Launderette of Death

There is a very distinct smell that goes with an infestation of mice. It is instantly recognisable by those who work in the pest control business, a few residential owner occupiers who have had the misfortune of being plaqued by the small rodents on a fairly regular basis and by me following my stumbling across the horrific sight of a mass and tragic slaughterhouse of mice in a former stripped out launderette.

The building was in the centre of town.

At one time it was part of a large local group of, initially, attended service coin operated launderettes and then reverting to just casually supervised and operating on the goodwill, diligence and good behaviour of its customers.

There was a brief resurgence of popularity in pay to wash in the 1980's following Nick Kamen's bad planning of having to take off his soiled clothes in front of an impressionable crowd of women washers when he should have thought it through, gone back home and asked his mum to do his laundry whilst sourcing a fresh pair of clean denims and a pristine white T shirt. Since that fiasco most men have felt wholly inadequate or under pressure to perform similarly just contemplating going to the coin-op.

A combination of declining patronage as a natural consequence of an affluent popuation with their own home based Zanussi's ,the perception of social stigma of doing your dirty washing in public , the fact that the town did not have a large student, batchelor or transient population and the rapidly increasing value of a property in any other use in the central location made it quite an easy decision for the owners to cease trading.

The layout, atmosphere and opening hours of the building had obviously created a perfect environment for mice. There was infrequent intrusion by the public towards the decline of the launderette business so the mice had the run of the place for much of the time, even in daylight hours. The huge commercial washers and dryers were mounted on concrete plinths, firmly bolted down and embedded by their own bulky weight. There were however a lot of void areas under and behind the machines providing a veritable New York style grid pattern of highways, by-ways, short-cuts, nooks and crannies. The mice could promenade and saunter about their business in a very complacent manner, or as much as a small furry rodent can be so inclined.

Net receipts for the owners did not really justify a thorough and sanitary cleaning regime and so the accumulation of mainly fine wafty lint was persistent and unchecked. In the style of the best and most cosy pet bedding the lint became all encompassing along the streets, avnues and boulevards of mouse city. There was no reason or compulsion for the mice to leave the ultra safe and ideally suited surroundings. There were frequent supplies of foodstuffs from customers who, prepared for a long session amongst the wash cycle, had stocked up with  fine pastries both savoury and sweet , freshly made sandwiches, crisps and chocolate bars from the Skeltons Bakery just a few doors down the street. Paperback romantic novel in one hand and so casual congestion of snacks with the other generated a more than adequate cascade of crumbs and half masticated morsels to be held up in the lint until ready for collection and storage by the dominant residents.

I got to the building a few days after the bank of machines had been roughly removed. The contractors, specialised in dismantling and removal of heavy equipment, had quickly realised the extent of the infestation. Their co-efficient for lint, droppings and related debris was off the scale. The amount of poison distributed to counter the problem was ramped up on a disproportionate basis but the men were pleased with their actions as they pulled the door shut and left the mice to their fate.

The sight of dead and still twitching rodents and that distinctive smell will be with me forever. I had, because of the carnage, to tiptoe through the bodies, being very careful that my trailing leg, lugging along my survey ladders did not catch and drag anything prone.

The floor was also littered with blue infused grains which had at first, to the mice, appeared to be a generous donation by a cack handed customer with a bag of novelty popping corn. They had feasted to the full before the first of their number, the smaller and weaker, had grimaced with a tight, tiny stomach and keeled over.

I could, with horror, imagine the scene. The pattern of bodies clearly showed an attempted flight to the rear of the building and up the stairs to the empty upper floors. In the heyday of the coin-op there had been a manager living above the shop but the accommdation had been vacant for a couple of decades. A few contorted and agonised carcasses formed an arrowhead on the stair-risers.They had hoped to be the trailblazers for a mass escape from the killing field. There were further balls of matted and saliva speckled fur on the landing and through the former living quarters. In some cases they were not recognisable as former living creatures, deflated and soul-less.

One mouse, a bit larger and evidently stronger than the others was still moving slowly and blindly across the kitchen linoleum. He must have been the leader of the whole group and had tried to save his fellows before himself.

In retrospect I should have put him out of his misery but I was already in a state of traumatic stress and decided to just leave the premises and come back at a more respectful time than the last days and final death throe seconds of the mouse empire.