The Bard's Hall Blog Entries June 2023

Dirty Laundry

         Fresh from yet another excursion to the local laundromat I sit and ponder. Snippets of conversation swirl amidst my synapses. In the actual heat of the moment and of course the heat from the rumbling dryers I do not always respond on point. A few sharers do not permit me to get a word in edgewise. They are the few who seem to love the sound of their own voices. Now in the quiet I am able to reflect.

         First may I confess that I am in the dark as to why people, random strangers, gravitate towards me and bare their souls. I have never chosen to dress as a spiritual advisor/counselor aka a figure of divinity. Do I possess an open/honest/friendly come-hither-and-confess countenance? Do I initiate eye contact? Is my offhand greeting, a simple 'Hi' an invitation?

         What is it about the drudgery of dealing with soiled laundry that spurs some to air their dirty laundry? Is it the boredom? Is it the waiting with not much to see other than spinning washers and tumbling dryers? Could it be the close quarters? Hey, while I'm stuck here with you I have something to say. You're killing time, am I right? You and me are here in this exact spot at this time, so it must be fate, no? Does anyone stop and think here in this temple of suds I must clean the air? Should I suspect the chemicals from various detergents, bleach and fabric softeners co-mingling in the humid air?

         I shouldn't grouse or complain. Although unsought these bizarre encounters are entertaining if nothing else. Obviously I remember many of them, so they do resonate.

         During one such 'exchange' a man clad entirely tip to toe in black leather shared his solo bike trip with me. He described the exhaustive pedaling and the pummeling winds. He bemoaned the vehicles that sped past him causing his wheels to wobble in the resultant jet stream. I learned he'd braved hundreds of kilometres to push himself, rise to the challenge, test his limits. He thought of himself as a bike cowboy breathing dust and car exhaust.

         At another encounter of the too close kind, a woman ranted and raved, stomped, slammed machine doors, and never stopped moving. Oh, she had to plenty to spout and she dealt with a towering mountain of laundry monopolizing every washer.

         "They did this. I have an ancient machine. They broke it. They broke my toilet. They clogged my pipes. They wrecked everything. The WiFi burned my eyes. The signal is non-stop. I can just start to see again. They watch me. !!$&**!! People! Local people suck! I'm gonna sue. It's everywhere in Canada. They watch me. They put cameras in my home. I shower with my clothes on. They stand outside the window. They watch me poop. There's something under my window, I hear it. They say you're not sleeping, you're not eating. They want to stab me, strangle me. I'm small, but I'm mighty."

         What could I say in response? I still wonder who they are. They had her back up.

         At yet another foray to the laundromat an older woman zeroed in on me the moment I entered. She asked many questions, but I soon realized she did not expect, or wish for me to reply. She meant to speak and seemed to believe I'd listen. Okay, full disclosure I did listen, but only because she proved relentless and I had my own laundry to deal with. I became a captive audience of one.

         Her topics ranged from federal government to local government. She also spoke of they and referenced them several times. She insisted all officials were idiots and hell bent on bankrupting everyone. Her theory centred around the influx of immigrants. In her loud opinion they were ruining our country and stealing valuable resources meant for herself, a true Canadian. She insisted she had never enjoyed 'hand-outs.' Why couldn't she decide what to do with her own money? Was I a local? Had I noticed the dark-skinned new business owners in town? Couldn't the town attract anybody else?

         During one visit I walked in on a young man practising tai-chi on a table. He admitted to being bored. He soon proved himself to be a sharer. The entire time we were in each other's company he explained how he survived off grid with two cats. As I folded and fluffed he regaled me with exact descriptions of his a-frame cottage and the extensive modifications he'd undertaken. He stated his desire to be independent with a well and solar power. His only concession was his laundry. That he had to lug into town and pay extra for the convenience.

                   Today I met a Seventh Day Adventist who shared that she loved her simple life, it was a blessing. She made a few enquiries of me and permitted me to answer. Gasp! She shared she'd been raised in western Canada and asked where I'd come from. We discovered we were both born in Toronto. This woman proved to be a welcome, pleasant surprise. She did not rant, or rave, or preach. Huh, the laundromat experience has never been dull.(865 words)