May 16th, 2006

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Laundry

When I was in high school I sent letters to all the companies within walking distance of my home, explaining that I was a student in need of a summer job. I got a bite from International Fabricare Institute and worked as their account receivables clerk until I graduated. Employees got free drycleaning on Wednesdays, but I didn't have a lot of clothes that needed drycleaning. I did keep my band jacket looking sharp.

A/R pretty much consisted of making sure the money coming in matched the invoices. I developed impressive adding machine skills. I telephoned cleaners with delinquent accounts. It was interesting--no matter where I called I always reached a person speaking English with an asian accent. It seemed silly to me that I would call all the way to Saudi Arabia to stumble through a request for a missing $8, but it was an ok job in general. When I left, my mom took the job over from me. She was going back to school for an accounting degree, so it was a nice transition.

Laundry is not a priority for me. Sometimes we dress out of the basket for weeks. I was telling some coworkers about how I am never as happy with my laundry improvements as I think I'll be: when we used to haul loads to the laundromat, I thought having a laundry room in my building would be great. We moved to an apartment with a laundry room and I pined for my own washer and dryer. Now I have those, but they're downstairs. So awful! xGinny volunteered that years and years ago she (she said "we", I think it was she and an ex) used to send the laundry out. It would be returned, clean, pressed or folded, in a couple of days. She sighed wistfully and said that she is certain that this happened, but it seems like a dream now. The rest of us sighed along. Of course, I am sure I'd find something to complain about with such an arrangement but really! Doesn't that sound glorious?
complaining

Dreading Home Depot

This morning my babysitter requested (and I use the term lightly) a lift to Home Depot later today. I would be a jerk to say no; I did not say no. But I HATE everything about this trip and have been dreading it all day. I just wanted to go to the libraries (somehow we became beholden to two branches in the recent past, time to consolidate) and go home and dogsit and chill.

Instead we have to deal with the line (there is always a line) at the return counter (she always has a return) and then find everything slightly wrong on her list (she always makes a list from which to deviate) or NOT find it, which is much, much worse. That means we have to hunt down a person in an orange apron and ask for the--here we move our hands around in an approximation of the object's size and shape while inchoately describing its function. This person will nod and hold a finger up, indicating that we should follow. We follow until we reach another orange-aproned person and now the three of us perform the object-seeking ritual. Occasionally, we end up finding the object. If we're lucky as hell, it will have a scannable barcode--the next hurdle is to pay for the items and that requires using the self-serve counters. No one mans a cash register at Home Depot anymore, although a benighted individual is usually floating about to gaze in wonder at stations where "assistance" has been requested.

Oh, look! Time to go. Hooray.