Welcome to My Weekend....3rd World Laundromat and Iced Coffee with an extra shot of Filthy Wig!

As is often the case, I started my Saturday morning with much-dreaded trip to the 3rd World Laundromat at the bottom of my street. I'm sure I've mentioned elsewhere in my blog that my street is actually a hill that might call to mind the type of incline you'd commonly see in the majestic Himalayas. I had not done laundry in a good couple of weeks, save for a load of jeans and quintessential work black pants I had thrown in over at my mother's place about a week ago. In the course of a day, I normally go through a set of work clothes, gym clothes, and then casual clothes. Three outfits a day, essentially, is what we're looking at here. Multiply that by the good two weeks in which I had not done a proper laundry run and you can begin to imagine what I was up against.

I hate this laundry mat. I really, really hate it. I shouldn't even go there on a Saturday because it puts me in a bad mood and ruins a good portion of my day. I should go after work when my day is already shot to hell for having spent the better part of it with hormonally charged teenagers. How much worse could things possibly get?

Anyway, I never do the after work thing, and I always end up there on the weekends.

This place is so gross. It is tiny, to begin with. Then the other customers are in there eating entire meals consisting of one of each item from the McDonalds drive-thru menu, or Portuguese Blood Sausage lovingly prepared by mama da Silva at home and then packed up in paper towels (no, not tupperware), to be carried to and consumed at the Laundromat. The lovely thing is that usually this family mealtime bonding takes place around the clothes-folding table.

On top of the place being tiny, I have never seen it holding any less than 45 people. If I can manage to find a seat, all I ever want to do is read my book or do my sudoku puzzle quietly in the corner. But, concentration on such cerebral tasks is virtually impossible, for not only are the other customers and employees carrying on conversations at ear-splitting volumes, but the variety of languages spoken at any given time makes my head spin.

Hey, I'm the first to say, "Come one come all. Welcome to the United States. Come build a better life for yourself here. Preserve your culture and keep speaking your native language. Have a blast." Hell, I went and lived in Germany for two years, having never even heard a word of the language. I know what it is like to be at the mercy of strangers. I have absolutely nothing against these folks for speaking languages other than English. All I am saying is that I cannot concentrate on reading in ANY of the languages I speak when there is literally a salad bar of romance, eastern European, Germanic and Slavic languages being hurled back and forth at breakneck speed all around me.

And again, I just don't get the volume thing. When a person is sitting right next to you, why do you have to scream your offer of a bite of blood sausage? Wouldn't it be just as effective to hand Luis and Julio their Quarter Pounders? I mean, after all, they are sitting right next to you. Do you have to announce to the whole world that Luis has the extra pickles and Julio has no mayo? Does everybody in the establishment need to be made aware of the order specifications of the entire Santos family?

Whatever. I could not get my shit into the dryer fast enough. The washing machines are always faster, so I usually endure the slings and arrows of sitting there while the clothes are washing. No way in hell, however, am I going to sit there for the required hour-long drying cycle.

I usually throw my stuff in the dryer and make haste to get to the coffee shop around the corner. Today, sadly, I was in such a rush to get out of the Laundromat that I actually dried several shirts that I normally dry flat. I think they'll be OK, but I was bummed out to make the discovery.



After 20 minutes of waiting to cross the street to get to the coffee shop, I finally got over there, only to discover that it was packed. People were ordering double shot, three-quarters decaf, quarter no-caf, soy, extra foam lattes and shit, so I knew this was going to take ages. I didn't mind, though, because I was in no haste to get back to the Laundromat. I waited patiently for my turn. I simply wanted an iced coffee and a bagel. I was finally waited on, and the service was friendly and quick enough. I took my coffee over to the counter to get some milk and a packet of Splenda. I was about to head to a table to sit, but, lo and behold, there were no seats available. I figured if I waited it out for a few minutes, something would open up. But, then again, this is a Cambridge coffee house on a Saturday morning. People are in there with laptops, 6 back issues of Sunday New York Times, and 45 student essays to correct. There are the inevitable first dates, the two friends psychoanalyzing eachother and trying to get to the bottom of why their relationships with Linden and Zander didn't work out, and of course, the college students who have just moved in for the day.

My hands were tied. I had ordered my bagel "for here" and could not contend with the line to go back and ask for a bag. So, I figured I would eat quickly standing up, and then head out. The only place to stand was located somewhat close to the milk and sugar area. Whatever. I just put my stuff down and prepared to eat quickly and hit it.

All of a sudden, this guy with this massive, unruly, completely filthy, long-ass, hot fudge wig came walking up to put some milk in his coffee. What normally is a three-second affair turned into a complex, totally involved procedure. It turns out he kept adding milk to his coffee, taking a sip, adding more, sipping more....over and over again.

I know these coffee houses are overpriced, but, DUDE, drink your coffee and move on. He was trying to his own free refill system right there. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't even have noticed his prolonged presence at the milk bar, but I was deeply disturbed by the fact that I was standing only about a foot behind him, and he kept shaking out his wig all over the place. I then noticed that he was letting out these hacking, rattling coughs all over the milk and sugar area. I tried to ignore this and take a bit of my bagel. I got the thing half way to my lips when he started the big wig readjustment again, just inches from my food. I thought, "Not on your life" and I threw everything, unsipped coffee and untouched food right in the trash and walked out.

It is worth mentioning that before all this happened, I strolled through the coffee shop to see if there were any tables or at least an empty chair at a table where somebody was already sitting. Clearly somebody wouldn't mind if I just shared a few inches of their table space? As people saw me walking through, they made sure to move their laptops over to the empty side of the table, or place their jackets on the emtpy chairs opposite them. The fools sitting on the couches even went so far as to literally put their feet up, extending the lengths of their entire legs on the sofas so as to preclude anybody from joining them. Selfish fuckers. Actually, I've already made my position about sitting on sofas in coffee shops very clear. It is not something I ever wish to do. Seeing these jackasses rest their filthy hooves on the couches only strengthened my resolve to avoid said couches.



Anyway, I returned to pick up my laundry and was delighted to discover the Laundromat attendant washing down the table with a disinfectant spray. Great, no blood sausage on my clothes today!

Of course, I still had to lug the huge bag of clothes, now double their starting weight because I don't dry many of my clothes that have to be dried flat, up that massive hill.

But, I'm home now, safe and sound. A trip to the gym is on the cards, followed by a trip to the movies to see Munich this evening.