Manny, a barber at my neighborhood barber shop, talking about the clientele of a juice bar he was in once: “There was this kid in there sitting near me. This kid, he must have had more earrings than a jewelry store! They weren’t all in his ear either.”
Also, laudromat callers. After discussing whether to live in the house next year, the sweatpanted sorority sisters began to load their laundry into the machines and encountered a problem. Luckily, they had their cell phones at the ready to combat it. One made the call: “Mom, hi! Hey, what temperature do you put whites on in the washing machine?” Somewhere, instruction tag writers were crying.
Why do so many people feel compelled to call at the laundromat? My two theories:
1) People are bored at the laundromat. They’ve brought their bags of laundry, and they’ve brought their quarters and detergent. That’s already a lot to think about. Bringing something on top of that might be too much to ask.
2) People are lonely at the laundromat. The elements are so intimate; the environment is so sterile. This dysfunction — this crush upon the psyche, this wash-dry tease — is extreme. Or something like that.
Where you been?
Good question. Wednesday — work, haircut and paper-writing. Thursday — work, laundry. Friday — job interview, lightning fast packing, then flight home. Saturday — lazy, then Maryland game. I’ve returned home for spring break.
Patrick, you’re boring
Yes, this week at least. I don’t expect anything exciting to happen because relaxing doesn’t quite lead to anything exciting. Instead, this week I’m going to write about other people. Specifically, I’m going to write about my friends Brendan, Tara, Nate, Jamie and Mark as they venture to New Orleans. Because they’re out of contact, we’ll just have to make it all up.
Here’s what we do know: Early Saturday morning, the five loaded into Brendan’s white pick-up truck and chugged out of Evanston, Ill., pop-up camper in tow. The camper, which belongs to Nate’s family, is where they will sleep once they arrive on the outskirts of New Orleans. After a few days in the Big Easy, they will drive back to Evanston.
This is all I know. It’s a good start. Tomorrow: On to Memphis!