Tales of dry-cleaning woe are so common in New York, it’s a wonder the $65 million lawsuit against a Washington, D.C., mom-and-pop operation didn’t happen here. But the president and CEO of the laundry service Slate NYC, Miguel Zabludovsky, is trying to reduce the perils of laundry.

Less fancy than Madame Paulette, but more upscale than your corner dry cleaner, Slate NYC is a fixed-price service that offers dry cleaning, standard laundering and special efforts to rehabilitate worn clothing. The new plant, which opened recently on Morton Street in the West Village, is equipped with a Critical Command Center that looks like a desk at NASA. From here, Slate NYC can track the location of every piece of laundry in its 4,000 square feet of pristine space, as well as the pair of bio-diesel vans that will ferry cleaned and pressed clothing all over Manhattan by October. Additional computers to monitor traffic and weather conditions that could interfere with prompt pickup and delivery will be added by the end of the month.

By introducing this level of service, Mr. Zabludovsky’s business has come a long way. “I started picking up the clothes on my bike,” Mr. Zabludovsky said.

He and his father upgraded to a single delivery van after launching Slate NYC in May 2005. The van runs on both diesel and bio-diesel fuel, which for the moment is only available in Brooklyn. In its laundry procedures, Slate NYC is ecofriendly, using biodegradable detergent and hydrocarbon technology, kinder both to the environment and to fabric than the percholorethylene used by traditional dry cleaners. Wire hangers will be abolished when Mr. Zabludovsky discovers an appealing substitute.

There are no tedious decisions for customers about what needs to be dry-cleaned or conventionally laundered. Slate NYC makes those decisions. “Many times when the item has a tag we do something different,” Mr. Zabludovsky said.

Standardized employee manuals are in development for Mr. Zabludovsky’s eight employees, but for the moment the resident expert at Slate NYC is Mel, a “spot man” who knows grease when he sees it.

Slate expects to sign its first deal with a fashion house partner by the end of September, and talks are underway for additional locations in Tokyo and London. The search has begun for a cheerful tailor, preferably Italian, whose services will be included in the monthly fee. Mr. Zabludovsky is looking for a personality as engaging as the blue Vespa he plans to buy for the tailor to zip back and forth to mark alterations. Scheduling will take place by phone, and finished pieces will be included with the weekly drop-off.

My experience with Slate NYC was a success, although the motto “Permission to Get Dirty” was off-putting. When I called the 800 number, I was confused by the recorded menu options to “get permission” versus “got permission.” When I finally did make contact, Mr. Zabludovsky’s voice was overlaid by what sounded like a shrill fax tone. But he called back within two hours and said customers can expect a similarly prompt response.

A drop-off promised at 6:00 arrived at 6:01. My husband’s shirts were crisply ironed and our special instructions for no starch honored. A forgotten piece of paper had been removed from a pocket and no ghostly pressed-in outline remained. A pair of collar stays left in place was also removed, though not returned. My blouses looked fresh and clean.

I had sent over a problem shirt to test his clothing rejuvenation services. The white shirt, which I had left under a dry cleaner’s plastic for too long came back revived and noticeably softer.

Is it worth $300 a month to preserve those Chanel jackets your grandmother left you or to ensure that you never have to sort another pair of socks again? You do the math.