I've been walking past an article of clothing on the floor of the hallway of my apartment building the past few days. I figured somebody must have dropped it on the way to or from the laundry room.
It sort of became a friend to me, in passing I would say "Hello randomly placed piece of clothing, I hope your owner sees you there and claims you soon." I felt like I should at least pick it up and fold it, or set it aside and out of harm's way. But instead I just left it there. Didn't want to pick it up because ew, what if it was dirty, ya know? And I'm not about to soil my good set of kitchen tongs to pick up somebody's dirty clothes either, so there it sat on the floor for a good 3-4 days.
Last night on the way to the Laundromat, I passed by this article of clothing yet again and gave it the usual friendly greeting. "Hello piece of clothing on the floor. I know somebody out there misses you, just give it time and you'll be home again." I contemplated doing my good deed for the day and throwing it in with my stuff, but my "ew gross" feelings kicked in and I left it there, wondering if anyone was ever going to claim it. Poor thing.
So I arrived at the Laundromat, dumped my clothes in the warshing mat-cheens, and sat and read the CityPages, listening to an episode of Seinfeld on the telly. There's a billiard table in this particular Laundromat that I was sizing up thinking hey, that's pretty awesome, next time I'll have to bring some beer and friends. I'll buy the games, they fold my clothes.
About an hour later, I was emptying the dryers. The dryers there are so big that I'm mighty tempted to climb in one and have somebody throw in a few quarters just to see what the ride is like. Sorry, I digress. So I was standing before the dryers folding my bodily furnishings and noticed that my favorite black tee-shirt that I'd been looking for the past few days was missing. It's sort of a detrimental staple of my wardrobe, as it hugs my arms and trunk just right, is rather soft, and it's not too taut around the boobie area. I love it so.
And then it hit me. On went the often burnt out imaginary light bulb over my head: Aaaaah CRIPES! That's my favorite black shirt that everyone including myself has been stepping over in the apartment hallway.
Well Gall-dammit.
So home I went, lugged alls of my clean laundry back in and up the stairs, all the while wishing I had a mule to do this sort of hauling for me. And sure enough, there it was on the floor in the hall where it had been for the last 4 days: my black shirt. I have been wanting to wear it quite badly lately and couldn't find it. And I had just fed a million quarters to the Laundromat to wash what I thought was all of my dirty clothes. But nope. Not the favorite black tee-shirt, and hell if I'm gonna throw away a $2.25 laundry load on just one tee-shirt. The thrill of having it back and wearing it again just isn't worth it. Even if it's my favorite one ever like this one. So now I have to wait at least another 5 days when things pile up before I can have it smelling all pretty and wear it once again.
Gee wiz, I really hate when shit like this happens.
