Dirty Laundry

Like many walk-up apartments in The City, my apartment building on 91st Street did not have the luxury of its own laundry facilities. Oh how I longed for washer and dryer access in my own building! However, since my neighborhood was largely residential there were plenty of laundromats nearby. But just the idea of lugging untold pounds of laundry in a big bag down 4 flights of stairs and out into the street (not to mention the cold, the rain or homeless people looking for a break) was not exactly an activity that I treasured. Eventually though, I got used to the brisk 2 block walk to my laundromat known simply as "The Mat". While there I eventually found it relaxing to read and wait for my laundry to be done while the TVs blared mindless junk in The Mat's 4 corners. I secretly ogled the hot Latinas performing the "Wash 'n Fold" duties of The Mat and tried to keep my distance from the frequent washers who talked to themselves a little too vociferously. Since I had become comfortable reading while my laundry was being done I started to do more serious reading than just the Times. During the period when I was trying to figure out whether or not I should go to graduate school I did all kinds of self analyses and answering of critical questions before making this monumental decision. It was during one of these deep trance-like periods of concentration that I had an unfortunate encounter with one of The Mat's other frequent customers.

While sitting in one of the molded plastic chairs, out of the corner of my eye two pre-adolescent African-American girls entered. They came towards me chattering and yammering all the way, each of them holding or eating something as well. They stopped right in front of me and continued their conversation right around me. I shifted in my seat and tried to convey my annoyance but clearly I needed to take more blatant action. But just as I was about to get up and re-locate the girl to my right moved right in front of me, turned her head towards me and let a piece of the sandwich she was eating fall right out of her mouth and onto my crossed knee. I recoiled in disgust but before I could react the girl reached out to my knee, picked up the morsel of food that had escaped and put it back in her mouth.
"Sorry", she deadpanned.
I looked at her questioningly and then went back to my reading without saying anything. I remained sitting there now exasperated on top of annoyed with these girls wondering if technically what had happened to me was that I had been vomited upon. Although, since there was no bile, I guess not. The girls soon moved on but now I felt like I needed a shower or something. What was odd was that the girls didn't think that what had happened was funny or anything. They didn't erupt in fits off laughter when the chewed food fell nearly in my lap but just went about their business like nothing had ever happened. I took this episode to be another instance of personal space being invaded in a large crowded city with not nearly enough space for everyone. In the suburbs, clearly, people don't have slobbered chewed food dropped on them by complete strangers. But maybe by those they love.