WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT??

I think this is my 3rd blog post with the same title, but every once in a while, I do find myself wondering, WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT??

I am now free for a couple of weeks until summer school starts. This gives me time to relax, move more slowly, and most importantly, to really take notice of my environs. I wish I could report that I'm refreshed by what I see taking place around me, but more often than not, the happenings unfolding beg the question, WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT?

I am actually writing in my blog notebook at the Laundromat. This writing will later be transcribed, unchanged, onto my home computer for blog purposes. Anyway, given the fact that I'm here in the Laundromat, this armpit of humanity, and given my history in this dump, you know this post will be ripe with shocking observations of the human race.

I walked in here to find a mother allowing her 3 young, butt-ugly and totally OBNOXIOUS offspring to jump up and down on the laundry-folding table. I guess I'll be doing my folding at home today. If it isn't a family enjoying a blood sausage meal at this table, it has to be the kids jumping on it with filthy shoes. Anyway, I digress.... The table is this rickety, collapsible thing that appears to be on its last legs. I hope these little bastards wind up in a splintery pile of kindling. It would serve them right. And mom is just sitting there serenely smiling. SMILING. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT??????

Two Hispanic women are "chatting" at eardrum-splitting volume. I know enough Spanish to figure out that they are discussing a wedding they both attended this weekend. The consensus seems to be that the bride was gorgeous. The meal, which was described as "delightful" obviously met, if not surpassed, their expectations. The music was wonderful and Julio and Maria were just glowing. A great time was had by all! And yet, as is so frequently the case with Spanish language conversation, the sheer volume, the shrill voices and the manic animation might suggest to the un-Spanish-trained ear that one of these women was confronting the other for sleeping with her husband, mudering her child, or worse still, failing to TiVo the Spanish soap in which Erick Estrada plays the male leading heartthrob. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT????



Some Middle Eastern guy has been smiling and leering at me since I walked in. Needless to say, as today is the first time I've done laundry in over two weeks, I'm in an outfit that would disgrace my family for generations if anybody saw me. And yet neither that fact, nor the spectacle of watching me sort out my dirty laundry has served as a deterrent for this moron. And, Jesus, the teeth.....his dental status alone could be cause enough to make him stand trial for crimes against humanity. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT???



Ok, enough about the Laundromat. I have got another baffling experience to report. Two days ago, I returned a 120 dollar item to a reputable clothing retailer. I had folded the item and tied a plastic bag around it to protect it from the relentless rain that has become so typical of Boston in the past couple of months. Before I returned it, I went to the gym, where I stuck it in my locker and where it inevitably landed under 100 other things, thus wrinkling it even further. When I got to the store and the saleswoman took it out of the bag, she was entirely unphased by the horrific state of it. (Granted, it still had the tags and I did have the receipt, but still, if she had wanted to complain about it, she would have been well within her right.) Clearly, the thing would need to be ironed thoroughly before being placed back on the salesfloor. But, with a smile on her face and no questions asked, the saleswoman issued me a full refund. She only expressed concern that I might have been dissatisfied with my item or my shopping experience. When I assured her that neither was the case, she wished me a nice day and I was on my way. The entire transaction took 9 seconds. Immediately thereafter, I went to Target, where I had to return a gym shirt that was not the right size. Again, the item had the tags and I had a receipt. I figured it would be a cake walk. Lauren had often told me of horrendous Target return stories, but I had never had a negative experience. This day would change all of that. The manager at Target conducted an intense interrogation of me, forcing me to explain, in detail, why I wanted to return the shirt. When I replied, "It didn't fit," she demanded to know how. Was it too big? Too small? Too short? Too long. I eventually was forced to go into detail about how it was too big through the boobs, (pretty amazing as I'm not a small girl), and a bit pouchy through the back. When she completed her interrogation, she focused her energies on performing an intense scrutiny of the sales receipt. I felt like one of those Russian counterfeitters of American currency getting caught out at the Federal Reserve bank or something. At one point, the manager even asked if I had worn the shirt. I thought maybe she was trying to add a little levity to the situation, but before long, I realized that she was, indeed, completely straightfaced. I explained that if I had worn the shirt to the gym, there would, in fact, be some unmistakable telltale signs---like removed tags, sweat marks and an extremely unpleasant aroma. After lengthy conversation with another Target manager (were the Yalta conferences this drawn out? Did NATO take this long?), I was allowed to exchange the shirt for something from the SAME department. So, to sum this up, Target basically called in the FBI to assist with the return of a $10 athletic shirt, while the other retailer accepts the return of a piece of merchandise worth 12 times that value without so much as a batted eyelash. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT???

OK, so, another Laundromat item...I'm sorry, but I can't avoid reporting on this one. When I went over to begin removing my clothes from the washers, the middle eastern dude with the criminal teeth got up from his temporary perch in order to reposition himself in front of the machines I was using. it was a thrill to remove all my bras and other unmentionables right in front of this A-hole. My favorite moment came when I dropped a pair of panties. In a flash, the guy was out of his seat, no doubt with the goal of rendering "assistance" by picking up my panties. But, I beat him to it. I bent over so quickly I almost gave myself whiplash. I could have been accused of pirating Allie's signature dance recital bow. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT??




I got my crap into the dryer and now I'm at the coffee shop around the corner. Some woman is here with her two hideously behaved children. The older kid is repeatedly kicking the bench that wraps around the entire wall and is, therefore, my seat, too. He is also screaming the same unintelligible word over and over ad nauseum. Mom has so much baby equipment that at first I thought she was holding a garage sale right here in the middle of the coffee shop. Her stuff is strewn out over three tables, forcing other people to eat standing up. I swear, I was watching Dateline NBC last night and there was some segment on climbing Everest. As always, I was amazed at how much CRAP the Sherpas heft up that 29,000 foot face for the western climbers. Christ, they have oxygen tanks, tents, stoves, food, etc....enough for the 6 week assault on the mountain. Unreal! But, I'm not even joking when I say that I think that if even the most seasoned Sherpa were confronted with the challenge of hauling this woman's diaper bag up there, he'd just fall to his knees, weep heartily and concede defeat before even beginning to undertake the expedition. Meanwhile, with the screaming kids, the bench-stomper, the double stroller parked square in front of the ordering counter, equipment enough to clutter 3 tables, Mom gives ME a filthy look when my cell phone rings and I pick it up. Disgusted, she packs up Abraham and Gus (REAL names), and takes off. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT?

Anyway, enough with this. I'm out of here. My laundry should be ready. I now have to go pick it up and haul it up the hill atop which I reside. Of course, it weighed 6 tons when I took it down the hill. Now, because some of it is wet still (you know those items that conveniently can't be dried), it weighs 12,000 pounds. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT??

Maybe I should hire a Sherpa to help me carry my laundry home!!