You get your Cold War Monopoly, Neal. You know what I want to do?
I want to get one of those old Guess Who? games, scan our senior yearbook and paste over all the Guess Who? character tiles with Asians from the yearbook. Then rename it Guess Hu?
“Does your Asian have glasses?”
“No.”
*click, click, click, click, click*
“Is your Asian a white guy?”
“No.”
*click, click*
“Is your Asian Korean?”
“Uhhh… maybe?”
Our laundry room is in the basement. There’s about 10 washers and 10 dryers. Luckily, there’s windows or else we’d all die of heatstroke and dryer fumes. There’s also irons for dummies. They have buttons and switches with pictures of clothes instead of settings. There’s a picture of blue jeans, panties, Capri pants even.
So my first laundry experience on my first Sunday night at 1:00 AM went pretty much without a hitch. This week, I went down with my laundry bag, detergent and my “delicates” (laptop and textbooks). Well, apparently I wore more pants on the second week because the dry detergent that I use wouldn’t dissolve. I removed my jeans to find large white stains on them. Apparently, I overloaded the washer and the powder wouldn’t dissolve completely. I had to pony up another just $1.50 just to create a second load from what I judged to be the least washed of the initial load. I also don’t have any stain remover, which is bad news for a sauce lover like myself.
The stories proved true.
It remains operating from the early hours all the way to 3 in the morning. Those fourteen hours see their share of behavior. I came down once to find two Chinese students spooning on a table. But mostly people just watch Youtube or use their Macbooks to video conference with their boyfriends. (Not that that stopped the Chinese students.)
P.S. My cameras still out of commission, so no photos of the laundry room, or the place where I work or of the exhibitionists on my floor.