Laundry and I are not friends
Laundry is one of those things I can barely work up the energy to do when it only requires going down a flight of stairs. So having to go down four flights of stairs and to another building means that it gets done about as often as the boy who downstairs goes a day without smoking pot. Which is pretty much never.
To make the laundry process less painful, I have a 4 ft x 2 ft black, rectangular tote bag that sorts my laundry into three washing categories as I create it. It's a good idea in theory, but then it involves lugging a forty-pound bag of pre-sorted laundry around. People on campus, even when it's apparent what I'm doing, unabashedly stare. This bag is GIGANTIC; knowing the dimensions doesn't convey how impressive this volume of laundry is to behold. People feel the need to discuss it, to marvel at its sheer size. As though something like that could escape my notice; the likelihood of my being able to ignore the size and weight of the laundry bag when I'm carrying it is about that of my not noticing my having a 700-pound grizzly bear on my back.
When I was coming back up the stairs, one of my entryway mates, who had never seen me doing laundry before, stopped me.
"What is that?"
"My laundry bag."
"It's massive."
"It pre-sorts my laundry into whites, colors and darks, and it gets kind of full since I hate doing laundry."
"No, but it's really big. I mean, you could kill a man and sort his body parts into whites, colors and darks then carry him up the stairs in that."
He shook his head and wandered away. And then I stowed the body in the wall.
To make the laundry process less painful, I have a 4 ft x 2 ft black, rectangular tote bag that sorts my laundry into three washing categories as I create it. It's a good idea in theory, but then it involves lugging a forty-pound bag of pre-sorted laundry around. People on campus, even when it's apparent what I'm doing, unabashedly stare. This bag is GIGANTIC; knowing the dimensions doesn't convey how impressive this volume of laundry is to behold. People feel the need to discuss it, to marvel at its sheer size. As though something like that could escape my notice; the likelihood of my being able to ignore the size and weight of the laundry bag when I'm carrying it is about that of my not noticing my having a 700-pound grizzly bear on my back.
When I was coming back up the stairs, one of my entryway mates, who had never seen me doing laundry before, stopped me.
"What is that?"
"My laundry bag."
"It's massive."
"It pre-sorts my laundry into whites, colors and darks, and it gets kind of full since I hate doing laundry."
"No, but it's really big. I mean, you could kill a man and sort his body parts into whites, colors and darks then carry him up the stairs in that."
He shook his head and wandered away. And then I stowed the body in the wall.
posted by Meredith at 11:00 PM
3 Comments:
I have a Swiss airmail sack of only slightly more modest dimensions that serves as my laundry bag. As with the other weird stuff in my room, you can infer where it came from.
And suddenly I am grateful that I do not know you in person.
We have washers and dryers in the basement and a narrow little service staircase leading there, which we've labeled the "sketchy" staircase. Highly appropriate for the transportation of both laundry and cadavers.
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