Laundromat Woes

I get into trouble every time I go to the laundromat. But it’s not me. Honest, it’s not. It’s them. Today’s example: I’m waiting for my clothes to dry and waiting to take the first batch (cotton sheets and light wearables) out of the dryer. My basket is over at one of the folding tables. One that’s on the end, flanked on either side by a table going the opposite direction. To my left, a woman with a baby in an infant car seat plopped right on the folding table, along with a large basket. When I go to “my” table to retrieve my cart to take it to the dryer to start unloading dry clothes into it, she asks me, in broken English, “I’m going to use your table. You don’t need it right now, do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Now, right now?”

“Yes, right now. Sheesh. Am I not entitled to a table?” (Because I’m THINKING, if you got your brat off the table, AND your laundry basket, you’d have PLENTY OF ROOM. )

She kept muttering in Spanish. I figured she was making snide comments to me. Little did she know they fell on decidedly non-bilingual ears….

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