Tickled Pink

Nobody ever read the sign.

No matter how many times they repainted it, what sorts of garish color they painted it with, or how big they made the lettering.

Nobody read it.

Ever.

“ALL DETERGENT PACKETS: 75 CENTS.”

That’s all it says.

Cassidy told Mr. B (whose real last name Baulimontague, but nobody except the fabric softener wholesalers, the people who only spoke broken English, and the prostitutes he hired called him that) how it was a waste of time re-doing the sign every couple of months. Cassidy even suggested a money-saving alternative: let me change the store’s greeting to “Hi! Welcome to As The Washer Churns. All detergent packets are 75 cents.”

And every time, all Mr. B said, in that condescending British accent of his, was: “Oh no, dear boy, we’re not running some grungy little Laundromat here. This is a high-class dry cleaning establishment, who just so happens to have the most upscale of washers and dryers available, should our jet setting clientele just not have the time to wait on their own laundry services.”
All that ever came into the store were the exact sort of people you’d expect to see in a Laundromat; over-worked housewives, white trash, young couples caught up in the struggle of trying to make it on their own, and others of that ilk. The dry cleaning was always dropped off and picked up via a drive-thru window, save for the few who came into complain about microscopic stains and such (never bothering to get off their phones, naturally.)
Cassidy hated his job.
And he hated Mr. B, as well.

Nevertheless, it paid moderately well, and was possibly the most low-maintenance job imaginable. Outside of the occasional overflow from one of the older washers, or kicking a drunk out, the job mainly consisted of making change, watching a lot of TV, and sweeping the floors rarely, if ever.

Cassidy was sitting behind the counter on a Friday night, no customers in the Laundromat, wondering if so much exposure to fluorescent lighting was harmful. He thought about checking WebMD to look into the matter, but decided against it, as every visit to the sight left him paranoid for several days about a painful death from some previously undiagnosed terminal illness he was sure he had.
One of the main reasons that the place stayed in business was its location: right at the beginning of the “Downtown” section of the city. Just up the road from it were several businesses, restaurants, the movie theatre, the mall, and countless houses and apartment buildings. Prime real estate for such a business, one that Mr. B had come into possession of by sheer dumb luck, buying the property when the city was still a little Podunk country burg, and then built the Laundromat just as the population (and development of the city) started to boom.  Others similar business came, tried to undercut the place with lower prices and special deals, but soon went the way of the dodo. Many of the other biter former business owners chalked it up to nothing more than the place’s location, which led to a devoted, deep clientele base.

The location of the place was the thing Cassidy hated most about the job. Actually, through the majority of the week, it was perfectly fine; actually, a bit of a convince, as  Cassidy had the luxury of taking his lunch breaks at actual restaurants or could just spend it walking the mall. This was a gift from Heaven compared to his previous jobs, where he was relegated to packing a sandwich and  spending his break either in his car or in some depressing break room, trying to drown out the chatter of his co-workers.  Also, the clientele that used the dry cleaning services were so loaded, they often threw in some extra cash for him, amounts that were borderline obscene. The high point had been when he had to starch, press, and scrub all the stains out of a young soccer team’s uniforms. The beleaguered team mom had been so grateful for Cassidy’s work, she gave him (which he politely objected to, at first,) $300.

However, Fridays and Saturdays were miserable for Cassidy.

Utterly,
unbearably,
fucking miserable.

Because, no amount of comic books, cheap movies, or nights home alone in front of the computer could take away a basic truth of his life. He was lonely. And like many a person in their mid-twenties, he ignores one of the basic tenants of human nature and pretends that he’s perfectly fine being alone: that he doesn’t need another person in his life to make him happy, that being in a relationship would actually be more of an annoyance than anything. Though, he found himself being drug kicking and screaming out of his hidey hole on the weekends, surrounded by a seemingly endless sea of love.

He had to sit there and watch, hours and hours on end, as happy couple after happy couple walked by. They all looked the same; in love, giddy, just enjoying the company of one another. Sometimes, they came into the Laundromat. That was even worse. They always came in, hanging on one another, finishing each other’s sentences, playfully fighting, and constantly making out. And there he was, stuck behind the counter 5 days a week (sometimes six), too late or too early to do anything by the time he got off work, no time to have any friends or any social life.

At first, he had dealt with this the same way many a young person who, at best, had some difficulties with social niceties would: get depressed, drink until he vomited and/or cried, and go to sleep watching reruns of old sitcoms. Now, the routine was similar, except that instead of depressed, he got angry.
Angry, cynical, and bitter.

A game he now had for when the couples came in was to imagine how their relationship would play out in his head. It never went well. Generally, the relationships either ended in a horrible, tragic way, or the two were locked together, hateful and wishing the other were dead, but staying together for the kids they had, who would most likely grow up and ape their parent’s behaviors.
This often led to the couples in question leaving in a hurry, as Cassidy smiling at them and chuckling to himself made them understandably nervous
.
While it might have hurt business a touch, it was good riddance to bad rubbish, as far as Cassidy was concerned.
The biggest drawback of the job, outside of the aforementioned crippling of both the social life, is the boredom. The majority of the business was dry cleaning based and done throughout the week, turning the place into a veritable ghost town on the weekends. Sometimes there were some entertaining diversions (like the homeless man who had broken into the building and spent the night in one of the dryers,) but for the most part, it was a lot of starching, ironing, and tedium.
On one such particular Friday, Cassidy was at his post behind his desk, watching an old movie on the small black and white TV on the corner of the desk, and bouncing a ball off the wall, similar to the way James Cagney was doing on the small screen.  There were no couples in the Laundromat so far tonight, just a mom and her kids and a couple of fellow lonely guys, who Cassidy recognized as such by sharing the lonely man salute with the three of them (a quick nod of recognition, followed by no eye contact at all.)
He was watching as some lowly detective tried to strong arm Cagney into squealing on his bosses when there was a ring on the service bell beside him. Eyes not moving from the TV, he said “Detergent is 75 cents a packet, what kind would you like?”

“Um, I can read, you know.”

It was the voice of a woman. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, Cassidy looked over to where the woman was standing. She was a cute, cherubic-faced brunette, wearing dark blue glasses, jeans, and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to showcase her pale arms and pink Batman symbol tattoo. Her body was much different from the usual procession of painfully thin women who came into the Laundromat, with a body that could only be described as “buxom” But really, Cassidy was struck by her smile, as it was genuine and warming, not at all like the forced grins from people far too used to dealing with the “service industry.” He also admired how confident she seemed, ignoring or feigning ignorance to the fact that the other men in the place were taking meticulous stock of how well she filled out her jeans and shirt.

After realizing he was beginning to stare, Cassidy mumbled “Hi.”
“Hi there! I’m not distracting you, am I?”
Her voice was really sweet and chipper, the question delivered with painfully earnestness.
“No, no, I was just… it’s a slow night.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, giving a quick look around, causing the other men to look away from her in the same fashion a guilty kid might look away from his mother after asking if he ate the cookies she had made for the church bake sale.
“Right, right… oh, I’m Cassidy, by the way,” he said, extending his hand to her.
She shook it and grinned. “My name’s Erika, and it’s nice to meet such a polite man.”
He smiled.
“Thank you. I guess it just comes with the job,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh no, I can tell you’re actually polite.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. I mean, for one thing, you’ve been talking to me while making eye contact, not staring at my tits.”
He blushed.
“Right.”
“And see, you can’t imagine how refreshing that is for a girl.”
“Right. Uh, sorry for that.”
“For what?”
“Uh… male gaze, I guess.”
She grinned and shrugged.

“Don’t apologize; you didn’t do this. I mean, I’ve looked like this since I was 14, so I’ve kind of gotten used to this.”
She then dropped her head a little, widened her eyes a little, and opened her mouth, staring in a way that reminded Cassidy of a dog looking at table scraps. The trickle of drool of the side of her mouth was a nice touch. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand while Cassidy laughed.

“So,” he asked, “what can I do for you?”
“Well, believe it or not, I want to buy some detergent packets.”
She held up her mesh bag bulging with dirty laundry like a fisherman holding up a bass.
“Ah, that would make sense… this being a Laundromat and all…”
She giggled and nodded.
“Uh, what kind would you like?”
“Oh, I dunno. Surprise me.”
“Ok. Just a second.”
He disappeared under the counter, sorting through boxes of detergent packets underneath, wondering what kind would be best for women’s clothing. That led to him wondering if she was washing her underwear, if so, what kind of underwear, and finally feelings of guilt for thinking about her underwear. Finally, he re-emerged with a bright, lime green packet.
“Here you go.”
She looked over the packet.
“Huh, ‘Boom Pow.’ Never heard of this brand.”
“It’s Canadian.”
“Ohh…”
“I actually like it better than the other ones we have in here. Makes clothes feel less stiff- at least to me, anyways.”
“Well, seeing as you are the professional, I will gladly take your word on it.”

She set her purse down on the counter (with a Triforce from Legend of Zelda on it, Cassidy noted with a pang of lust), and pulled out three quarters. She dropped them in Cassidy’s outstretched palm and said “There you go.”
“Thanks. I like your purse, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you! I painted it myself.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh. That’s actually my job.”
“Painting?”
“Yup. Well, to be specific, it’s this,” she said, giving her purse a shake. “I do graphics for purses.”
“No way.”
“Uh huh.”
“Like, just generic stuff?”
“Well, sometimes, but most of what I do is like, cartoons for little girls and older cartoons or movie stuff for women. Like, uh… oh, I got to work on these Wonder Woman and Batgirl purses a few months ago. That was pretty cool. I’m a bit of a Batgirl fan, as you might have guessed,” she said, pointing to the tattoo
“I did, and I think that’s an awesome tattoo.”
“Aw, why thank you. Nothing better than when a girl gets the compliments she was trolling for.”
He laughed. “Uh, not to sound like a sexist dumb guy, but… you like comics?”
She nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, “I have ever since I was little. I don’t really know why… for some reason, Lisa Frank unicorns and all that weren’t as cool as  looking at like, Harley Quinn and Super Girl. Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy comics too, but the girl thing… you know, girl power and all that stuff. I think it might also be from my older sister too. She listened to a lot of riot girl music when she was still living at home. Probably not the best thing in the world for a ten year old to be listening to Bratmobile and Bikini Kill, but what can you do? I’m rambling like crazy, aren’t I?” she said with a blush and a embarrassed laugh.

“No, no,” Cassidy assured her, “it was really interesting.”
“Heh, you’re sweet. Full of crap… but sweet.”
“Well, uh… thank you, I think.”
“You’re welcome. And again, I’m sorry for rambling. I just… I have a tendency to sort of uncontrollably babble around people that I think are cute. I mean, believe me, I’m usually top of the heap when it comes to picking up on social cues and all that goodness, but, I just-”
Cassidy did a double take.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, damn. No, I’m sorry. See, I also talk really fast when I get nervous anditkindofmakesmywordsallruntoge-”
“No, I understood you just fine. (Because I have the same problem.) What I meant was… I was surprised is all.”
“By what?”
“You know… what you just said.”
“That I talk fast?”
“No, about why you were talking fast.”
The blank look on her face was replaced with a playfully lecherous grin.
“Oh. Cause I said I think you’re cute.”
“Yup, that’s the one.”
“Uh huh. Now, just curious, why is that such earth shattering news to you, hmm?”
“Well, it’s just… uh… I don’t really get all that many compliments like that.”
“Well, it’s probably for the best. I’m sure your lady friend—or guy friend—would be too thrilled about it.”
“Um,” he laughed, “no, no, it would be lady friend. Not that there’s anything wrong with a man loving another man. Or, or a woman loving another woman, of course.  But, uh, there’s no lady friend to speak of.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well… it would be a guy friend for me, and I don’t happen to have one, either.”’
“Oh.”
“Uh huh.”
They both stared at one another for a few minutes, awkwardly smiling. Then, Erika leaned over and said in a stage whisper “This is the part where you ask me out on a date.”
“Oh right, right, uh… well… do you-”

A loud sigh cut him off. A woman’s voice from behind them said “Could you two lovebirds please hurry this up? My husband is expecting me across town at Le Fantaisie Cher in one hour. And I don’t know if you people are familiar with the place, but not even God himself could get reservations on short notice.” At this point, the woman had jutted her way in front of Erika, taking off her expensive sunglasses to make sure Cassidy saw her displeasure. “And trusty me, those fruity little Frenchmen hold a grudge, even if you’re a minute late for your reservation. So, if it’s not too much trouble, could you please give me my God damned dress?”
She said the last part with an overly fake air of happiness, complete with toothy grin to showcase her bleached veneers. Cassidy held back a shudder at sight of the overly tanned piece of leather that was woman’s face contorted into a grin. He was pretty sure he could smell some liquor on his breath, but he didn’t want to lean into to find out, on the off chance this woman’s jaw unhinged and swallowed him whole.

Erika gave Cassidy an uncomfortable look and said “Well, I’m just going to go do my laundry.”
The woman whipped her head around to Erika and said “You go do that.”
“And you,” Erika replied to the leather faced woman, “enjoy your overpriced noodles and snails.”
“I will.”
Cassidy tried to catch Erika’s attention before she walked away, but the woman blocked his vision.
“I’m sorry,” she said in her faux-happy voice, “did I interrupt you?”
Cassidy held back every urge in his bones to curse the woman out and chose to just force up a grin and say “Not at all miss.”
“Well, glad to hear it. Now, if you could be so kind as to go get my dress. Unless of course, you’d like me to call my husband and have you explain to him why it is that I won’t be there on time.”
“Not at all.”
“I didn’t think so. Because, between you and me, he could buy and sell your ass in a heartbeat.”
“Good to know.”
She handed him her ticket; he got her dress off the rack.
After he handed her the receipt, he said “Uh, miss?”
“Uh huh?”
“Between you and me, cum stains are a bitch and a half to get out.”
She glared.
“So, if you could, pre-soak it next time before you bring this in? Not that I mind the extra work or anything, just… it’s less expensive.”
She snatched the dress out of his hand.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smiled and nodded.
“You have a nice night.”
She didn’t reply, just headed for the door. Cassidy went around the desk and was headed for the floor to look for Erika, when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see one of the soccer moms, a frantic look in her eye as she said, “Uh, sir?”
“Yes m’am?”
“Well, um, I don’t really know how to tell you this, and I’m sorry, but, uh… one of my boys threw an action figure into the washing machine I was using and, long story short, it’s flooding. And I can’t get the lid off.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah… again, really sorry about that.”
Fuuuuuuuuck, he thought.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Accidents happen…”
He sprinted over to where he saw several kids staring in shock at a churning, shaking machine.
She was gone.

Cassidy knew she would be, sometime between the fourth and fifth customer to roll up at the drive-thru window, in a rare late Friday rush. They got frustrated by divided his time between them and the horde of people at the front counter mad about the wet floor and wanting the Laundromat to offer them a refund (or at least a free steam press of their pants.) After he calmed all parties involved down, he tried to find her.

But she was gone.

Just like everything else that had even the slightest chance of going well, or making him happy, Cassidy knew it would in failure. He sighed and began to close up the store for the night, contemplating on whether he had enough liquor still at home to get him  wake-up-in-an-alley-drunk, or if he should stop off at the package store on the way home. He kept the TV on while he counted out day’s take at the register, absently paying attention to the story as he tallied up the money. The movie playing now was something with Audrey Hepburn and someone who sounded a lot like Gregory Peck, even though Cassidy could never catch the guy’s face as he looked up from his counting to verify the man’s identity. As he was putting the money in the safe under the desk, he heard the two of them exchange a bit of dialogue:

At midnight, I'll turn into a pumpkin and drive away in my glass slipper.
And that will be the end of the fairy tale.

Cassidy let out a sigh and decided to stop off at the package store and buy the strongest, shittiest liquor they had in the place.

The bell over the door jingled as Cassidy walked out.
He hated that fucking bell.
He turned to lock the door and heard a female voice from behind him. it was a deep, husky voice, sounding more in line with one of those hard-boiled crime movies than behind some jerk-wad laundry attendant.
The mystery woman said: “Well, we meet again, Mr. Cassidy.”
He turned around slow, curious as to how a woman with a voice like that would know him, his brain running at double time trying to figure it out. (And to put a picture of how he envisioned the woman- probably one of those vampy, rockabilly type girls who try too hard to look like a WWII pin-up girl.)
It was Erika.
“Hey,” he said in an excited tone that was far more high pitched then he would have liked.
She giggled though, so he relaxed a little.
“Man,” she said, eyeballing the sign on the window, “when you guys say ‘Open Late,’ you’re not kidding.”
“Ha, yeah.”
“Why is that?”
“My boss likes to scrape up every last dime he can.”
“Ah! Capitalism. Gotchya.”
“So,” Cassidy asked, “why, uh… what are you doing here?”
“Well, it was two in the morning, and I thought ‘You know what? I have some scarves that need washing.'”
She held up her mesh laundry bag at him. He looked at it, smiled, and asked “Well, if that’s the case… why didn’t you come inside?”
“Because I was afraid that the cute guy running the counter would have changed his mind about asking me out, and then I would have gone home and cried into a pint of ice cream while I watched TV.”
“Oh… then why didn’t you go home?”
“Because I was afraid that the cute guy behind the counter would need me to make the first move, and if I let a few anxieties stop me, he’d go home and out of my life forever. And that would also lead to me crying into a glass or three of liquor while I watched TV.”
“Oh… so you chose to stay out here and straddle the fence?”
An embarrassed smirk crossed her face at that.
“Yeah… anxieties are a bitch.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, uh, what did you have any plans, Erika?”
“Well, if this goes well, then not off hand, no. Why do you ask?”
“Uh, well… there’s a diner up the road that’s  we can walk to.”
“Is it good?”
“It’s light on drunks and junkies.”
“Sounds delightful. Let’s go.”
With that, she intertwined her arm with Cassidy’s. They grinned at one another and began up the sidewalk.
“Are you always so forceful with guys?”
“Only when I have to be… or get paid good money to do so.”
“What?”
“Hey, gal has to make ends meet.”
As they walked up the sidewalk, Cassidy noticed the music playing through the speakers that decorated the downtown strip. Usually, it was some bland, jangly background music that wasn’t all that impressive, but this was different. It was some older song, with a bunch of horns and strings and background that reminded him of the records he’d hear over at his grandmother’s when he was little.

I'm tickled pink
That things are rosy
And skies are blue once again
(Do-do-do-do do do)

Let the bygones go bye-bye
No more will I sigh or cry
(Do do-do-de-do)

I'm tickled pink
The moon is yellow
And I'm your fellow tonight
(Do-do-do-do do do)

Cassidy and Erika looked at each other again. They grinned, squeezing one another’s hands.