My room Was Bugged Or: The First Time I Did The Laundry

This is a story I wrote for the University of Queensland’s student magazine – “Semper Floreat” – back in January 2006. They used to release a magazine revolving around a theme, and the theme of that issue was “Dirty Laundry”. Most people took that theme and wrote about secrets.

I just wrote about the first time I actually washed my own clothes – my backpacking trip in Australia in 2003.

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It seemed my big backpacking adventure was starting along nicely. After spending twenty six hours in airplanes and airports I landed in Melbourne, and cruised along to my hostel where I had a bed booked. At least that’s what I thought. You see, I had gotten a recommendation saying it was “The most fun hostel ever!”. Being a novice traveler I didn’t know a basic rule of thumb – the more fun a hostel is, the dodgier and dirtier it is.

“Mel’s backpackers” (pseudo-name to avoid lawsuits) was no exception. Cleaning was scarce if at all existent, and there was a resident drug dealer living in room 58. As for my booking, the guy sitting at reception solemnly informed me that it was lost due to “an alcohol incident”, and it took some coercion on my behalf to get a bed for that first night. However, most of the residents were cool and chilled out, and it was too cheap for me to complain. I was having the time of my life.

One morning, I woke up with some bites on my arm. At first, I figured it was probably just mozzies and didn’t think much of it. However, upon close inspection, there were about 20 bites (covering only my right arm), far too swollen to be mosquito bites. I was curious, not to mention itchy.

Being a backpacker, I didn’t have immediate access to any sort of proper medical attention. So in lieu of a GP I asked the closest thing to a medical authority I had around; my Welsh roommate, Ed.

– “What’s wrong with me, Ed?”, I asked, presenting him with my arm.
– “Ew!”
This was not the diagnosis I was hoping for.
“It’s bed bugs, you’ve been bit by bed bugs! I’m getting out of this room, out of this hostel, stay away from me!”.

I should point out that unlike what I thought at that point in time, bed bugs are not just imaginary beings from a children’s rhyme. They are greedy pests, who suck your blood when you’re asleep. They usually reside in mattresses not routinely cleaned, not unlike those on the beds in “Mel’s”. Once you have them it’s a bitch to get rid of them, as they tend to cling to your clothes, backpacks and sleeping bags. Ed’s flight from the scene clearly indicated that the mere association with bed bugs was not for the best. My social status suddenly changed into that of a leper, and I didn’t like it!

I was pretty upset going down to reception, hoping the guy behind the desk would share my sentiments. I mustered all my dramatic abilities (last practiced in high school) and uttered:
– “I was bit last night; by bed bugs!”.

“Oh”, reception guy said, his gaze transfixed on the men’s magazine he was holding. Without shifting his stare from Christina Aguilera’s bare bottom, he moved his free hand from his crotch to an open drawer. After some rummaging, he handed me a plastic bag containing a tube of ointment and some dollar coins. Only then did he reluctantly look away from the object of his attention, faced the gritty bitten backpacker in front of him, and said:

“First, get a good shower and apply this stuff on. Use the coins to pay for your wash. When you’re done, come back to reception and we’ll move you to a different room. Got it? Good. Now tell me, how hot is this girl?”

“Mel’s” was getting dodgier by the second. The automatic fashion this sexually aroused receptionist had briefed me indicated bed bug scenarios were not a novelty. Anyway, getting a shower and moving rooms sounded like clever ideas. But the laundry, oh my God!

This was the first week of my travels, and despite being at the ripe age of twenty-two, I was still a laundry virgin. By this I don’t mean to say that I hadn’t satisfied a weird sexual fetish, just that I had never done the wash myself. But I digress. The prospect of doing the wash made me feel utterly terrified. Back home, the wash has always been as easy as having the clothes disappear from my dirty clothes basket, only to reappear the next day neatly folded in my closet. Yes, I’ve sometimes seen mum pack and unpack big mechanical boxes with clothes. I also knew that washing required fluency in a set of mysterious hieroglyphs conveying the dos and don’ts of washing a particular article of clothing. These symbols regularly appear on a garment’s label in weird combinations between such shapes as circles, triangles and crosses. Oh my, the world of laundry had seemed as mystic as Wiccan black magic.

Some female residents of “Mel’s” noticed my obvious distress and guided me through my traumatic first wash, bless their hearts. Two hours later, folding my then dry garments, I felt proud. Not only had I washed my clothes myself (sort of) for the first time, but in the process I have also beaten the evil bed bugs. Reception moved me to a different room and I was back to being a happy camper.

Of course I was bit again that night.

Now, this was getting annoying. There was a different guy at reception the next morning, and he was reaching for the same drawer for the same lotion and coins kit. I stopped him in mid-motion, and gave him an account of yesterday’s events.

– “Wait. You did your washing here at the hostel? We only have cold wash machines. You should have gone to the laundromat a block away to do a hot wash. Here, take some coins”.

Ah, I should have known. My first wash had failed – the bed bugs were still clinging to my clothes. The cold wash was probably nothing more than a refreshing shower to the bastards! Tragic as it was, I was about to wash my clothes for the second time in 24 hours.

This time I was taking no risks at all. I was intent on washing all of my clothes. That is, all of my clothes but my bathers and coat, which was the outfit I was wearing on my way to the laundromat. Once there, I passed the time waiting for the washing cycle to end by practicing my juggling skills, with my back to the window facing the street. As the place was hot and steamy, I took my coat off at some point. The window started at half the height of my back, and it must have looked like there was a naked juggler in that laundromat. I can swear an older lady stepped in just to make sure that was not the case. After this exhibitionist adventure was over, my clothes had gone through two washes and were the cleanest ever.

I was never bitten by bed bugs after that day, and ended up not paying for my nights at “Mel’s” after threatening to start a picket line outside their front door revealing to the world my bed bug traumas. Dirty laundry doesn’t scare these days, and I don’t need mum to fold my clothes anymore. But I’ll be damned if I know what “circle and cross inside square” means.

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