With apologies to Mr. Neil Diamond, I amusedly shake my head and say, "oh, what a night". So, there are people in this world who seem to have the need to make others miserable, usually by not following simple protocols or not respecting simple rules. Daniel came up with the perfect term for them--weasels. For example, "that guy is smuggling full-sized luggage on as carry-on. What an overhead bin weasel!" or, "THAT is not a compact car. What a parking weasel!" You get the idea. Now, anyone who has ever lived in an apartment complex with an on-site laundry room has probably had a run in with the dreaded washer/dryer weasel. You know the ones...people who wait until every, last shred of their clothing is absolutely unwearable, then they pack up their u-haul o' clothes (no, that is NOT a comment on hillbillies, though there are plenty in my complex) and set up camp in the laundry room. Subsequently, we have an episode of literary physics. In short, we have Brobdinagian laundry piles in contention with Lilliputian facilities. It's not good, especially for those of us who just want our g*dd*mned Snoopy pajamas clean!
But I digress.
Today, on a day that could only be described as "apocalyptically hot", I figured fewer people would be doing their laundry. Most of my fellow tenants were splashing (and, most likely, peeing) enthusiastically in the complex pool, so I went on a cleaning bender. Gathering up my ONE load of laundry, I was dismayed to find all the machines chugging away. Not to worry, though. Each machine had about five minutes left. Forgoing the comfort of my Lilliputian window air conditioning unit, I sat on the bench outside to wait for a machine to open up...
...and the machines ceased their chugging
...and the room fell silent
...and the wet clothes waited.
NEARLY TWENTY MINUTES AFTER THE CYCLE FINISHED a woman in an ill-fitting (and definitely not age-appropriate) swimsuit sauntered her way past me (now red-faced, sweaty, and visibly perturbed). Because I have respect for the rules and protocols of the complex, I heeded the sign that said not to touch anyone else's laundry. I was half hoping for an apology, or even a noncommittal mea culpa. I would have settled for a shrug and a "my bad". Nope. Lady Maillot smirked at me, loaded her laundry into all the dryers, and proceeded to bitch about how much it would cost. I clenched my teeth, choked back my bile, and verrrrrrrry politely explained that the dryers have twice the capacity of the washers, so she could double up each dryer load and cut her cost in half. Did I get gratitude? Did I get an amazed look of respect for my quick thinking? Nope. Here is a transcript of what followed:
Lady Maillot: WhatEVER! It's MY money!
me: (clenched-tooth smiling) I am aware of that. I thought I'd try to help.
LM: What...EVER. Pfft!
me: silence (but on my face are my "Oh, HAY-ell, NO!!" eyebrows)
LM: Why are YOU so grumpy? People like you need to cheer up.
me: And people like YOU need to understand simple math when it comes to calculating the capacity of a dryer. TWICE the capacity means you need HALF the number of dryers. Of course, even with half the dryers, you would still be twice as irritating.
...and a verbal...exchange ensues, punctuated by her informing me that she, "is a CHRISTian (her inflection on the first syllable), and this is not how God wants {me} to be". Now, I'm not the most religious person in the world, but I'm pretty sure the answer to those "What Would Jesus Do?" t-shirts is NOT "monopolize all the washers and dryers for hours". Cut to her husband hustling over to the laundry room in his MANdals, "Tap-Out" t-shirt, and "Monster Energy Drink" hat. You know, the epitome of pseudo-masculine rage coupled with an insouciant hint of job-marriage-life frustration and a white-knuckle death grip on his ever-fading youth..and hairline.
Now...
since I know some of my students read this, I'll clean up HIS language. He said, "you need to learn some (fish)ing respect. Nobody talks to my (fish)ing wife like that! Just watch what the (fish) you say, you (bleach)!" When I told him I neither raised my voice nor swore at his wife, but asked him if he knew what the word "hypocrisy" meant, he furrowed (maybe he DIDN'T know), glared, harrumphed, and stomped down the walkway (a very impressive act considering the mandals).
This town...I tell ya.
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