Know what sucks? Wringing out beach towels, a blanket and a sleeping bag by hand. For the second time in a month, I’m waiting for Bob, the washing machine repair guy. A few weeks ago, my washing machine wouldn’t agitate. Now the freaking thing won’t drain. We’re leaving for vacation in less than 48 hours and I have tons of laundry to do.
Yes, I know, I could go to the laundry mat, but I’m a certified Weirdo Magnet. If there’s a mentally unstable person in the vicinity s/he will immediately be attracted to me. I’m convinced I have an invisible beacon on my head that sends out the message, “If you wear tinfoil hats and converse with aliens, please come and talk to me. And never stop. Ever.” A couple summers ago, I was in line at McDonald’s and the gentleman behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and said…
Guy: Ya know, I’ve got (some-sort-of-long-complicated-name) silk moths eating my mulberry tree right now. (great conversation starter, huh?)
Me: I’m sorry.
Guy: No! This is great!!! Don’t you see? They’re extinct in the wild, they’ve only been bred in captivity for years now. But I’ve got them in my back yard.
Guy: It’s great. Ya know, I could work for the FDA, but they won’t let me, because I don’t have a well-rounded education. But I know everything there is to know about moths and butterflies all over the world. Seriously, I used to trade butterflies with Khrushchev’s son. I threw a bunch of ice on that cold war in my time, but now they (I assume he meant the military) don’t want nothing to do with me. And let me tell you, Khrushchev’s son knew exactly what he was doing. He’s got American citizenship now and everything.
Me: And butterflies, apparently.
I come by this trait honestly – my mom and sister have it too. Cait calls us Fly-Paper for Freaks.
Once I was sitting in a bus station with my mom waiting to go back up to see my husband who was going to school in the U.P. and a guy came and sat with us. He told us all about his girlfriend who was a prostitute and wanted to know if we thought she was cheating when she was working. As I was boarding the bus, he was trying to convince my mom to take him home with her because she was “such a nice lady.”
So here I sit, waiting for Bob and hoping that it’s a quick, easy, cheap fix. Also hoping it doesn’t need to be replaced. I think it was three summers ago that we had to replace the dryer. I should have known something was up when the cats sat around the dryer in a semi-circle staring intently at the dryer…and yet, I turned it on anyway. We were positive there was a problem when the laundry has been came out of the dryer smelling like dead fish. Dead fish that have spent the better part of a week in a sunny landfill. In Jersey. Turns out a possum had committed suicide. In my dryer.
So yeah…I’d really like to do some laundry right about now. Oh Bob? Booooooooooooooob? Where are you?
0 thoughts on “Waiting for Godet…er the Repairman”
HA!!! That’s brilliant and it explains why I like you so much. We have the freak factor in common… though I haven’t had the silk worm discussion. I’ve had the “gift wrap in the hair” discussion (woman wearing big bow barrette) and a debate about potatoes in a pressure cooker in the mountains. Things like that.>>Excellent real life blog. I especially love the Cats-smarter-than-human reference. 😉
I’ll send my hubby up to you…he’s great at fixing dryer belts, agitators, and motors!>>Although…when mine quit draining, it was time for a new one. He couldn’t fix that one, but he tried!
So that explains why I am so drawn to you. I am a weirdo, and you are here to help me!!!>>Good luck with the washer. And have fun on your vacation. >>XoXoXo>D
Oh, I don’t know… laundromats aren’t so bad. I visit one regularly. You meet interesting people there unless they take their kids. Then everyone shuns them so the kids don’t touch the clean laundry.>>Soooo. Just take your kids and you’ll be fine.>>Enjoy your vacation!!!
My most memorable moment of magnetic freakdom was about three years ago. >> I was sitting in a corner at Morningstar 76 coffee house reading a book. Completely alone, minding my own business – as you know, for that’s how they all start. >> A woman named Wendy approached and asked for a light for her cigarette. I should have recognized the red alarm and said no: a smoker doesn’t leave the house without a lighter, often times carrying two or three items of immediate fire at a time.>> Instead, I handed her my lighter and she sat down and told me all about how she, barely a year old than I, and her 40 year old boyfriend practice extreme BDSM. >> She described in great detail the bead tipped Cat o’ Nine whip they used, how she would ride his back like a horse while dressed as a military commander, and how on one very special night, he displayed his commitment to, and trust in her by asking her to carve her name into his penis. She even pulled a photo out of her back pocket and showed me before I could stop her. >> To this day, I have the non-consensual image of WENDY scratched into a penis burned onto my retinas.
LOLOLOL!!!! WOW, Cait that beats everything I’ve ever been a part of. I bow to your freak-Pheramones.
Gee and I thought it was just me. Maybe all writers give off that all-freaks-talk-to-me vibe.
The only thing more important in a house than a washing machine is the coffee pot. I feel your pain.>Fly-paper for freaks, I love it:)>Have a wondrous vacation. I’ll miss ya while you’re gone and will be expecting pictures and fun stories.>Hugs.
Yikes! However, the freaks make for interesting blogs and book characters.>>Did Bob ever show up?
yep, must be why I like you. And dakota…and barb…and kelly…
Sadly, I am soooo not the weirdo magnet. This saddens me because writers need material and all the good freaky material seems to be attracted to others. I was in the waiting room at the car repair place and had a normal conversation with a normal 70 year old guy about his last trip to Sanibel Island. So boring.>>…So, all the good stuff? I have to make it up all by myself. The universe does not drop it into my lap.>>@Cait, thank you very much. I now have the “Wendy on a penis” image in my brain. Can someone give me some lysol for my imagination?