Laundry Legalities

So...when doing laundry where quarters are involved, is there any rule of etiquette? I mean, if you arrive and somebody has left their underwear in the dryer and it's all finished drying, are you allowed to remove it from the machine? Is it really proper to be touching other folk's underwear? If you get brave enough to take it out, should you fold it? How about folding it neatly and leaving it on the clean spot on the folding table? You know that spot. The spot that's free of laundry detergent in any form, powder or liquid. Well, ok, what if you CLEANED a spot on the table and put the neatly folded underwear there? I think if it was a spot close enough to the dryer in question, they would easily recognize it once they come back from whatever extremely long errand they've been on.  Right?
I'm not touching it.

The Dangers of Confined Spaces

During my days at the sewer (which I am missing terribly by the way) I learned about the dangers of confined spaces. Terrible things can happen to a person who doesn't take proper precautions before entering a place that is so small that it might contain toxic fumes or is oxygen deficient. Friday, I entered a confined space and I'm here to tell you that there is more danger than just lack of oxygen. There is a possibility that you might hurt yourself or the other three people that are living in the confined space with you. You could hurt them because you can't get from the couch to the kitchen (2 steps) without stepping on them. You could hurt yourself by tripping over the shoes they left in the 2 inches of floor space available or falling over the mountain of blankets and pillows that are laying around because two of them are sleeping on the couches. You could hurt them mentally by yelling at them for all of the above and just because you are in a fantastically bad mood.  Paige is especially unhappy about the lack of snack food available, but I don't think she realizes that this can't be blamed on the tiny apartment. However, there is a distinct possibility that leaving this place in order to replenish the stash might lessen the danger.

Box Fan

The fan in the hallway struggles to bring some relief from the heat and lack of A/C in the building. The drone of the motor sends me back to a house that I once lived in. I'm not sure if it was in Wagarville or in McComb because I get those two houses mixed up in my memories. It was on an extremely early morning that my five or six year old mind could not compare with any other morning in my short life. I'm not sure I had ever really experienced that time of the morning before. There was so much darkness at the windows, and it was a weird darkness. It wasn't the same shade of darkness that happens when you go to bed or wake up in the night. Why do I think the air felt damp? Do I remember hearing crickets? Maybe not, we were inside the house. I was so sleepy. There was packing and hushed movements and this noise that I didn't recognize. There it was. In the hallway. Something different. It was a very large box fan, as tall as me and much wider. It was loud and it was so big that when I passed by it I dare not get too close for fear that my arm would be sucked in and chopped to pieces. It was obviously a real fear because mama held my hand tighter when we passed by it. Or maybe it was me that was doing the extra squeezing. I don't know where we were going or why my parents had the fan in the hall, but I cannot hear a box fan without thinking of that morning.

Not Right and Fruity Too

My supervisor type person was at my desk today and while he was standing there, he reached for my pencil cup full of magic markers. One by one, he picked them up, removed the top and took a whiff. Mostly he made faces afterward, but it reminded me of my childhood, sitting in training union at church and getting excited when that very cool box of scented magic markers was pulled from the cabinet. The yellow one smelled like lemons, the orange one smelled like oranges and the purple one smelled like grapes (my personal favorite). Some of the fruity scents were more realistic than others, but to resist smelling each and every one was futile. So anyway, I was watching my fearless leader smelling these markers, looking for one with a scent when he suddenly stuck one out for me to smell with a smile on his face. Once it got close to my nose, I realized that searching for a childhood memory wasn’t what he was doing at all. He was trying to get high.

That ain’t right.

Mama Would Say You Were Wrong

My mama always told me that if you’re about to make a negative comment about something a person couldn’t do anything about, you should just keep your trap shut. For example, if your friend has spinach in their teeth or toilet paper hanging off their shoe, by all means, let them know politely. Although the initial sharing of the information might be a little embarrassing, the end result is positive. If, however, a person has a scar on their cheek in the shape of a lightning bolt, you should hold your tongue. Nothing can be done about that. Since my unfortunate run-in with a deer, resulting in the destruction of my Barbie Jeep, I don’t have a lot of love for woodland creatures, but even Thumper’s mama told him that if he couldn’t say something nice, he shouldn’t say anything at all. Having said all that, when I tell you I’m moving and you ask me where I’m going, my answer will be Beaumont, Texas. The correct response to this information should not include you scrunching up your nose like you smell something bad, or interjections of “ugh” or “oh man, that’s too bad”.

I might be able to understand the reaction more, if I thought you really believed that Saraland, Alabama is the land flowing with milk and honey, but the truth is, I don’t think you believe that at all. I think you’re just mean.