Right now I am engaged in a very serious and distinct kind of psychological warfare. I’m deep within a bunker—alone, without clean clothes, it’s hot and florescent buzz is bringing on a wave of migraines. I’m fighting against the red countdown of machines. When the countdown comes to zero, I have to run for my life, dislodging the contents of two of the machines on a crappy wooden table, throw in my own, not jam my money card or spill bleach in my face and run the hell out of here before anyone has seen what I’ve done.
Some jerk has used all the washing machines at once, at two PM on a Monday, to wash, from what I can tell by the stacks waiting to also go in, his DOG CLOTHES (his dog must be huge) when I’ve finally managed to pick what I’m wearing for Argentina and find, at three hours away, that I need to wash. Like my beach towel that still smells of St. Maarten. The audacity.
There are so many questions raised:
1. Why is this guy home right now? Why?*
2. Why fill all the machines? Why does your dog have multiple dog beds? Why do you have a Great Dane in the city?
3. Why is there no ventilation in the laundry room in our apartment building?
4. Why am I so terrible at packing that I’ve left this for the last minute?
*Note, if he is unemployed, er, “freelance writing” like me, then I understand. If so, jerk—can you give me any tips on how to grow up to be a successful jerk like you?
UPDATE: Mayday! Mayday! I have been caught! Red-and-full-of-someone-else's-underwear handed! And he was a really nice, cute guy who lives upstairs that I've never seen before and came in immediately after his stuff finished washing. It seems the jerk-caller has become the jerk. Big time. It also turns out that he's washing dog beds for a charity to save mistreated puppies. Just kidding. But he apologized for so much laundry. And then proceeded to ask me about my day and wish me a good trip. See, this is why I need a vacation. I'll come back much nicer...right? Right?
Some jerk has used all the washing machines at once, at two PM on a Monday, to wash, from what I can tell by the stacks waiting to also go in, his DOG CLOTHES (his dog must be huge) when I’ve finally managed to pick what I’m wearing for Argentina and find, at three hours away, that I need to wash. Like my beach towel that still smells of St. Maarten. The audacity.
There are so many questions raised:
1. Why is this guy home right now? Why?*
2. Why fill all the machines? Why does your dog have multiple dog beds? Why do you have a Great Dane in the city?
3. Why is there no ventilation in the laundry room in our apartment building?
4. Why am I so terrible at packing that I’ve left this for the last minute?
*Note, if he is unemployed, er, “freelance writing” like me, then I understand. If so, jerk—can you give me any tips on how to grow up to be a successful jerk like you?
UPDATE: Mayday! Mayday! I have been caught! Red-and-full-of-someone-else's-underwear handed! And he was a really nice, cute guy who lives upstairs that I've never seen before and came in immediately after his stuff finished washing. It seems the jerk-caller has become the jerk. Big time. It also turns out that he's washing dog beds for a charity to save mistreated puppies. Just kidding. But he apologized for so much laundry. And then proceeded to ask me about my day and wish me a good trip. See, this is why I need a vacation. I'll come back much nicer...right? Right?
2 comments:
Dear Penthouse Forum:
"I always thought these letters were made up and this would never happen to me. I am a graduate student at a large metropolitan university on the East Coast. Today, as I was frantically doing chores, grading papers and keeping up with my thesis research, I charged into our buildings laundry room and found someone with an armful of my underwear. Flustered, she thrust my things in my general direction, and as her hand touched mine, I swear I felt an electric spark...." [Insert imagined ending here].
--Taupey Guccione, CYOA
You have laundry in your building??
...that's awesome.
I have to lug mine two blocks...and everyone stares. Which is weird. But maybe it's because I'm dragging it on the ground like a troll with his treasure?
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