Scenes from a Laundromat
As some of you may know, ever since octopus_garden and I moved into Beige Acres back in aught-six, we've been without a washer or dryer. This is because until very recently (less than a month ago, in fact) we were hooked up to extremely crappy well water that was either clear, colorless, and full of hydrogen sulfide-- or orange, cloudy, and sulfur-free by turns. Neither one of these conditions was very compatible with clothes-laundering, so I developed a persistent weekly laundromat habit.
We still don't have a washer, and probably won't for at least several more months, so the weekly treks to the 'mat continue. I went yesterday with only my clothes and the bedsheets and towels to wash-- Paul and his clothes were out of town-- and prepared myself for the usual two-hour-long ordeal.
Ordeal, I say, because although you'd think one could go to a laundromat and simply go about one's duties without incident, you'd be wrong. Laundromats are invariably full of weirdos anytime of day or night, and any day of the week. The attendants are often the worst of the lot. I could go on until you're bored to tears (you're not yet, are you?) with stories of laundromat attendants or patrons following me around trying to make conversation-- and I use that term loosely-- to pick me up, to sell me something, to convince me of a particular political or religious viewpoint, etc.
But the freakshow doesn't always involve me directly. Sometimes I can just sit back in my comfy plastic chair-attached-to-table-and-another-chair across the room and watch the buffoonery unfold from afar.
Yesterday's entertainment was a good half-hour episode of vending machine fishing. It started when some random family of cretins came into the establishment and promptly lost a few quarters in the soda machine. Papa Cretin and his goofy son of about 14 were the main participants in this event.
I was alerted to the goings on by a series of loud BANGS coming from the vending area. I looked up from my magazine to see Goofy Cretin Son pounding the coin return button with his puny fist. This prompted Papa Cretin to come over and begin shaking the machine. Er... correct me if I'm wrong here, but don't most vending machines have a warning sticker on them indicating that they weigh about 5000 lbs and are top-heavy and if you shake them they will fall on you, and you will die? OK then, that's what I thought.
So Papa and son are both going at it for a few minutes with the fist-pounding and the shaking. Then the attendant walks over to them. At this point, you would think she's going to tell them to knock it the hell off before, you know, the ginormous top-heavy machine falls on them both and crushes them to death and Cretin Mom puts The Law Offices of Sam Bernstein on speed dial. But, no. Actually she gets into the game right along with them. She sidles up to the machine and starts walloping it with her hip, trying to hit it at exactly the right angle, I guess, to make the stuck bottle of soda fall.
She does this for probably ten minutes-- trying with one hip and then the other. In between her hip-thrusts, Papa Cretin jumps in and gives it another death-defying shake.
Around this time I was thinking to myself, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! We're talking about $1.25 here! Just write down your name and address and have the vending people refund your money via mail. Or pick it up next time you come in. It's really not worth all the fist-pounding and shaking and hip-thrusting. Not to mention the very real risk of being squashed like a grape. It's a dollar twenty-five, people, get a grip on yourselves.
Then, all of a sudden just as I'm thinking this, they all stop what they are doing and walk away from the machine.
I believed for a few seconds that perhaps I had psychic powers-- or that a little ray of common sense had finally shone down from above and illuminated their numb skulls. But, alas, I was wrong. Papa Cretin ran out to his car and returned with a large screwdriver. The attendant came back with a coat-hanger wire. Papa used the screwdriver to pry the top of the front door away from the machine, and the attendant stuck the hanger-wire in. Time to go fishin'!
This continued on with the two of them for several more minutes, and Goofy Cretin Son was right up there shouting suggestions and cheering them on. A couple of times the tip of the coat hanger wire came flinging out of the door unexpectedly. Miraculously it didn't end up in anyone's eye. I mean, just from a liability standpoint, if you're the attendant and you've made the decision to do something stupid like this, wouldn't you at least advise the customers--particularly the children-- to stay a safe distance away?
Eventually, I am thrilled to report, the trapped soda was dislodged. Hallelujah, now the Earth could continue on in its orbital path unimpeded (can you feel how hard my eyes are rolling?) I have half a mind to report that ding-dong attendant to the owners. Do they really want customers being smashed flat and/or having their eyes poked out for the sake of a few lost coins? Do they want an attendant who will encourage this type of stupidity instead of stopping it?
This is the same woman who, on two separate occasions, (A) ran past me as I was watching my clothes spin in the dryer, flung the door to my dryer open, and stuck her hand in. When I asked her what the hell she was doing she said, "Oh, I thought your clothes were catching on fire!" (I don't need to add here that there was no smoke, no flames, absolutely no evidence of fire whatsoever, do I? :)) and (B) just about fell on the floor laughing because I had taken six dryer sheets that had already been through one cycle and put them in with a rug I was drying instead of using a new dryer sheet, "It's...hahaha...just SO funny...ha...seeing them all tumbling AROUND in there...hahahaha! That's the funniest thing I've ever SEEN!"
Ummm, OK. You must not get out much.
But, hey... I know if she were gone, they'd just employ another equally bizarre person, and better the devil you know, eh...?
We still don't have a washer, and probably won't for at least several more months, so the weekly treks to the 'mat continue. I went yesterday with only my clothes and the bedsheets and towels to wash-- Paul and his clothes were out of town-- and prepared myself for the usual two-hour-long ordeal.
Ordeal, I say, because although you'd think one could go to a laundromat and simply go about one's duties without incident, you'd be wrong. Laundromats are invariably full of weirdos anytime of day or night, and any day of the week. The attendants are often the worst of the lot. I could go on until you're bored to tears (you're not yet, are you?) with stories of laundromat attendants or patrons following me around trying to make conversation-- and I use that term loosely-- to pick me up, to sell me something, to convince me of a particular political or religious viewpoint, etc.
But the freakshow doesn't always involve me directly. Sometimes I can just sit back in my comfy plastic chair-attached-to-table-and-another-chair across the room and watch the buffoonery unfold from afar.
Yesterday's entertainment was a good half-hour episode of vending machine fishing. It started when some random family of cretins came into the establishment and promptly lost a few quarters in the soda machine. Papa Cretin and his goofy son of about 14 were the main participants in this event.
I was alerted to the goings on by a series of loud BANGS coming from the vending area. I looked up from my magazine to see Goofy Cretin Son pounding the coin return button with his puny fist. This prompted Papa Cretin to come over and begin shaking the machine. Er... correct me if I'm wrong here, but don't most vending machines have a warning sticker on them indicating that they weigh about 5000 lbs and are top-heavy and if you shake them they will fall on you, and you will die? OK then, that's what I thought.
So Papa and son are both going at it for a few minutes with the fist-pounding and the shaking. Then the attendant walks over to them. At this point, you would think she's going to tell them to knock it the hell off before, you know, the ginormous top-heavy machine falls on them both and crushes them to death and Cretin Mom puts The Law Offices of Sam Bernstein on speed dial. But, no. Actually she gets into the game right along with them. She sidles up to the machine and starts walloping it with her hip, trying to hit it at exactly the right angle, I guess, to make the stuck bottle of soda fall.
She does this for probably ten minutes-- trying with one hip and then the other. In between her hip-thrusts, Papa Cretin jumps in and gives it another death-defying shake.
Around this time I was thinking to myself, Jesus Christ on a pogo stick! We're talking about $1.25 here! Just write down your name and address and have the vending people refund your money via mail. Or pick it up next time you come in. It's really not worth all the fist-pounding and shaking and hip-thrusting. Not to mention the very real risk of being squashed like a grape. It's a dollar twenty-five, people, get a grip on yourselves.
Then, all of a sudden just as I'm thinking this, they all stop what they are doing and walk away from the machine.
I believed for a few seconds that perhaps I had psychic powers-- or that a little ray of common sense had finally shone down from above and illuminated their numb skulls. But, alas, I was wrong. Papa Cretin ran out to his car and returned with a large screwdriver. The attendant came back with a coat-hanger wire. Papa used the screwdriver to pry the top of the front door away from the machine, and the attendant stuck the hanger-wire in. Time to go fishin'!
This continued on with the two of them for several more minutes, and Goofy Cretin Son was right up there shouting suggestions and cheering them on. A couple of times the tip of the coat hanger wire came flinging out of the door unexpectedly. Miraculously it didn't end up in anyone's eye. I mean, just from a liability standpoint, if you're the attendant and you've made the decision to do something stupid like this, wouldn't you at least advise the customers--particularly the children-- to stay a safe distance away?
Eventually, I am thrilled to report, the trapped soda was dislodged. Hallelujah, now the Earth could continue on in its orbital path unimpeded (can you feel how hard my eyes are rolling?) I have half a mind to report that ding-dong attendant to the owners. Do they really want customers being smashed flat and/or having their eyes poked out for the sake of a few lost coins? Do they want an attendant who will encourage this type of stupidity instead of stopping it?
This is the same woman who, on two separate occasions, (A) ran past me as I was watching my clothes spin in the dryer, flung the door to my dryer open, and stuck her hand in. When I asked her what the hell she was doing she said, "Oh, I thought your clothes were catching on fire!" (I don't need to add here that there was no smoke, no flames, absolutely no evidence of fire whatsoever, do I? :)) and (B) just about fell on the floor laughing because I had taken six dryer sheets that had already been through one cycle and put them in with a rug I was drying instead of using a new dryer sheet, "It's...hahaha...just SO funny...ha...seeing them all tumbling AROUND in there...hahahaha! That's the funniest thing I've ever SEEN!"
Ummm, OK. You must not get out much.
But, hey... I know if she were gone, they'd just employ another equally bizarre person, and better the devil you know, eh...?