There is a free laundry service in the basement of our media compound.
Wash. Dry. Iron. In theory, they do it all. Sometimes.
This is where Lu Hang works.
Lu is a Beijing student who is supposed to log eight-hour shifts, but by the looks of his weary eyes, I’m fairly certain they stuck the poor kid down here when the Olympics began and forgot about him.
“We do over 30 loads a day,” said Lu, who appears disgusted at the thought, but I’m guessing that has more to do with the fact he has never seen as many grimy T-shirts and shorts provided by such a large assemblage of sportswriters.
Lu works hard. He and the laundry guys just take things a tad too literally. Like when I filled out the laundry form and circled cold water and no dry for certain items.
Upon returning to my room several hours later, my clothes were piled in a bag, one item on top of the next.
All soaking wet, but folded quite nicely.
Lu wants to work with computers when he finishes school. I hope he gets to, assuming whoever assigned him to the basement remembers he is there.