October 1st, 2007 9:26 am

So, I had an interesting Sunday morning. Read about how I locked myself out of my apartment while doing laundry and almost beat the crap out of a British dude over said laundry.

It starts with Katie leaving around 6:30 in the morning to work at a charity walk/run for the organization for which she volunteers. She’s working near the lake so it’s only about a 20 minute walk from where we live.

I wake up around 8 and go downstairs to do some laundry. There is no one else doing laundry.

Perfect.

There are 10 available washers. And they’re organized in this kind of pattern:

|1| |2| |3| |4| |5| |6| | Dividing Wall| |7| |8| |9| |10|

I have three loads so I take 7-9 and note the time as I walk upstairs:  8:10. Drying takes 30 minutes so it will be done at 8:40.

Since nothing is on TV at 8 A.M. I decide to pop in Metroid Prime for the Wii. The game is actually fun as hell (dare I say more so than Halo 3?) and I was completely immersed. Before I know it, it’s 8:45. Shit, I’m five minutes late getting my laundry.

I hurry downstairs because I think it’s rude to have your shit in the washer for more than 10 minutes. In my haste I realize on the elevator that I forgot my keys.

Fuck.

Our doors automatically lock when you close them. And no, the front desk does not have spare keys to your apartment for security reasons. I have no cell phone, no keys and my wife is about a 20-minute walk away. Whatever, first and foremost I need to get my laundry out of the washer and then I’ll worry about getting keys.

Things didn’t get any better when I got to the laundry room. 

I find that my laundry is laying on the table. Some douchebag took my laundry out of washers 8 and 9, but left 7. They needed two. Why they didn’t take 7 and 8 is just weird, but whatever. Even worse, they half threw my laundry on the table and half threw it in my basket.

It’s been five fucking minutes and some impatient fuck had already thrown my shit on the table. I was pissed but I had more pressing issues in hand. I took up three dryers and noted the time: 8:55. Drying takes 45 minutes so it will be done at 9:40. That leaves me barely enough time to walk to where Katie is volunteering, get keys and walk back.

So, I set off on foot towards the lake on the running trails. Keep in mind I am in sandals because I figured I’d just be going downstairs to get the laundry. I get to the site and there are about 15-20 tents all being manned by volunteers. I suddenly realize I have no idea where she is volunteering. I devise a strategy and decide if I don’t find her within one lap around the site I’ll head back, get my laundry, fold it, leave it at the front desk and walk back again to try and find her.

I quickly realize the organization she is volunteering for is wearing orange shirts. Perfect. All I need to do is look for an orange shirt. Problem is there have to be 100 people in orange shirts. No problem, she’s my wife, I’ve been with her for over 6 years I could spot her in such a time of need.

I’m three-quarters around the site and I still haven’t found her. She’s not in any of the tents.

Fuck.

Then, near the middle of the area at the end I spot what appears to be her talking to someone. Is it her? Could it be? That looks like her pony tail. As I approach I see Katie’s sister and husband. OMG! IT IS HER. I take off like Carl Fucking Lewis (minus the steroids) and run up next to her.

I asked for the keys.

“Why?” she asks.

OMG JUST GIVE ME THE KEYS.

She gives me the keys.

I then take off running (in my sandals) because I have no idea what time it is and I can only imagine what will happen to my laundry if I am five minutes late again. As I run off I realized that I just missed a perfect opportunity to ask what time it was to see if all this running is really necessary.

Too late now.

I decide to take a short cut through the zoo. The two lions are sleeping on top of their rocks like they always are and the sea lions are playing in their pool.

Cute.

In my detour through the zoo I did not see a clock so I still have no idea what time it was.

Finally I make it back to my building. I’m sweating and I have a blister on the bottom of my foot from running in my sandals but I see the hall clock in the lobby. It’s 9:30.

Awesome, I have 10 minutes to go upstairs and cool off before my laundry is done.

I get upstairs and begin to look for a Band-Aid for the blister on my foot when I look at the alarm clock in the bedroom. It’s 9:40. I forgot that the lobby clock is always a little slow.

Fuck.

I throw on a different pair of sandals and head for the elevator. I just missed it going back down. By the time I get down to the laundry room I realize it’s 9:43. I’m only three minutes late this time. No big deal.

Until I see my laundry on the table, again. 

And then I see the skinny little fuck responsible for it. I’ve never seen him before. He’s your typical Lincoln Park yuppie. I mean, the dude is doing laundry in a polo. Who does laundry in a nice shirt?

I quickly realized this was the same impatient douche that took my laundry out from the washer. How did I come to this solution? Simple: my laundry basket was UNDER the table, so the only way this person could have known that laundry was mine is if it was the same person who removed it from the washer.

Now, most people do give you that 10-minute courtesy period. After that, your laundry is fair game. I’ve seen laundry sit downstairs for days because people completely forgot about it. But this was less than five minutes.

I look at the fuck and say, “It’s been three minutes.”

He laughs and says, “Oh, sorry,” in a arrogant British accent. This little fucker thinks I’m just joking around.

I say again, “Three minutes,” and hold up the number three. “THREE minutes.”

He quickly realized I was not joking around and goes into defensive mode.

He begins to ramble about, “How was I supposed to know how long you were going to be,” and “I can’t wait around all day, I have stuff to do.”

I am completely ignoring him because I realized that if I argue with this dude I’ll more than likely end up knocking him flat on his ass. Being the British pussy that he is he’d probably sue me.

My basket doesn’t look like it has all three loads in it. He must have missed a dryer. A sock falls out. It’s not mine. I FLING open one of the dryers my shit was in causing him to step back. 

I hear him mumble, “I got it all.”

I pick up the sock and without looking at him say sarcastically, “Oh, you got it all?”

I hear him mumble a “Yeah” in reply.

I throw the sock back in the dryer and SLAM the dryer door so hard I’m surprised it didn’t break.  I didn’t turn to observe the look on his face but from that point forward  he stopped his whiny rambling. I think I scared him speechless.

I pick up my laundry basket in disgust and walk out toward the elevators.

I see him out of the corner of my eye behind me. I’m thinking, fuck, this guy lives in the same tower as me. If he says one word to me in the elevator I’m knocking him out.

All of a sudden I see him literally scurry down the hallway to the left. He must live in the west tower which explains why I’ve never seen him before. I chuckle because I haven’t seen anyone duck around a hallway like that. Pussy.

I get upstairs and realize that the fucker didn’t get all my  laundry. One load is missing. I go back downstairs and find it it STILL IN THE DRYER. Wow, seems everyone else isn’t impatient as that British punk.

For about five seconds I contemplate sabotaging his laundry but think better of it. I want this dude to live in fear of me. I want him to think twice before he pulls someones shit out of a washer or dryer again.

See, I understand he had a point about not knowing how long I would be. The problem is it takes 30 minutes to wash and 45 minutes to dry. The little fucker probably went down as soon as his washing was done. Then he realized he had to wait 15 minutes for other people’s drying to be finish. So, the SECOND something was done he probably took it out right away.

I’m not exaggerating. When I got downstairs it had been no more than three minutes since my laundry was done. I mean, the laundry in the basket was still HOT.

I can completely understand if I had waited 10 minutes, I’d even understand more than five. But it was THREE FUCKING MINUTES.

I’ve never seen this guy before but I bet I see him all the time now. If I ever see him doing laundry again I’m going to just park my ass in front of his machine and wait for it to finish. The second it does, I’m tossing it on the table.

God damn British.

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