Of course the laundromat was closed when I got there last night at 5:30, despite their earlier promise to stay open until 6 PM. But they were open this morning at 11, as promised. Half open, as it turned out. The front shutters were halfway up, so I had to squeeze through the door to get in. There were two guys working with power tools in the back, and if I were a less honest person, I could have just grabbed my stuff and left. Instead, I paid them, and I didn't even complain about the fact that they held onto my laundry without any indication that I'd ever be able to pick it up. I unpacked it when I got home, and everything was there, with the added bonus that nothing smelled like smoke.
So all's well that ends well, and so on. I realize now that I was exaggerating the effect of this "hostage crisis" on my life, but I did really want my clothes back. I could afford to replace the things in that bag, but it was a matter of principle. I shouldn't have to replace it unless the original clothes were destroyed in the fire. I do still need to go shopping for more clothes, but now I can afford to wait a few more days and go when it's convenient to my schedule, instead of changing my plans so I can buy some emergency khakis.