La Loco Laundry
Classes are finally over and I’ve been grading finals and trying to catch up on all the things I’ve put on the back burner — hell, more like an unplugged crock pot — for the past month. Like laundry. When I find myself spritzing my jeans with Febreze, it’s time to suds the duds. But, Innernetz, I really, really hate going to the laundromat. I’d rather take a kindergarten class on a field trip to the DMV after giving them jellybeans and espresso for breakfast.
Things were getting desperate, however. Besides the Febreze, I was also down to wearing Mr. Dingo’s boxer briefs while using band-aids to hold them up. So off I went to the laundromat thinking that it couldn’t be as bad as I was expecting. Hahahahaha! Oh come on, Innernetz! You know me by now. Of course it could!
There were two empty machines in the back of the laundromat. I dumped my clothes onto a table and began sorting when a shadow emerged from the corner. It was Yoda’s evil twin. Short, swarthy, and with his face wrinkled like a two-pack-a-day Shar-pei , his sudden presence at my elbow startled me.
“Drop something you did?” he croaked as he timidly handed me my bra. At least I think that’s what he said. His garbled words oozed past broken yellowed teeth that tap-danced like drunken tombstones in his puckered mouth.
“Thank you,” I said, noticing a wet thumbprint on my C-cup. He glided backward into the shadows as eerily as he had appeared. I held my bra away from my body in case the disgusting propagated.
I had just started a load and settled into a chair to mock my students’ papers when I felt a bony finger tap me on the shoulder. I looked up expecting to see Pervy Yoda but no, it was Bod-a-lish-us. Bod-a-lish-us was wearing an ultrasheer body stocking and fuck me stilettos. Let me say that slowly: Body. Stocking. She woke up that morning, cracked open a plastic egg she’d been saving since 1989 when she was thirty pounds lighter, and, with the aid of a crowbar and shoehorn, strong-armed the sheer burnt orange “suntan” abomination over her calves, thighs, and hips until she reached her armpits. Then, the body stocking depriving her brain of any oxygen, she looked in the mirror and declared herself flabulous. She looked like a radioactive hotdog. And she brought her own buns. Bubbly, puffy, crusty buns.
Bod-a-lish-us waved a container of laundry detergent in front of my face and asked, “Me use?”
“Sorry,” I said shaking my headwhile prying my container of detergent from her purple three-inch acrylic nails.
Tears brimmed at the edges of her heavily kohled eyes. “Me use?” she repeated pointing to a laundry cart with a small load of hoochie-mama accoutrements. Damn, I thought, if I don’t let her use my detergent, what is she going to wear to work tonight? Besides, the body stocking was obviously her laundry-day outfit. Letting her wash the rest of her whoredrobe would be like a public service.
Sighing, I said, “Okay, but please use just a li—”
“Gracias!” she said. Her tears dried up like a sunbathing raisin contemplating its deferred dreams. And then waving her talons, she summoned three kids who entered the laundromat rolling one of those SUV-sized granny carts. And there went my laundry detergent. The Bod-a-lish-us brood opened and slammed washing machine doors and swung from them like low-hanging crotchfruit.
I had just taken my seat and opened my gradebook when I was again disturbed by a poke at my shoulder. It was Pervy Yoda handing me another of my bras.
“Drop something you did?” he said, giving me the side eye.
This was just too creepy.
“Get away from me, you fucking freak!” I screamed. Inside my head. I searched for the manager. I found her watching a telenovella in a little room at the far end of the laundromat as she reverently stroked the coin-changer strapped to her belt.
“There’s a guy back there stealing underwear,” I said.
She sighed and, without taking her eyes off the screen, yelled something unintelligible over the din of the TV. I smugly waited for Pervy Yoda to levitate to the front of the store. He would’ve gotten to us sooner but for the disruption in the force as three Bod-a-lish-us muffpuppets cried out in glee and raced through the laundromat on laundry carts slamming into washing machines.
When he finally reached us, Pervy Yoda and the manager shouted back and forth at each other in tongues until the commercial break was over. The manager threw her hands up in the air, tossed a few words over her shoulder punctuated by an occasional “Ayiii!” and then went back to her show. Pervy Yoda slunk back to his hole.
“That’s it?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to kick him out?”
“No miss. No worry.”
“But he is stealing underwear!”
“He stop, miss,” she said. “He here with one of his children and their mother,” she explained, pointing toward the Bod-a-lish-us brood.
Fuck this, I thought. I stormed back to my washing machines, took out the wet clothes, and left. I’d buy a bucket and scrubbing board before ever going back there. Once home, I stomped to the bathroom. And then I opened my laundry bag to hang up my wet… dental floss thong, fishnet thigh highs, and cupless bra.
These weren’t clothes. These were pieces of fabric held together by fairy dust and surface tension. In addition to my own clothing, I had stolen Bod-a-lish-us’s undies.
Posted on Friday, June 11, 2010 at 12:13 AM.
Tags: In The Neighborhood, La Vida Loca
no trackbacks
Submit your trackback to http://www.asiwassaying.com/index.php/trackback/165/tSy9lG7K/
- Enjoy this post? Share it with others:
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
Comments & Trackbacks
Ew, oh god, you touched scary lady’s butt floss? I bet she is pissed and lost without her hoochie mama attire!
My signature bachelorette party gift is a crotchless, red fishnet body stocking...all the brides-to-be look forward to the loveliness. However, I’m sure they look more like dolphins caught in tuna nets rather than radioactive hot dogs (ha, love that!).
“Drop something you did?”
This made me laugh like a...something that laughs A LOT. This whole entry did. And thank the lord eff I am not the only person who’s Febrezed their clothing on occasion. I mean come on, we’ve all done it.
Whenever I’m in the laundry room in my building and someone hasn’t cleaned out the lint tray when they left I get all skeezed out wondering if I’m touching someone’s fuzzy pubes or something. It’s just not right.
Brilliant!
Are you going to put said undies to good use?
... and Ms. Darkstar used to scoff when I would get up at stupid o’clock on Saturdays to visit the local lavanderia. Until the one time she came with me, and saw how peaceful and EMPTY the place was when it first opened, before the rest of the city would arrive with their pack mules loaded down with laundry.
I also consider myself fortunate that the only solicitation I’ve ever received at the laundromat had to do with someone selling tamales.
Oh yes… the “lavanderia” (as we call it in our ‘hood). I am beyond fortunate that Mr. POSSLQ takes our stuff off to the lavanderia at the crack of insanity and is home (with donuts) before I wake up usually.
I love (and will probably use in the future) the word “whoredrobe”.
There are many colorful characters at the lavanderia...(I made the mistake of going with Mr. POSSLQ a couple times). We had the dude selling tamales (which we have since found out are delicious… yes, we bought food items from a dude who was selling them at the LAUNDROMAT and we actually lived to tell about it!) families with an impossible number of children (ranging from “oops, just fell on the floor fresh from the vajayjay so let’s pop it in a washer to clean it up” to “is that your husband or your eldest")and the fighting couple who declare that divorce is imminent during the rinse cycle and fight over who gets custody of the wet laundry.
Good times… good times…
I can’t stop giggling at the idea of an underwear-fetished Yoda.
Oh my goodness. This can’t be real!!!
I don’t have laundromat experience. But I do remember those assholes in college that would pile your wet clothes on top of the nasty drier just so they can use the washer faster. Fuckers!
Holy smokes, Pervy Yoda is creeping me the fuck out.
I guess it’s back to the Febreeze for you. I do the same thing, PLUS I have a dwindling amount of underwear left due to Ernie’s proclivities, so I’m getting better at doing more with less.
The last three apartments I’ve chosen have been based almost entirely on the fact that they included a washer and dryer. There is NO way I would be able to handle the clothes-washing public.
1. Have you EVER been around kindergartners??
2. So, you’re saying the bodysuit I have on isn’t flattering??
3. Are jeggings considered part of a whoredrobe?
4. YES! You got new clothes!!! AWESOME!
One question. You had YODA there. YODA. Why didn’t you ask for some wisdom? Or have HIM grade some papers? WTF?
Oh, and P.S. Your inside voice needs to become your outside voice.
And P.S.S. We STILL have a basement.......
Um. This is why I could never live in NYC. I would totally have to start drinking again.
I was going to suggest that perhaps you do everything in your power to buy a washer and dryer, but then we would miss out on hilarity like this.
Hey....I know I live in small town USA, but I had to go to the laundromat to wash a king sized comforter...that we used as a cover for our couch...so the dogs could lounge. And it smelled like dog.
Our laundromat was run by a very helpful, nice lady and there were various types of people in and out, BUT the oddest thing I saw was a GROWN ASS MAN with his family and about a thousand loads of laundry. The entire time he was there he had a PACIFIER in his mouth. A baby pacifier. and when he spoke, he’d put it into the side of his mouth like it was a crumpled cigar or something.
WTF?
Harna — Between radioactive hot dogs and dolphins caught in tuna nets, I think you and I have single-handedly destroyed the bodystocking market. Yay!
Veg Assassin — Day-um! I never thought of fuzzy pubes caught in a lint trap. Now I’m going to have to take gloves and a long stick with me to do my laundry. But they might also come in handy for defending myself from unruly children.
missyummyface — If there is ever a run on slingshots, I’ll make a fortune!
POSSLQ — Do you also get the people with their carts loaded a juicer, oranges, and evaporated milk?
Ms Darkstar — You get donuts? I don’t get donuts when I get home with the laundry! *off to yell at Mr. Dingo*
inky — I can give him your number if you’re interested. I’m sure he’ll spoil you with some nice lingerie.
jane — I hated those assholes! A younger and more immature Dingo would’ve dumped bleach in with their wash. But of course I never did that.
saratogajean — OMG, I can’t believe how many people do the Febreze thing. I thought I was the only one smelling like a spring breeze over a landfill. And hey, do you think Ernie would like some new butt floss and sexy lingerie to devour?
NPW — I keep telling myself that these are character building experiences. But I really think it’s just making me into an alcoholic.
Jules — Since I’m trying convince myself that the wet substance on my bra was water and not something else, I think it was best to keep Pervy Yoda and his sticky fingers (EW!) away from student papers.
k8 — It’s the only way to make it through the day.
April — You know, I have no idea where Bod-a-lish-us even stored her quarters! As far as I know, bodystockings don’t come with pockets.
Kristina P Well, thank you for your faux concern! It’s all fun and games until Pervy Yoda manhandles your underwear.
Shelly — A pacifier? I don’t even know what to say about that.
Seriously? SERIOUSLY? No way.
I’m going to have to remind myself of this story every time I mope out to the laundry room in my apartment. I hate that thing...but at least I don’t have to take my clothes to YOUR laundromat! I wouldn’t even know what to do with someone else’s wet clothing… Ick.
Oh and “muffpuppets” is sheer genius. I’d never heard that one before.
This is all hilarious, but you know what got me? “I had just started a load and settled into a chair to mock my students’ papers.” Seriously, Girl; we are the same teacher…
When I lived in an apartment building that had a decent-sized laundry room, I’d still do my wash in the middle of the night, just to avoid people asking if they could “borrow” some detergent. But in the apartment I lived in after that, I ended up schlepping everything to the laundromat because there was only one washer and dryer per floor, and my first week there, I went in to find one of my neighbors washing dirty cloth diapers in the machine. Now that I have a house, one of my favorite things about it is my own washer and dryer. I do like the word “laundromat,” though. Maybe I’ll just get a sign that says that and hang it in the corner of my basement.
Your laundromat is way more hilarious than the one by my house. I agree with Kristina P. Don’t buy a washer and dryer! This shit is golden.
i’m starting to think that the illuminati or the cia or somebody embedded a crazy-magnet in you. you should have it removed, or at least not leave the house. where the hell did you and the mr. move to? we should get together. i’ll get you some drinks and then we’ll go over an nyc map, and see if we can relocate you somewhere less bizarre.
Do people in New York regularly trade in their kitchens for washer/dryer space? Because I would have to do that. There’s just no way. I know this makes me sound like a silly Western suburban snob. I accept that.
Oh. My. God.
Going out first thing in the morning and buying my daughter a washing machine. Or at least a video camera to YouTube that shizzle.
Mel Heth — I’m not sure if a laundry room in my apartment would be that much better. Sad but true.
Mrs. Chili — Seriously, we need to Skype and snipe as we grade papers.
flurrious — Dirty diapers? That’s just nasty. Between Veg Ass mentioning pubes in the lint trap and your warning about dirty diapers, I think I’m just going to beat my clothes against rocks and hope for the best.
notquiteawake — I could do with less hilarious and more leave me the fuck alone.
blakspring — We are in the ‘hood. We could get together but then I’d embarrass myself by grabbing you around the knees and begging you to take me home with you.
LesleyG — Most NYC apartments do not have washer/dryer space. Many have laundry rooms, most people take theirs to the laundromat or send them out for cleaning. Unless, of course, you have a $3000+ a month apartment. They have washer/dryers. So, yeah, I don’t have one.
Kelley — She would appreciate the washing machine. I, however, would love to see her experiences posted on YouTube. So, the choice is clear. Video camera.
You need to sell those undies on Craigslist to recoup your losses, dude.
Also, WHOREDROBE? Hahahahahahaha! I have to find a way to use that in a sentence today.
“Drop something you did?” while holding bra? I’m totally gonna start using that as my pick up line at the laundromat.
BTW: “whoredrobe?” “Muffpuppets?” I think I need to start going back through your archives and write up the Dingo-Dictionary…
I kind of like this laundromat, it provides hilarious stories. However, I would loathe it if I had to use it. Tonight I will go home and pet my stacked washer/dryer combo in the small closet. I may even clean out the lint trap, just to show it how much I really care.
Crissy — You can ask the EPC if they got their whoredrobe from the local laundromat. That will put their crotchless granny panties in a bunch.
GeekHiker — Please direct all royalties from the Dingo-Dictionary to a Paypal account I’ll set up just for you!
Cathy — Kiss it, love it, tell it how much you care. And then buy one for me. I will kiss you, love you, and tell you how much I care.
I know you are trying to make me feel better about living in the middle of a field but it isnt working. You are still having a lot more fun than I am...you get to meet people who are not wearing clogs, and who at least have some sort of sex life even if it isnt exactly what one might choose for oneself. Underwear round here is the size of a circus tent, is an unlikely fluo flesh colour and made of the sort of artificial fibres that generate life threatening static electricity.
Yikes! Great story, but more importantly, way to grab up your wet clothes and get the hell out of there!
You are so brave. I would have hauled ass out of there after noticing the wet thumprint Pervy Yoda left on my bra. Although Bod-a-lish-us was probably your bigger threat. If you hadn’t fallen for the tears, she probably would have clawed your eyes out with those talons. All for a bottle of Cheer. What’s the world coming to when you’re not even safe in a run down, cracked out laundromat inhabited by hobbits and off shift hookers?
Every laundry mat trauma I’ve ever had just came racing back to mind. I thank god every day for my washer and dryer.
rosie — They may not be wearing clogs, but damn if they aren’t wearing those nasty Crocs. Unless you have a pair of Crocs, then, of course they’re lovely.
Rachel — Too bad I missed the end of the telenovella though.
Rachel — Seriously! Who knew that hobbits and shift hookers did laundry?
Toe — I think you should have a washer and dryer giveaway. To me.
I’ve been away awhile, and it seems that most things about the blogosphere has remained the same. Such as - you are still highly comical. And a lot of other things are the same...which I don’t know if I should find comforting or a sure sign that I am but a speck on a flea on a dog. But anyway. Thanks for the continuity.
Dingo, you’re killing me!!! I apologize for not checking in in a while, but wholly crap, you’re hilarious. Whoredrobe, muffpuppets? I would so love to hang out with you for an afternoon.
Now, to go catch up. . . Thank you, again!
Um…
after I move in with you guys and the two of us go to the laundry mat together and all that stuff happens all over again and you write a whole new blog post about it, can you work “whoredrobe” into the dialogue like I was the one who made it up?
Because I’m going to use it ever freaking chance I get from today until the day I die and I’d really like it not to sound as if I was copying you.
Well, that’s one way to get your laundry detergent back. 
Bras, underwear and ladies in body stockings, I had to read this twice before I understood it because those words just popped out at me first time and made my business feel all tingly. I’m not opposed to ladies in body stockings per se, but really if you’re gonna leave the house in that you may as well just go out ass-naked right?
Oh tingle again.
I don’t know why you hate going to the laundromat. Based on the picture alone, the place looks freaking AWESOME.
Really, this is real fun!!!!!!!!!!! I’m thinking about going to laundry again...))
I laughed hysterically over this article but bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t read it aloud to my husband since the kids are always nearby. Lol. You have my deepest sympathies.
first shart and now whoredrobe. see, i’m learning lots on the internet
I see the strangest people at the laundry mat I go to. Then I discovered the greatest thing ever… I can pay to have my laundry done and folded. It costs a little more but you don’t have to deal with the weirdos.
I laughed so hard while reading this I almost cried. Your writing is so brilliant. It transports me right into the middle of the scene like I am there watching it happen. I would have been terrified and amused at the same time. I would have definitely been using a gallon of hand sanitizer after touching the whoredrobe. LMAO.
Hahahahaha!Funny!