[cm] reason
Entry is based on the pages of Sal's memoirs entitled 'Drive the Dream'
Life on the road was always full of little stresses. What to eat was a huge problem that almost always resulted in me making a bowl of baked beans and elbow macaroni. There was also the feat of cramming yourself into the little closet we called a bathroom. This proved interesting in the day when one was three sheets to the wind. You try taking a piss while still trying to maintain some semblence of balance while the bus rocks and sways. Nevermind that, try sitting on the damn toilet when the beans don't play well with the booze and NOT bump your knees into the wall.
Then there was the absence of a washing machine. Four guys and all their dirty shit can pile up in one night after a show, so, you can only imagine what the basket fucking looks like in a week. None of us knows jack shit about the science of it all, but when you need a clean pair of jeans and socks, you decide to wing it.
Hi, I'm Sal. Laundry bitch boy extraordinaire.
It was in Houston that I checked out the hotel we decided to stay in for a laundry room. I was up and down the hallways looking for over a half hour, lugging this damn basket full of all sorts of rank, nasty rocker clothes when I finally found one. No sooner than I started cramming the clothes in, Ryder found me and this is how it all went down.
'The fuck?'
'What the hell does it look like? Doing my part. Doin' the fuckin laundry.' I say while I'm literally shoving jeans in and pushing it all down to make room for the whites, which I'm realizing might not happen. I stick the coins in the slider thing anyways and pull the lid down while I grab the whites and come back, opening the lid.
'I don't think...check out the fucking jamming in there, man!..I don't think this is going to even spin when it reaches the spin cycle and what if it takes a fucking hike across the room? Fuck with the water and weight, it might even go through the floor. ' I point out to him with a laugh.
Meanwhile, he's staring at me with this cheshire cat-like grin while I'm deciding whether or not I could potentially fit a missed pair of jeans or just toss all the smaller stuff on top.
'Dude. It's science.'
'Science, eh? How so? You Freudian son of a bitch. Tell me how the science of laundry works.'
Ryder stands there, looking all serious and gives a nod. Then opens his mouth.
'As soon as you put the fucking money in, the water will fill up in the machine and make everything shrink down. It'll be fine, just put a scoop of the powder in and put the lid back down.'
Now, I would have paid money to see my face right at that very second. Ryder never talks and when he does, it's no more than 4 words. Every fucking time he spews more than that, it's always amazing, not to mention shocking as hell. My response was typically me when I opened the box of laundry soap and saw just how much soap fit into the scoop.
'All this soap? That's alot of fucking soap, man!'
'Shut-up! It's science!'
'Yeah, yeah. It's reasonable common sense. The fucking jamming and the water and the shrinkage...'
'SCIENCE!'