She’s wearing a bizarre combo of nail polish-stained sweatpants and a T-shirt she’s had since middle school. The bag of laundry she drags is larger than her, and while shoving dirty clothes into the tiny machine, something lacy and complicated hits the floor. You exchange a look. Could this be a connection?

Remember: No one wants to be here. Everything smells like detergent and sweat. The people hanging out, looking carefree aren’t wearing shoes—because they don’t own any. Getting the idea yet? There’s no passion here. Recognize that, whether or not she takes the time to verbally scold you for staring too long at her undies.