Well, it was time to make my first laundry. I borrowed some products from Juan and went down with Émilie to spoil our clothes together.
FBI has nothing to do against Ostkupan, a place so secure the washing machines are only usable if the person who booked them entered the room with his own magnetic key. It took us fifteen minutes to realize that.
As the washing program takes thirty minutes, I got back up to clean the dust in my room. It was making me cough all the time (that sounds dirtier than it was, although it was pretty bad, but not so much as you think). Then I got back down to put everything in the drier.
Which is a bad idea. You see, new towels have to be washed separately. Everyone knows that. But few people know they have to be DRIED separately too. My purple-ball infested white shirts know that now (it didn’t help that the fucking towels spread more balls on the second laundry too. I haven’t been able to use my white t-shirts for two weeks).
After an initial scare that my underwear was shrinked, which didn’t fade until I tried them on the next day, I spent a bit of time surfing the internet. Then we were meeting at the pizzeria in Olof to see the spanish football match between Real Madrid and Deportivo.
I wanted to support Madrid just to screw with Juan, but there were too many madridists there so my town-pride kicked in and started cheering for Deportivo. I wasn’t really paying attention to the game (I was facing back, in fact). Just turning around when people screamed to see what happened.
For record’ sake, we lost.
Then we moved to Café Olof, which was awfully crowded (we couldn’t even get in), so some of us went to peek at Ramón’s room, as many of us hadn’t seen the inside of an Olof building yet. Realizing we were an all-spanish group, we played some funny monologues and other comic videos from Youtube until we were tired and went to bed at Ostkupan.