I HATE the laundry room in the basement of my building. Although I only wash the floor mats and dog towels, it's still too much time out of my life lost in that dank, stinky rat hole. Every time I'm down there, I start creating all these horror story scenarios in my head about getting slashed, killed, and beheaded by some recently released psychopath. I can see it now-the trifling super will find my head spinning in the industrial size dryer when he finally shows up to lock the room at 9.30p. Yes, I have an active imagination dammit. But if it goes down, don't say I never told you.