basket and tossed it into the dryer with his stuff. Then I restarted it for another 99 minutes.
Petty? Absolutely. But also necessary.
Next, I turned my attention to the other two dryers Trevor was hogging.
One had a pair of towels that had been spinning for God knows how long. I reset the dryer to “air fluff”—no heat—and watched it start tumbling uselessly.
The third dryer, the one with his single sock, still had about 20 minutes left.
I opened it, pulled out his sock, and tossed in one of my wet socks, just to keep it company. Then I cranked it up to another full cycle.
By the time I was done, I was smiling ear to ear. No yelling. No confrontation.
Just a quiet, perfect dose of karma, neatly delivered and spinning away in a row of hot, humming dryers.
I sat back down on the bench, feeling weirdly proud of myself.
I wasn’t usually one for petty revenge, but sometimes, you just have to even the score.
Now, it was just a matter of waiting.
I had a front-row seat for the show, and I wasn’t going to miss it.
Trevor’s Meltdown
About twenty minutes later, the door to the laundromat swung open, and in walked Trevor, looking every bit as oblivious as when he’d first arrived.
Still glued to his phone, still acting like he was the only person in the room.
I watched from my seat, doing my best not to look too eager.
Showtime.
He strolled up to the first dryer—the one with his hoodie and sock—and yanked it open.
His face twisted in confusion as he grabbed the hoodie. It was still damp, clinging to his hand like a wet rag.
He pulled it out and found my towel tumbling inside, soaked through.
I could see the exact moment the gears in his brain started to turn, trying to make sense of what just happened.
He pulled the towel out and gave it a shake, looking around the room with a puzzled frown. He had no idea who to blame, and it was glorious.
Trevor muttered something under his breath and restarted the dryer, not realizing he was about to wait another 99 minutes for the exact same result.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself, biting my lip to keep from laughing.
Step one: complete.
Karma in Spin Cycle
Trevor moved on to his second dryer, the one where his towels had been fluffing in cold air for nearly an hour.
He yanked open the door, expecting warm, cozy towels—and instead found cold, damp fabric flopping lifelessly.
He stared at them for a second, blinking in disbelief.
Then he reached inside and pulled out a towel, feeling it in his hands, as if touching it again would somehow change the outcome.
“What the hell?” he muttered, baffled.
I had to look away to hide my grin, my shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Trevor slammed the door shut and pressed a few buttons—still in denial, still trying to salvage what was left of his laundry day.
He reset the dryer, but I knew the truth: all he’d get was more air fluff.
And the cherry on top?
His precious single sock was still spinning away with one of my damp socks, enjoying a cozy spin cycle it hadn’t asked for.
I could hear quiet snickers from some of the other customers who’d been watching from the sidelines.
One guy near me whispered, “That’s what he gets,” and I had to bite my lip even harder to keep from laughing out loud.
Trevor, meanwhile, was spiraling.
I watched him pull his phone out and start texting furiously—probably complaining to someone about the injustice of cold towels and the conspiracy of the universe.
He slammed the dryer door shut one more time and stormed toward the exit, muttering curses under his breath.
A Quiet Victory
The door banged shut behind Trevor, leaving the laundromat humming peacefully once more.
As soon as he was gone, the whole room burst into quiet laughter.
A couple of people exchanged knowing looks, and one woman gave me a little nod, like we were members of some unspoken club of laundry vigilantes.
I let myself enjoy the moment. It wasn’t often you got to see karma work that quickly—and it felt even better knowing I hadn’t raised my voice or caused a scene.
Trevor had brought it all on himself, and the best part?
He had no idea who was responsible.
I sat back down and folded my clothes slowly, savoring the quiet, satisfying feeling of balance restored.
All it took was a damp towel, a little creativity, and a dryer on maximum spin.