Strange Happenings at the Laundromat

Strange things happen at the laundromat. This isn't a place I'm used to spending time, so maybe the regulars, sensing I was an outsider, were testing me. Maybe it was some kind of laundromat initiation.

Doing the laundry has never been one of my favorite chores. It’s right up there with peeling potatoes. But having to do laundry at the laundromat is in my opinion, cruel and unusual punishment. The whole idea of schlepping baskets of clothes down the stairs, out to the car and to a public place where everyone gets to pass judgment on your taste in clothing, not to mention underwear just doesn’t work for me.

Anyway, one day years ago, our washing machine was on the fritz and the repairman couldn’t get to us for a week. Given my disdain for doing laundry, I usually let it pile up until we we're down to our last pair of underwear. Well, that day had come. Unless I planned to beat the stuff on a rock in the river, I had no choice but to go to the local laundromat.

Being somewhat antisocial, I planned to arrive there at a time when I figured there would be few people there so I could avoid any form of human contact. I didn't want to get stuck having to participate in small talk with strangers. I don’t like to converse with people I don’t know. Hell, I don't even like conversing with people I do know.

There I was, hiding behind my dark glasses because I have this belief that if I wear dark glasses people can't see me and, therefore, won't talk to me. I was quietly feeding dollar bills into the change machine. As I was retrieving my quarters, a wiry little old lady with a mop of frizzy silver hair walked up to me and pushed me out of ther way. She was neatly dressed in a tasteful print dress right out of the 50's, or maybe it was the 40's and she wreaked of Chanel #5. “Excuse me,” she said as she shoved me. Then she grabbed a handful of my quarters, counted out four quarters and scurried away with them.

I scooped up the rest of my quarters and followed her. "Uh, excuse me," I said in the most polite voice I could conjure up. "You took my quarters." She stopped in her tracks, turned around and put her hands on her skinny little hips and snapped back.

"I most certainly did not take your quarters. They are my quarters." Then she did a quick about face and disappeared somewhere in the back of the laundromat, but not before shouting at me, "and who wears sunglasses when doing their laundry?"

I was uncertain about what to do.  It wasn’t about the money. After all, it was only a dollar. But I was annoyed that this stranger had the audacity to just shoved me aside and take my quarters as if she had every right to do so.  I would have gladly given her the money if she had asked. I rationalized that she was an old woman and possibly dealing with a bit of dementia and figured it was not worth arguing over four stolen quarters. So I decided to ignore the situation and return to the chore of doing my laundry.

About an hour later as I was folding my clothes, the same woman approached me and poked me in the back with her bony finger that felt like a pencil jabbing me. "Excuse me," she said in a craggy voice and now smiling. "Do you think you could do my laundry for me?" I looked around thinking she was either talking to someone else or his was some kind of TV stunt that was being filmed.

 "Are you kidding?" I asked.

"No," she replied.

 I told her I could not help her with her laundry. She may have been old, but she seemed pretty darn spry and looked perfectly capable of doing her own laundry. She gave me a disgusted look and assumed her hands on hips posture."HMPH!" she exclaimed loudly, attracting the attention of everyone in the laundromat. " I didn't think so. “This bitch won’t even help me,” she announced to everyone, pointing at me. 

I attempted to ignore her, hoping she would go away and bother someone else. Instead, she grabbed a pair of the black bikini panties I was folding and waved them in the air.  “She calls these things panties. What kind of woman wears this kind of slutty underwear?” she shouted. Then she dropped the panties on the floor and walked away.

As I was leaving the laundromat, I looked back and noticed the old lady standing patiently under the no smoking sign next to the change machine - possibly waiting for her next victim. She stood there, nervously tapping her foot and puffing on a cigarette.