1. A man donned in a baby blue velour jogging suit (complete with bling and afro) strut his stuff around the joint as if he owned the place. Then later see him strutting his shirtless self around the joint and begin to think, maybe he does own the place because it is not that hot outside. Only to find out that he did not, in fact, own the place, but just needed to wash the shirt off his back as I witnessed him pulling the shirt out of the dryer, sniffing it, and apparently satisfied with its freshness, replacing it on his torso. Literally ALL of his laundry was done. Although, that was the only piece of laundry I actually saw him with the entire two hours I was there...
2. A nice girl, friend of Baby Blue (I know not if they were friends prior to this outing, but three shared nicotine breaks later? Buddies for life) needed to wash her sneakers. A quick cycle from the industrial strength machine and they were ready for the dryer. Unfortunately (for whom, I'm not sure) as the now clean sneakers (and other apparel) tumbled 'round n' 'round in the dryer, they kept knocking the door open, sending items, including iddy-biddies, flying through the air onto the tile below. She, having stepped outside for one of the aforementioned "breaks", was oblivious to the lacy pink scandal that lay about the floor. I looked around to see who was watching. No one. Good. Then, turning my gaze to what lay at my feet, I contemplated, Do I pick it up? It's a thong! A pink lacy thong! Stream of consciousness continued: Of course, it has just been washed. I can't just pretend I didn't see it, it's RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. Having already seen a man perform a similar deed for her the first time the dryer door bounced open (though, I am certain he did it more for his own pleasure than anything), I decided I would do the same samaritous act. WWJD. Thumb and forefinger in position, I bent over, plucked the lacies from the ground and returned them to their home, suppressing the urge to gag and shudder. There, I thought as I dusted off my hands.
3. Ever wonder how the African American male is able to walk whilst his trousers slink around his thighs? Well, let me tell you: After Baby Blue was again fully clothed (see #1) , I watched him take the front of his excruciating large velour pants (did I mention they were baby blue?) tie the drawstring loosely, take a safety pin, and--wait for it--fasten the front and center of the waistband to his boxers. Thus, leaving the rear of his pants to sag ever so deliberately beneath his buttocks. Who'd a thunk? I say, pure unadulterated genius.
Until next time, I'm Abby Jane. Tune in next week for more adventures in laundro-land, as we still have not a washing machine.*
*How is one supposed transport a washing machine(s) found for screaming deals on Craig's list to its new home in a 1999 Toyota Corolla? Exactly.
**our current T.V. status is such: CW, Fox=clear as day; ABC=watch-able, but snowy; NBC, CBS=non-existent (ba-bye Oprah).