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Should I ever get married, I feel really sorry for my wife.
Not because of the fact that I'll undoubtedly embarrass her in places
like Target and Pier 1, but because after four years of college, I
still can't properly wash pants without incident.
This spring break I decided I would better myself by almost fulfilling
the least of my obligations. I partook in domestic, yet necessary,
tasks I don't normally get to accomplish during the week. Tasks like
washing, shopping and wiping.
The first day of spring break, my dirty laundry pile was reaching the
5 foot mark in the corner of my room. The 63 T-shirts were threatening
to kick me out of my bed, so I decided it was time for my weekly wash.
After I got out of the shower, I decided I should also wash the shirts.
That's when the hunt for loose change began. Those big white things I
put my clothes in require a dollar in quarters to work. And I always
have only 75 cents on me. Usually I'll borrow (steal) a quarter from
my roommate, and, while my clothes are washing, I go to the bank to
withdraw another dollar. Then the bank calls and tells me I've
overdrawn again.
For this particular wash, I was lacking both a quarter and a roommate.
So I did what any self-respecting 2005 male would do: lie face-down on
an apartment's laundry room floor and look for a quarter under a
dryer. It was really late at night, so naturally nobody, especially
not that red-headed girl who always tans by the pool, was going to
walk in on me at that moment of pathetic desperation.
Aaaand cut to her walking in.
"Oh, hey," I said, in an uncharacteristically quick-thinking manner.
"I dropped a quarter and can't reach it. Do you have a quarter? You
know, that I could have forever?"
I couldn't believe I spouted such an eloquent excuse on the spot.
Usually by that point of a traditionally awkward conversation I'm
apologizing for something that's not even my fault. Like for the
sinking of the Lusitania.
"Oh, thank God," she said as she reached into her purse for a quarter.
I flinched, expecting the usual Mace. "I thought you were looking for
change under there."
I think I coughed, but it was believable enough.
As with my clothes washing, I like to do my grocery shopping fairly
late at night. This way I can avoid awkward conversations over why I
am buying seven Hungry Man dinners and a pack of Fruit Roll-Ups, yet
no milk or bread.
My favorite "new-fangled" aspect of grocery stores was the advent of
the "self-checkout" system. Which is something I thought I invented in
front of my mirror a few years ago (zing). This is my favorite piece
of technology because it talks to me and never works. At least not
when its laser eye notices I'm in a hurry.
Every checkout goes like this:
Machine: Have you scanned your preferred customer
card?
Me: No.
Machine: Unexpected item in bagging area.
Me: OK, wait.
Machine: Unexpected item in bagging area. Please
replace--
Me: Hold on!
Machine: LOL
After eating my Classic Fried Chicken (White) Corn and Apple-Cranberry
Crumb Dessert, I'm usually ready for anything. Especially an extended
bathroom visit. But this spring break, I decided to wash my car for
what I think was the third time.
Once again, I had to apply for a student loan to make change for the
self-serve car wash. I always have to remain super focused while
washing my car, because it's always such a race against time. My
method is wetting the car with the 12 billion PSI hose before using
that stupid brush to coat the car in pink soap. Which, by the way, am
I the only one who uses that brush? When I get to the
designated
washing area, there's never any sign of pink. After I'm done using the
brush, there's pink everywhere.
It's like a cross between the Mattel
aisle in Toys 'R' Us and my bedroom growing up. If I hesitate once
during the wash, I run out of time and am stuck with pink residue on
my car. Something usually only left on the inside. Draw your own
conclusions.
Anyway, I just spilled honey mustard on my pants. Can I borrow a
quarter? Or some pants?
©2005 Tim Landry
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