So today, I go downstairs, put my clothing into washers, and come back upstairs. I make sure to look at my watch before coming back up so that I wasn’t late and so that no one would mess with my stuff, etc. I take up two washers - one for colors and the other for whites.
It’s 1PM, so I need to go back downstairs at 1:40PM.
I make hot chocolate, and it took me awhile to drink it and make it, etc. And I had to clean out my container. It is 1:43PM.
Dammit.
I quickly throw a bunch of homework into my bookbag, mainly reading for my Cognitive Science class, and rush downstairs.
I get to the washing center, and there is a guy, taking my clothing out and putting my colors on top of the washer next to it!
“What in the hell are you doing?!” I say angrily to him. He looks up from putting detergent into his new washer, an ‘oh shit’ look on his face. He’s a pretty short guy, but about the same size as I am.
“What?” He says calmly, pouring the rest of his detergent in.
“What do you think you are doing?” I say more loudly. I don’t notice that there are about 15 people in the laundry center.
“Is this your stuff?” He says, pointing to my things, which are now making a puddle on top of the washer next to my old one.
“Yes, that’s my shit!” I say loudly, getting angrier by the second.
“It’s not shit, it’s clothing!” He says stupidly.
“I can call it whatever I want, it’s my stuff!” I say angrily, shaking so hard I drop a few articles of clothing as I throw them in the nearest dryer and slam the door shut so hard it bounces back.
“You should stay down here and watch your clothes if you don’t want someone to pull it out!” He says, equaling my anger. I’m about ready to rush at him.
“Next time you mess with someone’s shit, make sure they aren’t going to come down within the next 10 minutes!” I yell at him, reddening in the face. The laundry room is stone silent, many people are staring at us - I ignore them. It’s just me and this idiot going at it as far as I can see.
“You were taking too long, why does it matter if you see me anyways?!” He yells back, also reddening in the face.
“Because now I know who you are,” I try to keep my voice even, still shaking as I take out my white clothing that is still in the original washer that I put them in the first place. “Now I know what you look like!”
“Whatever man,” He says, acting as if he didn’t hear me. He gathers his things and prepares to leave. Now everyone is listening in.
I stuff two quarters into my favorite dryer and put it on high heat. I throw my bookbag by the nearest chair. Suddenly, a thought strikes me.
“Was this the only washer left or WHAT?!” I yell to him. He turns to leave, but I’m blocking his way out.
“YES!!” He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth as if I am deaf. I step aside to let him leave. I just notice another guy was waiting for the dryer with my white clothing in it, and he starts loading his clothing into it.
“That’s why I wait - I don’t take other’s clothing out of a washer,” The guy says simply, nodding towards me.
“I don’t CARE about her shit!” The moron who took my washer yells, and storms out of the laundry room.
Steaming, I sit down next to an empty chair, and pull out my cognitive science homework. I’m shaking so badly I can’t see the words on the page. I stare off into space instead, looking at my dryer and envisioning horrible things happening to the moron who took my washer.
I hardly notice that someone from my floor, Cody, comes and sits down next to me.
“Dude, what happened?” He asked casually after putting his clothing into the dryer above mine.
“What do you mean?” I ask, still looking into the depths of my dryer.
“Well, I was listening to a song and then it ended, and there was silence and I could hear a lot of yelling coming from over here. I was like ‘Is that Jillian?!’ so I turned down the sound to hear the rest…” He trails off, looking to me and pulling out his iPod to show me what he meant.
I quickly fill him in, grinning.
“Man…if that was me he would have been on the FLOOR by now,” Cody says, obviously agreeing with me.
“Yeah, I was feeling generous,” I say sarcastically.
Feeling slightly better, I look at my reading homework and start taking notes, as I was planning on doing in the first place. About 30 minutes later and with 9 minutes left on the moron’s new washer, he comes back down.
This time, he is with a friend (who happens to be a girl). I chuckle to myself because he probably begged the poor woman to come down with him because he was afraid that I would jump him or something. ;-)
“Oh, look, nine minutes left!” He says loudly, and the laundry room goes quiet again. I just ignore him, my hands starting to shake slightly. With no chairs, he is forced to wait right by his washer - right next to where I am sitting.
Nine minutes later, he pulls out his clothing from the washer and throws them into the dryer right by mine. He puts two quarters into the dryer, good for 40 minutes.
“And I’ll even SET MY WATCH so that it goes off in 40 minutes,” He says sarcastically, looking at me. He puts his watch up to his face and makes a big dramatic scene of synchronizing it with his dryer.
The words start blurring on the page I am reading.
“Okay, so that will be at 3PM,” He says, strolling away with his friend.
10 minutes later, my dryer goes off.
Normally I don’t watch my washers because the door (literally) locks on all of the washers until the clothing is finished, and if one gets down in time then you don’t have to worry about people messing with your stuff in the washer. But I normally watch my dryer because anyone can come up and change what heat setting the dryers are on, and they can also open the door at any time to stop the dryer while the timer does not stop.
I fold all of my clothing and put it into my bag.
“See you later Cody,” I say to Cody. He nods, clearly listening to his iPod again.
On my way out, I casually hit the ‘NO HEAT’ button on the moron’s dryer.
There is still 33 minutes left on his dryer, and his clothing is now officially not drying.
“What comes around goes around,” I say to myself happily, walking away with my clothing and bookbag in hand.
