A surreal (essentially)true story
December 25, 2006
Due to my work schedule, and general aversion to the holidays, I’m spending today hanging around my apartment. In a effort to finish the year on a strong note I decided to clean my house and do my laundry. After an initial, and largely unsuccessful, foray into the near sentient pile of refuse I decided to tackle my laundry first. The worst of the non white offenders went into a basket , and I made my way down two floors to the laundry room.
About four paces from the laundry room I heard the rattle and clunk indicating some son of bitch has beaten me to the two lonely washing machines that make up our laundry room; there could be no compromise. Flinging open the door I assaulted by the image of a fat, old, white bearded dude in a wife beater so soiled it crinkled when he moved. At first I thought some hobo and snuck into the building to do his laundry, but then I then it occurred to me “Oh shit. It’s Santa”.
The old guy gave me this look like “Yeah I know what I what I look like, but I’m not him”, and I gave him this glance that was all “Whatever Santa, I still need that fucking washing machine so you best step aside”.
So beardo gets all in my face with “Pardon me, I’m using the machines right now”.
“Really” I say, “Because it doesn’t look like there are any clothes in them, and that means open for business in my part of town”.
He decided to play tough guy and hoist his laundry sack up onto the washer “look, I was clearly here first. Just wait your turn.”
I wanted to slap him so bad my eyes shook “I know you had a long night Santa, but I suggest you grab you sack and take a walk before this gets ugly.”
Oldie seems disinclined to take my advice “My name is Jack. I live in apt #9 and see you everyday…I’m not Santa, asshole.
The fucking mouth on this guy. “Yeah” I said “Well you look like Santa, and you lie like Santa, and you’re about to get punched in the mouth like Santa.”
Old Saint pricks belly shook like a bowl of very angry jelly. Glaring at me he grabbed his laundry and stormed from the laundry room. “Building management will here about this! I know you, you’re the guy from apt #4 that Pigeot hates.”
“Whatever cocksucker; I’m real scared of elves. I’ll bash you and your whole semi pagan operation.” Though it’s likely to my discredit, it felt real good to punk out a old man for no real reason… pushing around a fat kid good. Merry Christmas everyone; and stay the hell out of my laundry room.
 In retrospect I phrased more provocatively than strictly necessary.
 I assume due to their awkward shape, and slavish dedication to duty, that washing machines are standoffish towards each other