Last week included a Laundry Day. Although I wish I had a washer and dryer at home (someday, someway), I don't mind going to the laundromat. Precision timing allows several loads to be completed within seconds of each other. Ambient whirring and humming doesn't interfere with my concentration, so I'm usually able to get in a couple of solid reading hours in addition to making my whites white.
Laundry Day coincided with World Book Day. I loaded up the car with dirty clothes and authors from the British and Emerald isles, planning for some across the pond reading. Unfortunately—a word that too often accompanies my dreams of happy excursions—Laundry Day and its World Book Day Reading Extravaganza also happened to be Crazy Couple Furlough Day.
Crazy Couple is older, perhaps in their sixties. She has gray, pouffy hair, glasses, and is always decked out in the ultimate comfort of stretch pants. His hair is white and cropped short, and he wears two earrings in his left earlobe. He is named Henry, and I know this because she spends a fair amount of time yelling it. From what I understand, after witnessing many of their loud conversations, her name is What?
I encountered Henry and What? soon after choosing a particular laundromat as my clothing-cleansing venue of choice. The place always smells musty, but is big enough to never get too crowded. I've read many books while sitting on its molded-plastic chairs, which are jammed into every space not occupied by a washer, dryer, or folding table. On that first Crazy Couple Furlough Day, I was engrossed in Wuthering Heights
"What?" asked Henry, predictably.
"Took their clothes before it finished. Now I gotta wait!"
"How long do you have to wait?"
"Until it's done!"
My life—and there is no better word for it—is a travesty. Whenever bad things happen, I know I am the butt of a cosmic joke, the laughingstock of a higher power. The universe has a sense of humor, and lately Nature, one of its most capricious mob bosses, has been dropping a lot of gag doggie doo on my doorstep. I live steps from a large lake. Each day, I am awed by scenic mountaintops and panoramic valleys. The miles-wide forest, which borders the end of my street, is dense and primordial. I should be one with the natural surroundings, but Nature doesn't seem to like me.
For example, lots of people are plagued with bats in the eaves of their homes. I am, too, but how many fellow bat-landlords have been chased down the street by their unwanted tenants? Have you ever opened a kitchen drawer and saw what you thought was a large rubber band fall to the floor, only to be shocked into stammering baby talk when it moved? And then slithered under a cabinet? Some folks have mice, but I've never met another person who's had a dead baby mouse fall from the attic trapdoor and hit the floor below with a plop. I can't bear to even get started on the shrews (Yes, shrews.) that have been waging a territorial war from the crawlspace.
And, so, if the worst thing ever to happen at the laundromat was having to wait for someone else's spin cycle to finish before inserting my quarters, I would rejoice. That the gods chose to only steal a few minutes of time rather than let loose a hungry bear to tear my unmentionables apart before fleeing with a pair of my soiled granny panties on its head, it would be a relief from the constant terror.
Of course, What? doesn't live in my world. She didn't praise the powers that be as I would have done. Instead, she kicked the machine lightly more than once, rattled her laundry basket, opened and closed the lid (making the wait even longer), paced, and used an open hand to smack the offending washer. Satisfied with the corporeal punishment, she walked over to me for commiseration not knowing I had long abandoned my reading to watch the show.
"Somebody took their clothes before the machine finished. I can't do nothing."
I was suddenly paralyzed. Rather than respond, I stared mutely over the top of my book. After a brief once-over, What? moved on and experienced her next laundry trauma. She couldn't uncap the lid of her liquid detergent bottle, burped aloud, then called Henry in for the assist.
The above experience was the first, but not only, time Crazy Couple disrupted the reading I usually enjoy at the laundromat. So, as you can imagine, I wasn't too happy when last week's Laundry/World Book Day also turned out to be a Furlough Day. As I furtively tried to tear through the heart-pumping conclusion of The Wasp Factory
"Somebody stuck a nickel in the dryer!"
"What?"
"A nickel! There's a nickel in the dryer!"
Unsurprisingly, What? made the rounds seeking a sympathetic ear even though everyone in the room had already heard. She first hit up two women doing wash for a local hospice. She began walking around the folding tables to inform an unaccompanied gentleman at the far end. The first arc of her ellipsis complete, the next victims along the orbit were me, a half-asleep female patron, and Henry. But, very surprisingly, she skipped over me and abruptly jarred awake the woman on my right. She next asked Henry if he had his little screwdriver. Unhappy with his negatory response, What? circled again and skipped me again.
Although I'm glad What? has chosen not to talk to me, I can't help wondering if my previous silence played a part in her decision. That is, what was What? thinking when she deliberately passed me up for someone who was nearly unconscious? Regardless, even if she never speaks directly to me, her nonstop jibber jabber still disturbs my peaceful reading time. I'd do my laundry on days when Crazy Couple stays home, but I haven't been able to discern a pattern to their outings. A problem with the insane, as you must well know, is that they are unpredictable.
