Hell. I’m in Hell.
I am so mad right now I’m shaking. I should be trying to get Lorelei ready for bed, but instead I’m sitting here in the bedroom doing the only thing I know how to do when I am this upset: writing.
Today, as mentioned before is free laundry day. Also known as the eleventyiyh circle of hell. I actually had no intention of participating in the madness (except for the much needed boob holders). However, Brian took Lorelei for a walk around the complex – like he does most nights – while I read a bit of Rabbit Factory (that’s for you Rougie!). As he was getting her in the bath, he mentioned that the laundry room looked empty and I should maybe take a couple loads over of the stuff I don’t wash frequently and would probably wash less frequently if it weren’t free (blankets, table clothes, etc).
As luck would have it – bad luck that is – all of the washers had clothes in them. Except, almost all of them were done. Now, I hate being that deeb who takes people’s wet laundry out but I was in a bit of a rush to get back for bedtime – my boob being an integral part of that routine – and so I investigated although the stopped machines looking for something innocuous that I could remove without feeling bad. Most of them had delicates of some sort in them, but I did find one with just towels. I thought to myself, Hallelujah! No one could too upset with me for taking their TOWELS out, right? Especially since I was thinking of seeing if there was an empty dryer and putting them in for them and leaving a note telling the owner of the towels such.
How very wrong I was.
I had barely started putting my laundry in when this big black (detail necessary) guy and his wife comes in. He starts screaming at me about how I was a fucking bitch and I shouldn’t ever touch his stuff. I swear, I’m a nice person and I usually never talk back to someone but today I had it. I told him, “Don’t fucking talk to me that way.” He goes on and on about he would never dream of taking someone else’s stuff out of the machine and yadda, yadda, yadda. I was having none of that so I say, “Yeah right.” and then “Maybe you should come back when the laundry is done instead of letting it sit in the machine.”
This is where it gets really fun. He says, “You people just act like you own everything anyway.” Excuse me? Because I’m white? Because that better not be what you’re saying. It’s not as if I knew that it was some black person’s laundry that I was taking out and I was doing it on purpose because I hate black people. I don’t. I get so frustrated when people do that! I don’t judge you based on your race, gender, religion, sexuality, etc; I judge you based on the kind of person you are. And you sir – black, white, latino, whatever – are a complete asshole.
At this point, I was already on the verge of tears and even though I knew there would be another machine free for the load of blankets I still had because they had taken up at least three machines, I stormed out. I slammed the door as best as I could and flipped him off. Ran across the lot, up the hill, up the flight of stairs into the apartment and tearfully told Brian what happened. I asked him to go down there and tell the guy off (also, start the other load) and tell him he wasn’t allowed to speak to his wife that way. Normally, I don’t want Brian to defend me like that, but today I did. Today, that guy was lucky – even if he was twice my size – that I didn’t kick him in the junk.
Kicker is. When Brian went down there, the wife was screaming at him and telling him there was no reason for him to be such an asshole.
Phew. Calmed down a little now, but just so we’re clear: I am not a racist.