There is a woman here at the laundromat who is demonstrating palmistry to the young attendant, assuring her that the long, straight bloodline in her hand means she’s not a waffler. If she were to have a boyfriend, “he shouldn’t be gushy, as we say in English.” The attendant speaks perfect English; in fact, her gracious laughter tells me she is the wiser of the women. The older woman says “actually, in India…” in nearly every phrase, though not in a manner that would suggest she’s ever been there. I am the only other person in the room. The older woman is now explaining fingerprints, one of the few remaining relics of ancient psychology. Criminals will always have whirlier whorls, we’ve known that forever. Of course, fingerprinting helps with identification, but that is a modern, incidental discovery, she says. She will follow the attendant around the room, saying often that these things are “just nonsense, of course! Though, you know, not really. They have been around since the beginning of time.”
I’m done folding shirts and the older woman has moved on to explaining to the young attendant the dangers of American farming practices. The gentle lunacy of her monologue has quickly become caustic. As I leave I can hear her talking to the washing machine: “A giant sponge! That’s what it looks like to me.” I am happy that she has called this one, at least, correctly.
I joined Foursquare so I could check in from funny places like the Rock Crushing Lab, or the BGC Administrative Office, and claim the crown of Saddest Mayor in the Land, but from the look of things I’ve been beaten to the punch. Nicky B. is the mayor of an H&M in the Northgate Mall. Leah M. is the mayor of a See’s Candies in Vintage Oaks. If you think about it, those are kind of embarrassing things to be! But, OK, H&M clothes fall apart and maybe you have to go back often to replace them, and if you’re addicted to methamphetamines you need lots of sugar. I get it. That’s not the worst, though! Eric Z. is the mayor of a bus stop in Novato, which he says is a “good boy scout meeting spot.”
Excuse me, guards? If I check in from jail, does that count as my one phone call? No? Great.
Also, when The Tallest Man On Earth wails, “I WANNA BE THE KING OF SPAIN” at the end of “King of Spain” (duh), it is powerful enough to make the balance on my desk auto-recalibrate. Boom.
- moral hurdles
- “you know when you dip your cookie in your coffee but you leave it there too long and then it breaks off and falls into the bottom of your mug and it’s lost”
- unpaid parkour internships
- Greg: Charles said he would give me the rent Friday night.
- me: He meant next Friday. There's a grace period-- that's a legal term, so you probably know all about it.
- Greg: Yeah. It's a whole field. There's a class and everything. It starts at 10-ish.