I thought it was going to be a bad day at the laundromat. I walked in to find this crackhead couple that I've seen around the neighborhood. The man is probably retarded- he has that googly-eyed look about him, but he also behaves like a pimp. The woman is a hardcore crackhead. She's missing all of her front teeth and she mumbles and fidgets and can't stand erect, like she's always looking for that indivisible rock that she must have dropped.
The man was at the washers and the woman was folding clothes. (They had a lot of clothes, which seems odd for crackheads.) He was talking to her the whole time, mostly giving instructions, at a loud volume.
Fans, it's never fun to do your laundry in the same place where homeless people do theirs. The washers are dirty after they finish, filled with scraps of torn up lint balls from their decomposing blankets and clothing, and you want the dryers to have a self-cleaning cycle to make sure all the bugs are dead.
But then I looked around and the other people in the place made me feel better. There was the Mexican soccer guy, in the standard outfit of track pants and team shirt, washing four dryers full of athletic clothing.
There was the matriarch/laundress, doing clothing for a family of about eight, given the amount of clothing in men's women's, and children's sizes. I always see these ladies at the Lavateria where I go. They're nice- they'll often tell you which dryers are the best and help you fold your sheets- but they use up six washers at a time so you don't look forward to seeing them.
There was a baby dyke wearing work boots and thermal, and I instantly had a crush on her. Maybe my next romance should be with a girl who looks like a boy. She can call me her girlfriend and I'll call her my boyfriend. We'll wear each other's clothes and attend anti-gender conferences together. It will be perfect.
Then there was this semi-hoochie chunky Mexican woman who was about 40 years old, wearing an asymmetrical long denim skirt, a tight top, and white sunglasses. It was 11AM and raining outside, so that was kind of weird. Then she walked over and smiled at me and I realized that she was completely shitfaced.
She was amusing from afar, but then the drunk lady started hitting on me. I was pulling clothes out of my dryer and she came over to her dryer, not coincidentally located next to mine. She squatted down and felt her dryer glass (to see if it was getting hot- you need to make sure you don't waste money in this crap-ass laundromat), looked over at me, and said, "Oh my." It didn't make sense. Then later as I was folding my clothes she came over and said, "Zooheed abag?"
I asked her what she meant.
"Do you need a bag?" she clarified.
"No, I have one." I said.
"Oh, you looked like you really needed a laundry bag," she said while giggling at me and playing with her hair.
So her method wasn't exactly smooth, but I appreciated being hit on. I can always use an ego boost, fans. You know I'm sensitive.
Lately I've been down on the Mission. All I've been seeing is drugs and junkies and feces on the sidewalk and discarded syringes and sketchy dealers on every corner. But this little trip to the laundromat, although it definitely had that aspect to it, also reminded me of the entertaining mix of people all crammed in here together. I guess when you're only looking for the bad, that's all you see. Every now and then I need to be reminded to enjoy the rest of it.