You can always tell when cramped conditions get to people. Today strikes me as a timely reminder of that principle, as I hurry to get The Squawker's and my own laundry done, on the second floor of our building. I have until 6 a.m. tomorrow, because management is closing the laundry down all week, so the flooring can be redone. Which also means that Sunday, being recast as D-Day, will likely prove competitive than usual.
As usual, my hunches aren't far off when I head upstairs about eight o'clock-ish, or so. Two washers are going full steam ahead, and so are three dryers. I just about manage to load the full contents of my cart into both of them, and head back down.
Come Trip Number Two, nothing changes. The same number of dryers are tumbling away, so I stuff the entire contents of my cart into the remaining one (Dryer #2) -- beggars not being choosers, and all that sort of thing, blah-blah-blah.
An hour later, I pop back up. This time, I notice that Dryer #3 has long since stopped, but nobody has emptied it yet. Same story for Dryer #4, as well. I turn around, and notice a squat, thirty/fortysomething young woman casting a thumb anxiously in my direction.
"Is that stuff yours?" she asks. Her voice betrays a note of anxiety (as in, Christ, I'm still dealing with this crap -- just when I wanna go to bed, so I can get up for work!)
I snap open Dryer #3. Nothing in there, really, but a huge, fluffy pillow, and a couple blankets. I unceremoniously begin emptying them out, which doesn't take long. "Look," I tell the woman, "in rock 'n' roll, things have to happen on the beat, or you won't make it. Same story here. It's been sitting like this for an hour, at least. I'd go for it."
She nods, and begins emptying Dryer #4, which is far more filled -- mainly with children's clothing -- while I hurriedly parcel half the load from Dryer #2 into its neighbor, that I've just emptied out. The magnetic stripe on my e-card does the rest.
Another hour and a half passes. Right, I tell myself. Time to head back up, and finish off the job. I plonk down a chair in front of Dryer #3, and begin peeling off its contents into my cart. I'm vaguely aware of two pieces of paper taped to the wall, behind the machines, but at first, I'm too preoccupied to read them. But when I do, I can't stop laughing, starting with Note #1:
"Please remember, that wasn't your clothing in the dryer. It's disrespectful to touch another person's belongings. Thank you! :-)"
But it's Note #2 that inspires the loudest, most prolonged ripples of laughter from Yer Humbler Narrator, as you may well agree:
"It's also disrespectful to leave your clothes all night in the dryer, and not collect them when they're done. Thank you! LOL. :-)."
So did that woman I encountered write Note #2? I've no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me. The impatience flashing across her eyes when she popped her question ("Is that stuff yours?") told me everything I needed to know.
In any event, I suspect the writer of Note #1 didn't expect that response -- assuming it stays up, if they make it up before 6 a.m. rolls around. Suffice to say that when the chips are down, crowded conditions don't bring out the best in us. What else is left to say here, though, except: "Game, set, match?" That'll do nicely, I think. --The Reckoner
Might I enter an item into the "life's little inconveniences" category? I cite the lack of seating in the community laundry room to encourage residents to stick around to read or scroll whilst their laundry thumps and spins, rather than ramble off to cope with the rest of The List.
ReplyDeleteThat said, from her toasty throne atop a dryer a chum of mine sold a number of bare-bones term life insurance policies to her fellow residents . She'd watch for the women loading a family's basket and remark, "For the amount you just put into these machines..." :)
Yikes! I've experienced similar come-ons in the most unlikely places, so I can relate to your story! Well, I suppose your hard-hustling saleswoman figured, "They won't be going anywhere for awhile, anyway, so I might as well lay it on 'em." "
DeleteI've documented a similar experience in "My Corona Diary (Take XLIV): I Got Ambushed At The Banana Aisle, And Then...", which I ran here on 9/10/23. Feel free to expand on yours, or send over a similar tale, if you like. Thanks for dropping by the neighborhood! --The Reckoner