Every time I bring laundry down to the wash room of my condo block I pray no one will be there. I am not anti-social, but sharing that room with strangers makes me uncomfortable. Some don't speak English very well and I find myself nodding a lot. Others are overly friendly, asking me personal questions. Women are skittish, which makes me feel guilty for being there. Men seating on a bench waiting for clothes to dry, with no TV or radio on, has to be at the top of the Awkward List. If you toss out a sports reference to break the silence, you might get a puzzled look as often as an intelligent response. You can't gossip--men don't gossip. Okay, Hilton Perez, but that's it.
Doing push ups against the wall might pass time while impressing others, but how many can you do before exhaustion sets in? Dance steps might get you punched. There should be no eye contact whoever is there, loading, unloading, sorting. Whistling only makes things worse. Soft humming might ease the tension as long as it isn't Neil Diamond.
Why should there even be tension in a laundry room? We're all owners. Except, well, some are behind on their common fees and we glance at each other in suspicion. Nobody likes slackers. Or people with way too many chinos. Invariably, someone will leave a damp sock in the washer. We go by the honor system, placing the item on a table for return to owner. Spare change lying around is finders keepers. At least that's the way I've been playing it.
Reading the paper works best, just submerging oneself in the pages, pretending not to notice that hot lady pouring fabric softener. Maybe if I hummed loudly enough...
No comments:
Post a Comment