The Laundromat

So, as today was laundry day, I headed off to the (only) laundromat. I should've gone 1st thing, but, me being me, I procrastinated until about noon. I recently read an article about procrastination that said that the reason I, a procrastinator, procrastinate is that I am afraid that I will not perform perfectly, and delay the action so that I may have an excuse as to why the finished product was not exemplary. "If I had only had more time..." the procrastinator laments. I loved this article, as it meant that I was not lazy, o no, far from it. I was a perfectionist. That is much more honorable vice. As I found things around the trailer to do this morning, my newfound revelation began to crumble before my very eyes. Was I really insecure about my laundry abilities? Was my anxiety about choosing the correct water temperature or adding too much soap really delaying my laundry duty? I would hope not. If I had only gone to the laundromat earlier, these socks would be much better paired. Or perhaps not. Perhaps I just don't like going?

When I finally did go, I found myself alone. This surprised me, as last week I had many laundry-doing companions. I reveled in this unknown side-effect of my procrastination. Maybe I could actually do my laundry in solitude, and read my Sedaris in peace. I got my wish for about 5 minutes when in waddles in a cheery lady in her 60s. She remarks about how few people there are, and no children, to which I remark, "Yes, it's quite nice isn't it? It was so quiet when I got here." She did not read into my (not so) subtle comment, and start chatting to me about how many blouses she had to wash and her husband hanging these to dry and on and on.

She finally leaves and I get into another essay about death when enters angry wife beater man. I do not mean that I assumed that he beat his wife (rather I assumed that he did not have one) but merely that he wore a "wife-beater" style tee shirt. He forcefully shoved his laundry into a machine, then started cursing when is did not take his money correctly. "Why the f*** does this machine NEVER take money right?" he yelled, slamming his fist on the top of the washer. "Why the f*** do you ALWAYS use it, then?" I thought, but "Finicky, huh?" was all I said. He responded with a grunt and a look he shot me, like "Ya, that's the understatement of the year."

He finally leaves and in comes his polar opposite, uber-cheery clean shaven man, with the biggest permanent smile on his face. He greets me with his ridiculously happy face and cheerily informs me that there are some kids giving away chihuahua/pitbull puppies outside. I commented that I'd like to know how that one happened to which he laughed and said he asked the kids the same question, but they didn't really answer, since, ya know, they are kids.

After I was done folding my laundry, my curiosity was peaked, so I went to see these freak of nature puppies. They were cute, 2 looked like pits and 2 more like chihuahuas, but all were underweight and filthy, and they had no water. I talked to the boys for a while, and shot menacing glares at their mother sitting in the car, her conscience in my opinion somewhere between that of a serial killer and child molester. I went inside and asked the checker if they had any small bowls or cups I could put water in for the poor, starving, helpless puppies outside. She thought for a minute and told me that no, they did not. I thought, bullshit, of course you do you little brat. "Well," I said, "I see you have a soda fountain there, may I have a cup and some water?" so I can throw it in your face? I continued in my head. "O well then I'll have to charge you 25 cents." O you'll have to, really? Like who exactly is forcing you to withhold water from poor starving puppies? Hitler himself? "OK," I said, and handed her a quarter.