At the laundromat today, sitting and reading the New Yorker while waiting for my stuff to wash/dry and wondering if the zuchini bread in my oven was burning... I witnessed the following:
1. A 40-ish dude walks up to me, says, Excuse me, sir? I look up. He continues, Looks like you've got it all figured out. I give him a bewildered look. He explains, Sitting there, washing your clothes, reading. I used to be able to do that. Then he walks away.
2. A 50-ish woman walks in, explains that she's just moved into the neighborhood, and is wondering how good the laundromat is. I show her all the equipment I've used. Is it safe? she asks. I certainly think so, I reply.
3. A 60-ish guy walks in with a grocery bag of laundry. His odor is far too colorful for words. After helping him pick up some dropped change (his girth and age are such that he has trouble bending over)... I go sit on the extreme other side of the laundromat. He puts his laundry in, then takes off his flannel shirt and drops that in as well. Thank god, I think. I'm sure that could use a wash. Then he proceeds to take off his shoes, pants, and t-shirt, working them all into the foaming washer. You know how you hustle? he, standing barefoot in his boxers, informs another woman. You hustle with your mouth.
*My laundromat doesn't actually have bullet-holed avocado & camel washers. I stole the picture above from someone's flickr account (ha, I thwart your anti-piracy attempts, flickr! My view-page-source abilities rule!). Despite the lack of piracy training in my primary and secondary education (see previous post), I'm a fair hand at playing the rogue. But in case you're curious, the photo came from here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/pictobox/
2 comments:
no shiny new camera for saturnalis?
I got it, and it's exceedingly bad-ass (though I still have to read the manual)... but I just didn't have it at the laundromat today. Otherwise, you better believe you'd be seeing half-naked old smelly dude instead.
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