Laundry Day (Part 1)
Where better to find love than at a laundry mat? Nowhere, that's where.
Due to the ridiculous price of water and electricity these days, when it becomes desperately necessary to do so, I do my laundry at the laundry mat. So, once a month, I take my wonderful and stylish garments and cram them into four large black garbage bags. Then I make the trek down the block to the old neighborhood "Suds and Go". I despise the other laundry washers who frequent this establishment so when I do make an appearance, it's usually as brief as humanly possible. Any looks or comments I happen to receive from other laundry-mat-goers are met with vicious grunts and sour looks of distaste and disapproval, as well as harsh criticisms towards their choice of clothing, detergent, or dryer sheets. I take laundry day very seriously. It's absolutely not to be made small talk of.
One Wednesday a few months ago, I happened to notice that my clothing was taking on a particularly foul stench. I noticed this as I stood in line at the bank to deposit a check I received from my lovable Aunt Nina. Nina sends me cards and long letters on all the major holidays, generously stuffing each of them with a sizable check for at least fifty dollars. While I scoff at, and immediately dispose of her ridiculous cards and letters, I do however appreciate the checks. And while I never trouble myself to thank her or even ever talk to her at all for that matter, I am exceedingly grateful. They provide me with a means to get completely hammered for several days in succession. I hope she lives for many, many years to come, despite what I said to her husband and children at the family reunion last July.
As I stood in line to deposit said check, I realized that many, if not all, of the other bank customers around me were shying away from me in disgust. They were whispering cruel and derogatory things to each other while looking and pointing in my direction. I also noticed that a small swarm of flies was settling in my vicinity, particularly on my clothing, and seemed to desire to stay awhile. I had initially thought that the bank had inadvertently left their doors open and that I wasn't the only person being used as a fly landing strip, but that was apparently not the case. It seemed that the flies had followed me in the door, desperately clinging to my apparel like an unruly child clings to a candy bar in a grocery store. Furious that I was being made a spectacle of, I stormed out of the bank, brushing up against many people on the way out.
I lugged my heavy garbage bags down to the laundry mat, stuffed the washers with my clothing, and hastily walked back out the door and across the street to a small bar. Half an hour later, I transferred my clothing to the dryer and returned once again to the bar across the street to wait for my clothing to dry. Once dried, I began stuffing my clothing back into my trash bags. As I wadded and stuffed, I happened to glance up and meet the eyes of a plump brunette who was folding laundry on the table across from me. I scowled menacingly and continued stuffing my bags.
"Hi", the rude girl spouted.
"Please don't talk to me. Can't you see I'm folding my laundry? You are inconsiderate, at best!" I retorted in my meanest sounding voice.
"Wow, listen to you!" the horrible woman chuckled, continuing her laundry. "And it doesn't look like you're doing much folding there. You seem to be just stuffing it into those nasty trash bags. Oh my God... those trash bags are filthy! Have those been used for trash before?"
"What I use my personal possessions for is none of your business you crude beast!" I shouted, the veins popping out of my neck like some terrible serpent gliding under the surface of the sand in the Mojave Desert.
She laughed, little dimples standing out against the pale flesh of her cheeks. "You are too cute! I'm Jackie. What's your name?"
"Jackie", as she called herself, was a detestable hog of a woman who stood at roughly 5'5 and around 225 pounds. Her eyes lacked any type of noticeable color and her skin was virtually pigmentless. Her hair was stringy like that of an old witch and was a dark brown color. As I stared her, I thought of an old packhorse. The thought made my testicles shrink closer to my body and my stomach churned with distaste. Her breasts reminded me of half-deflated water balloons and the bulbous gut that hung beneath them was like an old sack of barley that had been sitting in the sun much too long. I frowned and hoisted my garbage bags to my shoulders.
"My name is Ben. Would you like to go out on a date?"
I am, after all, a very desperate man.
One Wednesday a few months ago, I happened to notice that my clothing was taking on a particularly foul stench. I noticed this as I stood in line at the bank to deposit a check I received from my lovable Aunt Nina. Nina sends me cards and long letters on all the major holidays, generously stuffing each of them with a sizable check for at least fifty dollars. While I scoff at, and immediately dispose of her ridiculous cards and letters, I do however appreciate the checks. And while I never trouble myself to thank her or even ever talk to her at all for that matter, I am exceedingly grateful. They provide me with a means to get completely hammered for several days in succession. I hope she lives for many, many years to come, despite what I said to her husband and children at the family reunion last July.
As I stood in line to deposit said check, I realized that many, if not all, of the other bank customers around me were shying away from me in disgust. They were whispering cruel and derogatory things to each other while looking and pointing in my direction. I also noticed that a small swarm of flies was settling in my vicinity, particularly on my clothing, and seemed to desire to stay awhile. I had initially thought that the bank had inadvertently left their doors open and that I wasn't the only person being used as a fly landing strip, but that was apparently not the case. It seemed that the flies had followed me in the door, desperately clinging to my apparel like an unruly child clings to a candy bar in a grocery store. Furious that I was being made a spectacle of, I stormed out of the bank, brushing up against many people on the way out.
I lugged my heavy garbage bags down to the laundry mat, stuffed the washers with my clothing, and hastily walked back out the door and across the street to a small bar. Half an hour later, I transferred my clothing to the dryer and returned once again to the bar across the street to wait for my clothing to dry. Once dried, I began stuffing my clothing back into my trash bags. As I wadded and stuffed, I happened to glance up and meet the eyes of a plump brunette who was folding laundry on the table across from me. I scowled menacingly and continued stuffing my bags.
"Hi", the rude girl spouted.
"Please don't talk to me. Can't you see I'm folding my laundry? You are inconsiderate, at best!" I retorted in my meanest sounding voice.
"Wow, listen to you!" the horrible woman chuckled, continuing her laundry. "And it doesn't look like you're doing much folding there. You seem to be just stuffing it into those nasty trash bags. Oh my God... those trash bags are filthy! Have those been used for trash before?"
"What I use my personal possessions for is none of your business you crude beast!" I shouted, the veins popping out of my neck like some terrible serpent gliding under the surface of the sand in the Mojave Desert.
She laughed, little dimples standing out against the pale flesh of her cheeks. "You are too cute! I'm Jackie. What's your name?"
"Jackie", as she called herself, was a detestable hog of a woman who stood at roughly 5'5 and around 225 pounds. Her eyes lacked any type of noticeable color and her skin was virtually pigmentless. Her hair was stringy like that of an old witch and was a dark brown color. As I stared her, I thought of an old packhorse. The thought made my testicles shrink closer to my body and my stomach churned with distaste. Her breasts reminded me of half-deflated water balloons and the bulbous gut that hung beneath them was like an old sack of barley that had been sitting in the sun much too long. I frowned and hoisted my garbage bags to my shoulders.
"My name is Ben. Would you like to go out on a date?"
I am, after all, a very desperate man.
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