Surprise in Spin Cycle

It was a calm Tuesday evening—well, as calm as it ever gets in a building with 130 apartments, three crying babies, two barking dogs, and one guy who practices jazz trumpet like he’s being paid in complaints.

At around 8:30 p.m., I got a call from a tenant—let’s call her Mildred, who I assume clutched her pearls while whispering:

“Hi… um, I was just about to start a load of towels, and I heard something in the

laundry room. It sounded like someone… shaking the machines? Maybe breaking into them?”

Given our building’s colorful history of sock-stealers and one guy who used the dryer as a wine rack (don't ask), I grabbed my keys and headed down, expecting to find a washer warrior mid-battle.

The laundry room light was on, as it always is—because, for reasons beyond human understanding, the switch is wired to “forever.” At this hour, the laundry room is usually quieter than a yoga studio during savasana.

I gently opened the door… and was hit with the unmistakable silence of people trying to be quiet while doing something very much not allowed.

There, partially tucked behind the industrial dryers, was a couple—not spring chickens, but sprightly nonetheless. They were tangled in what I can only describe as an enthusiastic embrace. Clothes: somewhat optional. Timing: poorly chosen. Location: public.

I stood there, blinking, while the scene froze like a badly timed security camera screenshot.

The woman—let’s call her Patricia, because she’s earned it—looked at me dead in the eye and said:

“Welp. This is not how I imagined running into management today.”

Her partner, clearly caught mid-“spark rekindling,” scrambled for a sock like it was a modesty blanket. There was a weird moment where we all nodded politely, as if this was some kind of accidental three-person dinner reservation.

Now, mind you—this wasn’t a couple of rebellious teenagers. These were responsible, well-liked residents in their mid-50s, known for potluck chili and holiday cookie trays. They once left a Post-it on the elevator saying “We cleaned up the dog pee—no worries!”

I slowly backed out, closed the door, and reentered a reality where fabric softener was the wildest thing happening in the laundry room.

Later, I texted Mildred, trying to soften the truth:

“All good—no vandalism. Just some, um… spontaneous affection.”

She replied:

“OH. So that was moaning, not metal clanking. Got it. I’ll… do laundry tomorrow.”

😳 Lesson Learned:

If you're planning to get frisky, maybe avoid the laundry room with:

• A permanently-on light,

• No lock,

• And a high chance of being interrupted by someone trying to fluff dry their bath mat.

Even more importantly—if you're going to add excitement to your evening, maybe wait until after detergent hour.

💬 Join the Spin Cycle!

Ever stumbled into a moment you really weren’t supposed to see? Or found yourself in an awkward one? We’d love to hear your (anonymous!) stories for a future Tenant Tale.

📩 Email us at: info@lilydailydwelling.com