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!
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