2000-05-11 | 18:22:21

so, enough with the battle of the sexes. i wanna wash that man right out of my hair with some laundry talk.

right now, i live in an apartment building with a laundry room. this is key. when i was moving to l.a. a couple of years ago, i knew i wanted an apartment with 1) hardwood floors, 2) an assigned parking space (a relative rarity in l.a.), and 3) a laundry room, since i was tired of hauling my load 'o' garments to the laundromat every week or so.

while having to go to a laundromat is a hassle, there is the advantage of doing multiple loads simultaneously. plus, there is the local flora and fauna. the motley crew that makes up "those who do laundry in public."

one laundromat incident happened to me during my drying cycle on a warm summer's day. a shy girl who could barely speak english came up to me and asked me to listen to the tape she had in her cassette player. since i lived in a college town at the time, i figured it was for a school project and said yes. she clicked "play" and i was suddenly sucked into a sales pitch as some whiny-voiced motivational speaker prompted me to maximize my income. "you know how there never seems to be enough money at the end of the month after paying all your bills?" he queried. "you know, the pipes freeze, the refrigerator breaks down...the cat needs braces." the cat needs braces?! no he didn't! after the "mo money" message ended, the girl said, "what did you think?" i responded, "well, it was kind of boring." that wasn't the response she was looking for, but i knew my clothes had moved from the tumbling stage to the wrinkling stage and that was of more importance to me than my fictional feline's orthodontia needs.

but the capper to cap all laundromat stories was the fateful afternoon when i ran into "helpful harry" (not his real name--i just made it up after studying his behavior over a two-hour period). helpful harry was a tall, grey-haired, beanpole of man in his late 50s who HAPPENED TO WEAR BRACES--whoa. anyways, he was wandering down the washer aisle past me as i leaned on my machine reading a woman's magazine of some sort (probably an article entitled "15 interpretations of the phrase 'i'll call you').

helpful harry entered my eye line and gasped in horror to himself..."oh, no!" i turned to see what was the matter. "oh no!" hollered helpful henry, "somebody's wash stopped washing. the 'unbalanced load' light is on!" i looked at the consternation crossing hh's face as he lifted the silenced machine's lid. his eyes met mine.

"could you reach in here and move that towel around?" he asked, "i don't want to touch their stuff." i completed the requested task. harry continued to pace the linoleum...until he saw a person outside pushing their stalled car through the parking lot. in a liquid bolt that was a credit to senior citizen limberness, helpful harry was outside, shoving his shoulder against the bumper in support.

about 15 minutes later, helpful harry was back. wandering through washerland. not so surprisingly, another cry issued from his lips.

"oooooh noooooo!" bemoaned helpful harry. i looked over to the dryer area. harry had his hands out, looking up at an open dryer door and then down to a soggy sneaker on the floor.

"someone's tennis shoe hit the door and opened it!" he exclaimed. "those people are gonna come back and they're clothes won't be dry, their sneaker will be on the dirty floor and they'll think someone was messing with their clothes!" at this point, harry began to slap the inside of his left palm with the backside of his right hand for emphasis as he squealed in distress: "they're--three--time--losers!"

and i gave all that up to have an apartment with a laundry room. go figure.

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