So, babe, how do you feel about spending the night with your gorgeous and very accommodating girlfriend tonight? Think of your answer now and no changing an affirmative after you read this story. Tell me now, your word is golden…
Well, I went to go do laundry, which is normal and I have every right to do so no matter what the gods seem to be telling me right now. I picked up my trash first and went to go throw it out but the hole at the bottom made it difficult to avoid trailing old french fries and cigarette butts all over the kitchen. After I cleaned that up, I grabbed the now double-bagged trash and got caught in the stupid fabric I have hanging over my door, the “privacy tapestry” no one has ever called it ever, and slammed my knee into the door frame. Hard. I made it downstairs, almost lost my trash again when it got caught on my finger, but didn’t. Though I might have eaten a fly.
I barely made it through the light on Grand Ave and pulled into the 7-11 parking lot and came head-to-head with some giant fucking truck thing whose drivers were apparently making a bee-line towards the spot I wanted which was in the no-man’s zone at the edge. I guess these people were super pissed that they couldn’t get their weird, 400-foot-tall, military transport-looking, Land Shark-type of truck into the “truck area” that it totally isn’t. Besides, I was there first. He gave me a look like I was some idiot and the stand-off lasted a good minute or two because the only other space that was opening up, he was blocking in. She finagled her way out and I acquiesced the stand-off and I’m still pissed about it. I was going to go off on him because fuck that guy. But he didn’t say anything and I couldn’t just start.
Then, pissed, I pulled out the laundry soap drawer thingy to the washing machine but ripped it out instead and across the entire laundromat into pieces. It took me five or so minutes to reassemble it. My hands were super gross from all of this so I go to wash them in the sink, done, grab a paper towel from the holder and it tears as I pull away but won’t break and now is a super long strip of paper towel stretching across the room. I tried to pull it and it throws me off-balance and I almost land into a rolling laundry cart but didn’t fall and only do that jump/skip/hop/flail that you do when you try to catch yourself. I put in the soap, realize I was about $2 short, go to 7-11 and the longest line in history, buy something to get some cash for the quarter machine.
Don’t get me started on the quarter machine.
Leaving, I bang my head on the back door of my car.
And even as I’m writing this, my glass of last night’s wine-okay, this morning’s wine because fuck this day already-spilled it’s entire contents onto my computer, my phone, the tv remote and my smokes.
I love you but I’m afraid to go outside. I may have to abandon those clothes in the laundromat. This might be the last day I’ll be able to see you at all. I think the gods really are trying to tell me something; either impending doom for all mankind and this is a warning or …they, too, really, really hate laundry day.
Update (and the day is still only half over):
Going to put everything in the dryer, since it’s Saturday, the light goes green on that street to the laundromat for .000025 seconds. So I got stuck behind a trash truck and two assholes on bikes who think they’re cars riding in the middle of the street like bike-riding-assholes, who then, after flipping me off for honking, pedal across the street as the light turned yellow then red.
When I got there, I saw that one of my washers hadn’t started. It read: error code CL@#$%%^@# . Thankfully, because this type of thing is making me actually thankful, I got it to start because I had already pumped my last $4.25 into it.
Some days are like this, though, and usually the only damage is self-contained.
That, of course, wasn’t much assurance to the poor special needs man on the sit-down bicycle I almost backed into. By “almost”, I mean by barely a foot. It’s not really my fault. My car already has terrible blind spots and today it seems I’m driving with the aid of only a birdshit-covered periscope.
I’m going to rest before I go see some old friends at a reunion. I wonder who will be lucky enough to sit next to me. For their sake, I hope they’re wearing full body armor and driving a tank.
I write awkward tales. Mostly funny. Usually true. Often truthfully funny.