A cupidian anecdote -- originally shared on my previous Gaia blog in response to the Question of the Day: "How Did You Meet Your Partner?"
About two weeks before Valentine's day in 1990, I met the man who eventually became my husband -- all thanks to our Friendly Neighborhood Laundromat.
I had maybe five loads of laundry to do, and the machines in my apartment complex weren't working. I also had a batch of Freshman English papers to grade, so I had hauled my five loads and pile of papers down the street and settled in for an evening of work at the Fluff and Fold.
I ended up using a dryer next to a guy who seemed homeless to me - he was unshaven and wearing a jacket that looked like the remnants of a dog attack, funky brown polyester pants with the hem coming out of them ... (I wasn't looking so hot myself, adorned in shapeless dark pink sweatpants and faded alma mater T-shirt), and when he walked by me, trying to catch my eye to say hello, I was sure he was going to ask me for some change. I did have a couple of quarters to spare and thought I would give those to him if he asked, as he had a woebegone and sweet vibe about him.
I had maybe five loads of laundry to do, and the machines in my apartment complex weren't working. I also had a batch of Freshman English papers to grade, so I had hauled my five loads and pile of papers down the street and settled in for an evening of work at the Fluff and Fold.
I ended up using a dryer next to a guy who seemed homeless to me - he was unshaven and wearing a jacket that looked like the remnants of a dog attack, funky brown polyester pants with the hem coming out of them ... (I wasn't looking so hot myself, adorned in shapeless dark pink sweatpants and faded alma mater T-shirt), and when he walked by me, trying to catch my eye to say hello, I was sure he was going to ask me for some change. I did have a couple of quarters to spare and thought I would give those to him if he asked, as he had a woebegone and sweet vibe about him.
And yes, I’ll admit: in spite of his disheveled robing, he was good-looking.
He did not ask for change. Instead, he asked me if I was in Amnesty International (which was actually true, and I still have no idea how he might have known) and we ended up talking about human-rights activism for a bit. He turned out to be Kirk T., the local AI group's anti-death penalty coordinator. As we talked, I noticed at one point that he was spending quarters to finish drying just two pairs of socks. Bachelor drying clothes, I chuckled to myself.
He eventually finished with his socks and left.
Perhaps 15 minutes later, I had also finished and was carrying my clean laundry back to my car. Kirk had returned to the laundromat - I figured he had forgotten something - and he walked up to me with a silky tattered cloth in his hand. This was actually a pair of newly clean panties that had just fallen out of my laundry basket onto the asphalt. "I think you dropped these," he said, holding them out to me. I was embarrassed because they were raggedy and garish - so I shook my head, "Um … no, those aren't mine," while wondering what kind of weird guy was this, picking up strangers’ undies off the ground...
Then, still gingerly holding the panties, he asked me if we could meet again to talk. (This, I discovered later, was the reason he had returned to the laundromat). I was about to say no, because, well, the panty thing was kind of freaking me out. So I looked into his eyes - and completely changed my mind. His gaze radiated warmth and kindness.
Thus, after relieving him of the panties and tossing them in a nearby dumpster (what else could one do?) I agreed to meet him for a meal at a nearby restaurant the following week. We had a great time, but I still wanted to meet him maybe once or twice more before giving him my phone number. (FYI: this was before the time of widely-used internet and e-mail, etc. Yes: That long ago). A single girl's gotta protect that phone number, ya know ...
Valentine's Day, which was about a week after our restaurant date, was a busy day for me. I rushed out that morning, late to class, and found a dozen yellow roses propped up next to my curbside-parked car – de-thorned stems vulnerably leaning on the left front tire.
Kirk didn't have my phone number or address, but he knew what my car looked like and that I lived a few blocks from the Fluff and Fold. So he had wandered around the neighborhood with those roses until he found my car, and laid them there.
As I unlocked my car door, he was walking back to his place and was about a half block away when he turned around in time to see me picking up the roses. So he jogged back to my spot, startling me as I stood there trying to figure out what to do with the unexpected flowers. A part of me thought: you mean he put the roses there and then waited for me to show up? I don't know about this guy.
Stalker? Or romantic warm-hearted fellow?
I decided to give him my phone number.
He did not ask for change. Instead, he asked me if I was in Amnesty International (which was actually true, and I still have no idea how he might have known) and we ended up talking about human-rights activism for a bit. He turned out to be Kirk T., the local AI group's anti-death penalty coordinator. As we talked, I noticed at one point that he was spending quarters to finish drying just two pairs of socks. Bachelor drying clothes, I chuckled to myself.
He eventually finished with his socks and left.
Perhaps 15 minutes later, I had also finished and was carrying my clean laundry back to my car. Kirk had returned to the laundromat - I figured he had forgotten something - and he walked up to me with a silky tattered cloth in his hand. This was actually a pair of newly clean panties that had just fallen out of my laundry basket onto the asphalt. "I think you dropped these," he said, holding them out to me. I was embarrassed because they were raggedy and garish - so I shook my head, "Um … no, those aren't mine," while wondering what kind of weird guy was this, picking up strangers’ undies off the ground...
Then, still gingerly holding the panties, he asked me if we could meet again to talk. (This, I discovered later, was the reason he had returned to the laundromat). I was about to say no, because, well, the panty thing was kind of freaking me out. So I looked into his eyes - and completely changed my mind. His gaze radiated warmth and kindness.
Thus, after relieving him of the panties and tossing them in a nearby dumpster (what else could one do?) I agreed to meet him for a meal at a nearby restaurant the following week. We had a great time, but I still wanted to meet him maybe once or twice more before giving him my phone number. (FYI: this was before the time of widely-used internet and e-mail, etc. Yes: That long ago). A single girl's gotta protect that phone number, ya know ...
Valentine's Day, which was about a week after our restaurant date, was a busy day for me. I rushed out that morning, late to class, and found a dozen yellow roses propped up next to my curbside-parked car – de-thorned stems vulnerably leaning on the left front tire.
Kirk didn't have my phone number or address, but he knew what my car looked like and that I lived a few blocks from the Fluff and Fold. So he had wandered around the neighborhood with those roses until he found my car, and laid them there.
As I unlocked my car door, he was walking back to his place and was about a half block away when he turned around in time to see me picking up the roses. So he jogged back to my spot, startling me as I stood there trying to figure out what to do with the unexpected flowers. A part of me thought: you mean he put the roses there and then waited for me to show up? I don't know about this guy.
Stalker? Or romantic warm-hearted fellow?
I decided to give him my phone number.
Awww, so nice that he ended up a husband, not a stalker!
ReplyDelete... And a husband with a (now well-honed) talent for laundry, to boot! :-D
ReplyDelete