Adventures In Laundering

Laundry is one of the only downsides to living in a dorm.  Not only are the washers and dryers always full, and terribly inefficient, but you also have to pay RIDICULOUS fees (A WHOLE 2 dollars?  Really?  Why don’t I just pay you in the gold nuggets I have laying around my room?  Oh wait.  That’s right.  I’m not a damn leprechaun!).

The other day I was grievously ill, and after a few classes I returned home to my bed intending on sleeping for at least 19.365 hours.  

But it was so hard to get to sleep... because I knew it was there.  It was there in the corner of my closet.  Taunting me.  Cajoling me.  It was my overflowing laundry hamper.  

I had neglected it for too long, so I scavenged for quarters to deal with this problem.  But finding quarters in my room is like finding logic in Wonderland.

Eventually I got all my stuff together and got to the elevator.  Everyone knows that elevator rides are awkward, but the levels of awkward are multiplied exponentially when there is a hamper full of sundry items in your arms.

Upon my arrival to the laundry room, I realize that there are no empty washers.  But several of them ARE done, so I go to the nearest one and unloaded its slightly damp contents into the hamper that was on top of the machine.  I put the hamper to the side, slipped my clothes into the washer, said farewell to my quarters one by one, and slouched back to my room for a quick nap. 

I woke with a start, because I fell off of my bed.  Weirder things have happened, honestly.  Like, honey badgers.  What’s the deal with that?

After a trek back down to the laundry room, I find a sticky note on my washing machine. 

I stared blankly at the note, until I realized the lengths to which this angry girl had gone to tell me just how upset she was.  I could only imagine her rage at seeing her marginally damp clothes piled nicely into her hamper.

In a fit of unimaginable rage, she alighted back to her room with what I can only imagine was inhuman speed.

She fumbled around until she found a sticky note and a gel pen, and wrote it out...

Then she sprinted back to my washer and stuck it right on there for me to find.  Which I did. 

So I guess the moral of this story is to… never do laundry again.  I’ve sure learned my lesson!

I am SO sorry!

Not too long ago I was attending Club Rush with Tower.  

Not that we needed more friends or anything… but clubs could be fun.  I mean, we’re rolling in friends.  Friends out the ying yang.  Friends EVERYWHERE.  Friday nights we’re hitting up the clubs with our entourage.

ANYWAY... we’re in line for film club, minding our own business, and quickly growing tired of waiting for the chatty people in front of us to finish up.  Apparently they NEEDED to know if Film Club would be showing some obscure Liam Neeson movie.  They took far too long to figure this out, because some dude sidled up to me and tried to strike up a conversation.  

Put yourself in my socially awkward shoes.  I can barely handle talking to people that I know well, let alone new people.  And when this dude who is so tall that he towers over me decides to walk up to me and suddenly assert a ridiculously difficult question that (in it’s own right) deserves hours, nay, DAYS of soul searching, I’m bound to blurt out something confused that I don’t really mean.  

Now, this is not a true statement.  My favorite movie isn’t Iron Man, while my favorite actor IS Robert Downey Jr.  He is a fantastic actor, and a ridiculously attractive man to boot.  But it’s not like I’m obsessed or anything.  I just really enjoy his work.

My answer was met with the simultaneously the most cold, disbelieving, and disapproving look I’ve seen anyone give me EVER.

He moved in a little closer, and whilst towering over me, uttered the following four words in the most disdainful manner, and then fled the scene so fast he just about vanished.

Now, being insulted by random people isn’t something that is new to me (this will come up again, I'm sure).  But this one took me by surprise for some reason, leaving me to feel confused, irritated, and annoyed as can be.

5 minutes later...

SPEECHLESS.

...

And then it hit me.

Et tu, life?

I mean, that’s ridiculous.  I’m generally a very kind and patient person.  But the one person I allow myself to get angry at, unbeknownst to me, has a mental handicap?  Not cool.

While I was neck deep in a sludge-like puddle of self loathing, Tower asked:

Lesson to be learned: Be nice to EVERYONE.  You never know when you'll end up looking like a total jerk if you don't.