Yes

Amy dashed down the hallway, down the stairs, past the door to Jason's apartment, down the next hallway, through the next door, and down the stairs to the basement. She was moving very quickly. As she arrived at the bottom, she noticed the washers were still running!

"Oh gosh, I can't even get my clothes out yet!" The one on the left had whites in it, which for her was mostly t-shirts and socks. The one in the middle was colors, which was all her underpants, bras, and a lot of other shirts. And the one on the right was bulkier things like pants and sweatshirts. It looked like they each had only a couple minutes to go, so she figured she'd just have to wait.

She waited (very impatiently), and eventually the machine on the left clicked off. The other two still said "1 minute remaining" and showed a LOCKED icon. She opened the one on the left, and rummaging through it, found a white t-shirt. She kept looking, hoping to see some shorts, some panties, anything else -- but no, just white t-shirts and socks. She pulled out a t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

It was sopping wet. Still dripping, in fact. The rinse cycle, if there had been one, was so completely ineffective that the shirt may as well have just been pulled out of a swimming pool. "Oh, no!" she cried. She looked down at herself. She was now covered, but the wet white shirt clung so tightly to her body and was essentially see-through due to the water. Her breasts were prominent and her nipples visible. Plus, the shirt was short -- she mostly wore crop-top shirts to the gym anyway. This one (and all of them) only went down to just below her breasts. "Oh no!" she said again. "I would normally wear a sports bra with this ... and pants!" As it was, the drenched t-shirt was her only option.

She stared at the other machines, but they still said "1 minute remaining" and the LOCKED icon didn't change. "What do I do, what do I do?" She realized she couldn't just wear the crop-top anyway, she needed something else on her bottom half. "Um, my choices are another t-shirt or some socks. Neither makes sense." After a short personal debate, she picked another t-shirt. It was equally sopping wet, but she pulled it up over her hips. Like the one on top, it was almost entirely translucent. On the backside, the shape of her ass was clearly outlined, and in the front, the material clung to her patch of curly, dark pubic hair.

"I don't know if this is better or worse!" she cried out. Sighing and half giving up on surviving this nonsense, she headed back to the stairs to return to her apartment.