I remember
A period of roughly one year when my parents were spending every cent on helping a family member with cancer. Everything was budgeted, if it couldn't be fixed, used up or made do, you did without. The washer (our last Unimatic) died, there was a landr-o-mat around the corner. Mom did the numbers, decided it was cheaper to wash there until the next big sales.
This was back when things were still decent and people regarded publicly available services as something you took care of.
I liked all the machinery, plumbing and wiring - the owners let me (with hands in my pockets and a solemn promise to keep them there) go through the service tunnels and rooms. Neat!
My mom liked that an entire week's worth of laundry could be done from beginning to end in one hour.
When we bought the new Frigidaire (a turquoise rollermatic) I missed the landr-o-mat. My mom switched laundry day from Saturday morning to three times a week, my job.
To this day I can remember the smell of the detergents and the signs on the wall explaining in careful detail that it was really cheaper to come to the landr-o-mat than to roll your own.
160° Hot water, machines always working, dryers which dried in 15 minutes not an hour...
The place, today, is still a coin-operated laundry. But even my size, even if I were armed and had two bodyguards, no way I'd be caught there. One, wrong ethnic group. Two, wrong language. Three - the filth on the floor tells you all you need to know about what's in the machines.
Robert Heinlein was right - about the time a culture lets public places get trashed is about the time you know the rest is going to hell in a handbasket.
Anybody remember Daniel Day-Lewis and Gordon Warnecke in "My Beautiful Laundrette?" Very do-able, very.