Ed, The Alphabet Genius

One of the cleanest places any of you could ever hope to visit is my local laundromat immediately after I've been there to wash my clothes. To be a bit more specific, you want the exact square footage that I try to stake a claim to every time I visit. I arrive early in pursuit of this rarefied territory, typically before sunrise, sometimes running a reconnaissance lap around the block to make sure my coveted machines are available. I like the big full-load washer in the back - the one on the right side, which still works - which sits directly across from the two large dryers, and again it's the one on the right side that works.

If the owner of the laundromat wanted a minute of internet fame, he would cobble together time-lapsed surveillance footage of me - throwing away garbage left on machines and the floor, sweeping up messes, depositing forgotten socks, undies and brassieres to an Island of Misplaced Apparel, wiping down and drying my large folding table of choice - and post it on YouTube. The manic germophobia behind my public laundering is completely true.