Mystery

Our laundry room has been host to many unspoken dramas. I have been party to some myself, quietly seething to know that the delicate arrangement that efficiently gets my clothes into three washers and two dryers was ruined. Others have undoubtedly had their own run-ins there as well, though I couldn't know about them unless I know people involved, or if I actually notice something. As it happens, I did notice something the other day.

I think maybe I was going for a soda from the machine that lives in the laundry room. I noticed a pile of clothes that must have been removed from the dryer by a frustrated person with whom I could certainly identify. I saw what I thought was one of my socks, and so I thought that it must have found its way into someone else's load by an improbable chain of accidents. I took it upstairs meaning to reunite it with its mate only to find that the sock was not mine. I returned it to the lady's clothes.

I say lady because there were unmentionables suggesting such in the pile. I do wonder about her, as it has been some time since the above incident. It may have been as much as a week at this point, and so I hope that she's all right. Every day that I've seen the clothes remain, my level of interest and curiosity has heighten, and at this point we're talking about a mystery on par with the Lindbergh baby or the gap in Nixon's audio tape.

The only way to end the suspense would be to find her. I think that maybe I would be able to detect her by seeing who in the building is uncharacteristically ill-equipped with clothing and accessories, but I can't be sure that she would suffer so from the loss of just one load. Why should she lose it anyway? If she's still around here and is of sound mind and body, why should she leave the clothes where they are? I fear leaving anything of mine there for five minutes in excess of the time it takes to dry.

Perhaps the answer will never be known, for the clothes disappearing will mean nothing and prove nothing. I think that only I can or will figure the thing out in any event. When I have brought the matter up to friends in the building, they have failed to see the intrigue in the matter. Given what a high proportion of artist are among my friends, it is surprising to find what a lack of curiosity and imagination there is in them. I'd dearly love to know what's up with the clothes and their inattentive lady owner.