The Night I Aired My Dirty Laundry In The Heart Of St. Petersburg

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As my friend, A, and I wandered around downtown St. Petersburg with a diet coke and a hoagie in hand, she stopped to open a dirty looking glass door. She tilted her head motioning me to step in.

“What, inside here?” I asked, eyebrows raised and quickly glancing around for a name. Inside the place were no bright lights save for a few dimly lit pink ones. Two women lounged behind a counter on the far left, looking completely uninterested that we were there.

A was clearly enjoying my confusion and annoyance. “Let’s use the washer,” she said, pointing to three massive washing machines lined up along the wall, spaced about two feet apart.

“You’re kidding, right?” I muttered, half-wondering if we’d spilled anything from our drinks or sandwiches while crisscrossing the streets of St. Pete.

“It’s a speakeasy. You’ll see the magic!” she grinned. (FUN FACT: A speakeasy was a secret bar during Prohibition where patrons had to “speak easy” to avoid police. Hidden behind basements, attics, or legitimate businesses, these intimate spots featured dim lighting, jazz, dancing, cocktails in teacups, and clever escape tricks – all fueling the glamour and rebellious spirit of the Roaring 1920’s)

I shrugged, still clueless, but she told me to grab the code from the payphone next to the washer I was standing in front of. I picked it up, and a sultry voice gave me a four-digit number. A had me punch it into the washer’s keypad.

“Access granted.”

It said in green bold neon letters.

I stared at her with a “what now” expression on my face. She smiled and beckoned me to follow. She slid open what looked like a plain wall panel, and we entered a tight velvet-draped room. 

Exposed brick walls, quirky artwork, and an old washing machine repurposed as a bar counter. I almost screamed in delight and A laughed. “Let’s go to the back.” As she walked in her stilettos, I followed their lead. The patio in the back was empty but I could easily imagine it filling up to its brim in a few minutes.

We took some pictures, walked inside and straight to the bar stools. The night was already electric even without that the flamed orange peel cocktail I quickly grabbed with both my hands.

Across the room, there were groups of people sitting and enjoying tapas and drinks. At every table, there was atleast one person throwing their head back to laugh out loud, and I found myself smiling for their happiness. A couple were whipping out live music and slowly every one of us started hitting the dance floor.

After an hour of that magic, we stepped outside. I worried if my bubbling excitement would spill out into the quiet dark streets until we could reach a party at one of the restaurants.

Dirty Laundry is a cafe by day and a lively Havana speakeasy club by night. It’s St. Pete’s best kept bodega secret. Sorry St. Pete, the cat’s out of the bag. But, hey, here’s my plea. Whether you have a date or not, I want you to go there. 

Because, at St. Pete, I had stalked two (real) cats, ate some yummy food, visited a Comedy club, and ran sand through my fingers at the beach. But, nothing came close to the magic of Dirty Laundry that night. I am a rebel in the subtlest of my mannerisms, but a wild thing in my imagination. And that speakeasy’s secret code? It spoke straight to me.