Is it really such a good idea to get my travel clothes laundered at a food stall?

If only my hotel (the biggest in town) knew of a laundry service! Strangely they knew nothing. So when I asked the lady running a food stall if she knew of a laundry, I was more than pleased by her response: “I can wash your clothes!”.  Just at that moment, it seemed like the perfect answer to my quest for clean travel clothes.

Now, I had chosen this stall relatively carefully.  Not for their potential information about laundry services to be sure.  I was on the prowl for lunch, and this food stall looked clean and friendly.  I had a good feeling about the food.  In this I was not disappointed.

Laundry service was  an unexpected bonus, especially at the asking price of just 15 pesos.  That would be for all my clothes, everything except what I was wearing at the time.  Which wasn’t all that much actually, but not so little either.

I dropped off my entire travelling wardrobe at this temporary food stall, one I could recognize mostly by its location, and partly by the people running it.  I gave them my hotel and room number just in case.  At least they would be able to find me if I couldn’t find them.

I started having slight misgivings when the “stall mother” informed me that this was their Sunday location, that they would be relocating across the zócalo (town square) the following day.  I had just turned over all my clothes to a lady at the Sunday market in Tlaxiaco, with no idea what her address might be, and no clear idea as to the precise location of her stall the following day. 

The following day, the zócalo looked like a completely different place.  Yesterday’s rabbit warren of tables and tarpaulins, bustling people and economic energy, had reverted to a quiet,  nearly empty, and seemingly smaller town square.

The stall had moved, that much I knew in advance.  A small cluster of food stalls had settled themselves in a short, unassuming row along one edge of the zócalo.  I knew the food stall I was looking for had to be one of a handful of stalls, all unique, but not necessarily so very distinguishable to me. 

I recognized none of the food stalls.  I recognized none of the people working at them.  Standing off to the side, I squinted down the row, in search of a clue.  Would I would ever see my travel clothes again?

I caught the eye of a woman working at the stall I was standing next to.  She seemed to recognize me.  Come to think of it, she looked familiar.  She looked like the daughter of the stall mother from yesterday’s food stall.  Or so it seemed.

Was this the right woman?  My nagging doubt amplified itself as I contemplated the apparent change in stall mothers since yesterday.  Perhaps the woman who seemed to recognize me was just being friendly in a promotional “come and eat at my food stall” kind of way. 

Laundry or no laundry, I was hungry.  I sat down and ordered.  Surreptitiously, I checked out the photo of the food stall I had taken on my digital camera the previous day.  Definitely a different stall mother.  Probably the woman who seated me was from yesterday’s food stall.  Probably; nothing like the need for certainty to confuse your recognition of people at crucial moments. 

I paid my bill.  As she accepted my money, the probable-keeper-of-my-clothes mentioned laundry.  YES!

As far as I could tell through a fog of poor Spanish comprehension, my clothes had been delivered to my hotel, and I should pay a newly introduced player: the woman who had actually washed my clothes, or so it seemed. 

Hello, did I understand correctly?  40 pesos?  I was sure it was supposed to be 15 pesos!  15 pesos did seem cheap, even for Mexico, but 40 pesos was definitely expensive.  Even in over-priced Oaxaca, a place used to seeing well-heeled (and not necessarily savvy) tourists,  I was used to paying 30 pesos or so – and at a proper permanent establishment that I could easily find and recognize.

I felt that kind of confusion when I think I am being ripped off, but with everyone so polite and full of smiles, with my Spanish so poor … did I comprehend correctly yesterday?  Do I really know my numbers in Spanish all that well?  Did I understand the price just now?  I was in the mood to politely discuss the price, but lacked the language skills to tackle the job.    I gave this third woman a 50 peso bill and got 10 back. 

Some people don’t worry about such trifling amounts, but to me it is a matter principle.  An agreement is an agreement.  A rip-off is a rip-off.  How did the original price as I understood it, get inflated by more than double?!

My best guess is that the first woman didn’t really want to wash my clothes, and neither did her daughter.  I think they sold my laundry contract to a third party. 

I’ll never know what happened for sure. But I do know that I got my laundry back: clean but wrinkled.  I know that my Spanish needs work.  And I hope I am never again so desperate for laundry service that I agree to getting it done by food stall operators.

–Tlaxiaco, 29 January, 2006