I do my all ironing on the weekend, to minimize the morning work day stress. I rarely iron in my 'real life', and find it frustrating as I often end up steaming in huge creases and doubling the work. It does remind me of this Murakami passage. My room still smells of hot cotton.
"Whenever things get in a muddle, I always iron shirts. A habit of long standing with me.
I divide the shirt-ironing process into twelve steps total: from collar to left sleeve. Absolutely no deviation from that order. One by one, I count off the steps. The ironing doesn't go right if I don't.
So there I am, ironing my third shirt, enjoying the hiss of the steam iron and the distinctive smell of hot cotton, checking for wrinkles before hanging up each shirt in the wardrobe. I switch off the iron and put it away in the closet with the ironing board."
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles
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There is one receptionist here at the hotel that I think is quite good. She is professional, friendly. Even when the power went out last week, she was working by flashlight at the front desk, fielding irritated customers inquiries, with a kind smile for everyone. She reminds me of a character from my favorite Murakami book, and she's Asian.
"There was something about her expression I responded to, some embodiment of hotel spirit."
Dance, Dance, Dance
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