scenes from the apartment
Sometime between doing my drying and hustling off somewhere, I forgot to refill the laundry card. Now, filling the laundry card is one of the myriad of little things that I do, so I totally screwed up. But the thing is, so long as they have a credit card or a bank card, anybody can do this little task! There's even a machine on the first floor of the building that will let you do it. Not only that, but there's a set of instructions posted on the wall that walks you through the procedure. But if you've ever used an ATM or bought something using interac, you don't need instructions.
So when dad started to do his laundry, only to discover that there wasn't going to be enough to do his drying, what do you think he did? Did he grace the refill machine with his presence and gleaming gold card? No. Did he phone me so I could coach him through the intricacies of something he should totally be able to do? Not quite. He merely collected his damp clothes and took them back to the apartment, where he waited for me to come home from the movies.
Upon my return, he asked me to fill the card for him, complaining that now he'd have to stay up later to collect his drying. When I offered to do that for him, he declined. He did, however, accept my peace offering of a Coffee Crisp.
Now I know that I'm not just a daughter, but I'm also dad's personal assistant. I run errands, do miscellaneous cleaning, and act as a courier service whenever my dad forgets his Blackberry or his wallet. I get stuff done--or at least try to. While my mom was able to do more--and did it for most of her married life--she never had a job during that time. Sometimes, I wonder if I got a better job and could pay for more expenses, would I get more respect? But if I got a better job with more hours, this apartment would fall apart. In any case, it's a balancing act. And I'm not terribly coordinated.
So when dad started to do his laundry, only to discover that there wasn't going to be enough to do his drying, what do you think he did? Did he grace the refill machine with his presence and gleaming gold card? No. Did he phone me so I could coach him through the intricacies of something he should totally be able to do? Not quite. He merely collected his damp clothes and took them back to the apartment, where he waited for me to come home from the movies.
Upon my return, he asked me to fill the card for him, complaining that now he'd have to stay up later to collect his drying. When I offered to do that for him, he declined. He did, however, accept my peace offering of a Coffee Crisp.
Now I know that I'm not just a daughter, but I'm also dad's personal assistant. I run errands, do miscellaneous cleaning, and act as a courier service whenever my dad forgets his Blackberry or his wallet. I get stuff done--or at least try to. While my mom was able to do more--and did it for most of her married life--she never had a job during that time. Sometimes, I wonder if I got a better job and could pay for more expenses, would I get more respect? But if I got a better job with more hours, this apartment would fall apart. In any case, it's a balancing act. And I'm not terribly coordinated.