Because occasionally something seems like a good idea at the time…
In 2008, my sister, Bri, and I were backpacking around Europe. We were in the town of Maastricht when, like most stinky travellers, we found that our backpacks were nothing more than cesspools of filthy clothing desperately in need of a good detergent-ridden throw-down.
We decided that since we were heading onto Paris Disneyland next, for our three day vacation-from-a-vacation, this would be the perfect place to do laundry. I mean, Disneyland is Disneyland. Everything there is sparkling and pristine, so clean and perfect it’s almost a vision of a dystopian future. Surely, they should have laundry services, right?
As it turns out, our hotel was the only one in the theme park to have its laundry machine out of service.
Thus, we thought we’d do what we’d been doing all this time, and clean our clothes in the sink and tub and let them hang dry.
But we were stupid. We washed everything. All socks, all undies. Everything.
Naturally, the next morning, “everything” was still sopping wet. We briefly panicked. We wrung our little fingers and shook our little heads in disbelief. This lack of dryness was problematic and unprecedented. Damn French humidity.*
Then Bri had an idea.
Since this was the day we had the early morning passes, we would simply take our wet socks and knickers and hold them out to the fresh air whilst riding Space Mountain over and over again. Surely, the rush of air passing by as we repeatedly endured this rollercoaster would render our undergarments dry in no time, right?
Again, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Whether or not this was because we had spent a lot of time in airport bathrooms with the heavy-duty handdryers and thus had too much faith in the power of… air, remains to be seen.
So we boarded the ride–the sole riders at something like seven am–and Bri unpacked the pairs of wet socks we had in a small plastic bag, handed them to me, and tucked the empty plastic bag between the seats. Holding the wet socks out the sides of the car, where they dangled like limp, dead fish, I–somehow–still thought this was a good idea.
Then the ride launched us.
We shot out ahead.
The plastic bag whipped instantly past our heads, blown back into oblivion.
To make a long story short… it didn’t work.
The socks were still wetter than hell.
We laughed ourselves sick at our stupidity.
As the day wore on, things got uncomfortable. If you’re ever curious what it’s like to wander Disneyland going commando, it’s not pleasant. You kind of feel like a pervert.
So, we gave in and decided to buy new socks and gonch. But things are expensive in Disneyland, and we were poor travellers. We had to buy the cheapest socks they had.
And thus, that is why I own a pair of High School Musical socks.
*I have no idea if France is actually more humid than the rest of Europe. I doubt it is, but I was annoyed, so thus, in typical English fashion, I blamed the French.