Laundr-O-Matic
an excerpt

I tried to kick them out, really I did. But he of course came up and blockaded me with his…his stupid tallness.
“Sorry,” he said false- apologetically in a dramatic whisper. His hands were caught in a half- cringe, half- pleading position in front of his upper abdomen. Théo smiled sheepishly at me, gave a quick look at the raucous scholars behind him and shrugged.
“Sorry, we…we didn’t have room elsewhere,” he explained hurriedly before patting be awkwardly on the head and turning away.
YES. PATTING ME ON THE HEAD.
Mortifying. I know. Is this…is this because of my height?? I am very mature, you know! When the Bicycle Buds come in here to play Diplomacy I certainly would never laugh (overtly) when the redheaded kid says “I am not taking Brest”! I am very, very mature, and would certainly not laugh if someone was farting in a syncopated, rhythmic fashion! I wouldn’t ever even dare dream of flicking in random small projectiles into peoples’ mouths when they tilt their head back, slumped and snoring on a warm chair. And I would absolutely, AB-SO-LUTE-LY never, ever find a Whoppie cushion funny. No, no, I have never in my life even hailed its creator as genius.
Ugh. I hate this…this…this whole…I AM MATURE ENOUGH TO RUN A STORE FOR MORE THAN TWELVE HOURS, DAMN IT! IT’S WHAT…(counts on fingers) SEVENTEEN WHOLE HOURS I HAVE TO WORK ON WEEKENDS! Tough shit, you know!
And here he is, that backstabbing, double- sided sword of contempt [/Shakespeare], daring to stride his sheepish, sorry arse in here with a whole troupe of adolescents, professedly eager for Romanesque learning? Ok, fine, my calling them adolescents was unnecessarily condescending. BUT HONESTLY, NO ONE WANTS TO TAKE TIME OUT OF THEIR SUMMER RELAXATION TO FREAKING LEARN LATIN, MMKAY?? Not even the greats would do that, likely…though I think I’ve heard Buff-And-Tough Dunkin Donut Coffee Chugger mumble a thing or two to me asking if I took Latin and, when I replied with a cautious no, sighed in disbelieving disappointment and declaimed something about Caesar and how he never stopped his “wor-king and wor-king at it” even when he was watching plays. Oy vey.
But I think they might be back again. Urgle. Théo (whose accented name— whose dumb idea was it to give their kid a name with a friggin accented symbol stuck in the middle, anyway? Do they not know that hundreds of his acquaintances, admirers, and…critics [the whole consonance thing= not working] would end up having to, believe it or not, type his friggin accented name on Micro- effing- soft Word where choosing a Symbol from to “Insert” is *not* as easy as one, two, three?? UGHHH NOT…UNDERSTANDING…PARENTS GRRRR) came by yesterday with yet another full load of sheets and bedding to wash, stuffed into a large laundry bag Santa Claus/ Poor Suffering Overnight Camp Kid Style. Three laundry bags, actually…not a small feat considering the surprising tonnage of linen.
Seeing me see him and seeing me immediately turn down to my blank tabletop in a sad attempt to seem engaged by invisible and nonexistent math problems, he smiled sheepishly again (or at least that’s what it seemed like through my peripheral vision) before plunking his load on the dirtied carpet and lumbering over, surprisingly awkwardly for someone who seems so asshole-y on and wiseass-y on a daily basis.
“S-sorry about yesterday,” he excused himself in a clear voice, hands tucked into his baggy jeans’ waistband, for a general lack of useable pockets. Realizing I could not only see this awkward gesture out of the corner of my eye, but also his gradually visible boxers, he gasped a tiny bit and tugged his pants up and zippered hoodie down in one swift motion. “Er…sorry about that too…” he mumbled before shifting his arm positions around a bit, before settling on a hybrid between crossing his arms and covering the sides of his ribs with the opposite hand…(I’ll stop boring you with details, dear hypothetical reader…anyways.)
“I do have an explanation,” he began slowly to avoid further awkward hesitations by verbal means. “It’s for my work, my job…[ahem- hem]…for the hospital I work at…” he paused a bit, his hand unknowingly tapping a nearby edge of my desk in a futile dig for words. “I, uh…these kids, uh…um…[ahem]…they’re from my hospital, and…this give them, ya know, something, ya know, tah do…[NOTE: an odd Bostonian twang seems to surface when he is frustrated. It’s quite amusing]…and uh…yeah. So we don’t have a room; our hospital just got built last— no, this year— and uh, not a lot of room or space or anything.” He finished by quickly breathing out, “I- hope- you’ll- accept- my- sorry,” and added, “also, I need my cell phone to call my parents to let them know there is no way in…the world I would ever go back home this weekend, got too much work to do…” I heard the sifting sound of his fingers pulling through his fluffy entanglement of hair. “So…cell phone please?” His voice returned to his normal self at the end.
I didn’t reply and continued to gnaw on my thumb in deep thought about how to solve Invisible Problem number fifty- one engrained into the varnished plywood table top.
The clock ticked loudly from my watch, but I refused to betray a glance at it. If I hadn’t been solving such challenging problems, I would have noticed Théo awkwardly shifting his weight and twisting around to look to his filled laundry bags for possible advice.
After a few minutes, he finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Er…I really need my cell phone back. I don’t even know why I was so stupid to leave it in the first place…” seeing my sudden, jerky shift of position, he quickly added, “No, no, no, I don’t mean it like that! You really, really needed your sleep; I just could have waited for a while until waking you up personally or something. But I honestly need my cell phone back, today, because I need to use it.” He sighed in frustration, then smiled angelically, leaning down so I could catch his expression full on. “Please, Laundromat Girl, Please?”
That did it. I continued to concentrate on the table’s surface, while slowly standing up then procuring a random college prep book from the stack I had been sitting on. I plopped the book on the table and sat back down, six inches shorter. Then, in a sudden surge of indolence, I looked him in the eye.
I found me asking him, “Do you need change, sir?”
He began to shake his head slowly, nose and crinkled mouth and eyes twitching in disgust. His hands moved up and down vaguely before he gave up in a snorting exhale and turned around to snatch up his laundry.
“And my name is Penny, not my profession plus an obscure feminine noun!” I called at his retreating back. Well, more like back- which- was- shifting- undramatically- slightly- to- the- right- towards- a- washing- machine.
Do I feel remorse about this?
Hm.