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Musings from the Laundromat: Clocks and Curbs edition

I woke up this morning, turned my sleepy head to the clock and thought ‘Wow! I slept in!’  Clock said it was after eight.  I couldn’t see how much after eight it was, my nighttime drink cup was blocking the minutes.

Decided to leap into action.  Figured I’d shower after I returned and had cleaned the house – threw a pair of jeans on, ran a brush through my hair and heated a cup of coffee to-go.

That’s when I noticed the clock on the kitchen wall.

For some bizarre reason, my bedroom clock time traveled.

It decided to Spring Forward – not even caring that we in Arizona do not observe the time change and completely ignoring the fact that if we did it was the wrong weekend to do so.

Bottom line, I was now ahead of myself.

I gathered my laundry – hunted the usual spots that my son’s laundry lurks, captured and bagged those items and headed out the door.

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The laundromat opens at 8:00 a.m., but I’ve noticed that the sweet laundry lady usually opens a bit early.  I know this as I have arrived at eight on the dot and there have already been early birds sitting with their newspapers while their clothes are enjoying a wash cycle.

Deduction.  I am capable of it.  Gold star for me.

This morning, the pavement in front of the laundromat was littered with people. People and an assortment of baskets.

It wasn’t quite 8:00, so I wasn’t too concerned.

I carried my items over into the fray and plopped down on the curb to wait and sip my coffee.

One lady in particular kept pushing up against the glass – repeating the same Captain Obvious sentences over and over – and over.

“Something must be wrong!”

“They’re usually open by now!”

No shit.

She probably announced those two things at least a dozen times to anyone who would listen.

I sat.  And sipped.

I’m pretty damn patient.

Except when it comes to listening to people who aren’t.

It was 8:10 now – OMG!

“Something must be wrong!!!!”

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A new car pulled in – which had everyone who had previously been pressed against the door, turning like curious dogs in a yard.

When newcomer exited their vehicle, ‘something must be wrong’ lady filled them in.

“The lights aren’t even on!  The lights at the counter are even off!”

Which she followed up with this gem as another newcomer arrived approximately 3 minutes later:

“The lights are on, but nobody’s home!”

Okay, which is it lady?  Lights are either on or off.

‘Something must be wrong’ lady is the sort of person I can’t stand having behind me or in front of me in any line.  Whether it’s the grocery store or the pharmacy or the bank.

Impatient – and loud about it.  Sighing and clucking and complaining.  I’ll use my ‘You know, there are people who would give anything to be standing in this line right now’ from time to time, but mostly I roll my eyes and enter a trance like state to block out the squawking.

The whole time, I’m sitting and sipping and thinking “Probably she slept in.”

I was willing to wait until 8:30, then I would put plan B into action – do laundry after work on Monday.

The panic mongers weren’t willing to wait.

They drove off, one by one.  Leaving me – and two others to greet the laundry lady a mere 2 minutes after they gave up.

The door opened and I turned and smiled.

“So sorry” she said, “I didn’t hear my alarm this morning.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” I replied.

I got up from the curb – went inside and was able to stuff my favorite washing machines and claim my favorite seat.

Patience has such rewards.