Truth, Duty, Laundry

There are few satisfactions in life that measure the satisfaction of obtaining a washing machine that works at the Great Dover Street Apts. Today was laundry day for me. Armed with discount Tesco "Washing powder"(there's a picture of a sock on the box to tell you what it washes), two bags of laundry(darks and lights, naturally), a pocket full of change, and all my wits(which aren't many for those of you that don't know me) I set out upon the ever interestingly mundane and time consuming venture that ever there's been. Laundry, such poetics have been lain upon the subject by the great writers of centuries past. From Homer to Shakespeare, from Beowulf to Bea Arthur, thousands have written for the honour and praise of clean laundry.

I really don't know where I'm going with any of this, the truth is that though I enjoy the fruits of the laundry experience I would much prefer if I didn't have to do the leg work, especially here. The first problem is this: Imagine 600 undergrads away from home for the first time never having done laundry for themselves and can't seem to be able to read the instructions on the wall. Then imagine these 600 undergrads have to share 10 washers, and ten dryers. Then imagine that 5 of the washers are broken and that 2 of the dryers are broken. Add on top of that, that even those washers that do work don't keep proper time(45min can take, depending on the machine, 2.5 hours) and periodically reset. If you can fathom all that, you may begin to know some of the depth of my hell. But then I seem to live for the melodrama. This gauntlet I have now run twice since my coming here, it only becomes a problem when you have a life, so I'm doing alright.

I had a health check today, I had made the appointment for 1050 this morning. I even have a witness, for security reasons she will rename nameless, she saw the whole thing. So I pry myself out of bed this morning slightly(very) hung-over, pull myself into the shower and eventually get out of the apt, running a little late but not beyond recovery. So I bust a move to the school and run up the the reception desk at the Clinic as my watch tics 1050. I say "I believe I have an appointment, right about now, with whom? I couldn't say. My name is Griffin, Brett Griffin." They look at me like a just asked them if I could father their children. I repeat my previous statement. One of the ladies types something into the computer, and tells me that I have an appointment tomorrow(Wednesday) at 1050. This was not working for me, I was not happy but eventually resigned myself to come back at 1130 for the walk-in appointments. So I comeback and eventually get stuck with a couple needles for one reason or another but I decided that I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could with as few questions as possible so I could get back to my bed and laundry adventure. So it turns out that I'm a healthy male, aged 18-24, with no allergies and family history of heart disease. I was hoping that in addition to giving me my shots I could get shaved, bathed, and maybe get a nice little bandana or something, but I was out of luck. I didn't even get a lolly-pop. I miss the good old days, all I got out of the shots was a list of possible side-effects.

I've started thinking about Thanks Giving, I've decided that I should make a list of all the things that we'll need for the dinner. I don't know where we'd find a turkey and even if we did find one I'm not sure we'd be able to fit it into the oven, so I think we might be going with a nice ham, or perhaps a few small chickens. There are a few Canadians here that are interested in the idea and my flat mates have also shown some interest. I think that given the a few nudges here and there I'll get around to it. There's a very nice market every Saturday morning where I think I'll be able to pick up most of the requisite parts of the dinner, so I'm thinking come Saturday I'll pick up what I can, and Sunday start cooking. Should be good times. Oh, and that picture is of a street nearby my place.