Wednesday, May 18, 2016


I'm pretty sure there is a professional service operating out of my apartment laundry room. There are three women that are always in there, always doing laundry, never willing to offer to let anyone use any of the washers or dryers in the room, and suspiciously incapable of eye contact. I am tempted to just drop my laundry off and check back in a few hours. My Spanish is non-existent enough such that I could try to use the speaking person's international sign language to show with my arms, hands, and eyes that if they do my laundry I will reward them by letting let them touch my lap area while also making eye contact. 

Or, maybe money, sin ojos.

I just need my laundry done. No matter how much I tell myself that I am going to become a better housekeeper it never happens. Every time I do laundry I need the resources of the entire laundry room. It takes about one day to get the project started. I just keep buying new clothes. I must be the most hated stinkin' gringo tenant in the barrio.

I can never understand those people who always do laundry on Tuesday. They set the day aside for that sort of thing, like cleaning their bathroom and doing dishes. I mean, I wish that one of them was in love with me, but I don't wish to understand them, much, just enough.