The Laundromat

an odd piece with an unfinished ending. maybe a comment or two as to what should happen.

It had nothing to do with noise in the laundromat. I began washing my clothes an hour ago. The swirling masses inside the dryers were very hypnotizing, so losing track of time was simple. I don’t even remember which machine my clothes were in. However, I did have my flask and that was all I needed. My dad always said, “The long hard road that loses you in the curves always looks better from the bottom of a bottle”. That was his mantra on life and women. He was a drunken idiot.

A loud crash interrupted my thoughts. I knew I wasn’t drunk because I only just took a sip but the car that was parked an inch away from my face was trying to convince me otherwise. I was always prepped for s**t like this and whipped out my bottle of aspirin, popping six, not bothering to check if it was my aspirin or my mescaline. Letting my thoughts wander is a dangerous endeavor as three U.S. Marines climb out of the car with loaded M-16s. But maybe it was me that was loaded.

“Hey, maggot, drop to the floor now!!” one of the marines yelled at me. Diving to the floor, they descended upon me like a pack of wolves. The black guy gets close an asks me a question. This guy was huge but had the voice of a prepubescent child. “You got any aspirin?” I cocked my head, thinking about the ratio of aspirin to mescaline that I had on me and quickly handed over my stash. I hoped they would lighten up and have some fun. Unfortunately, is wasn’t till after I relinquished my stash that I realized that mescaline, marines, and M-16s do not mix. The unrelenting horror of the future situation I have created finally comes to light and my instinct tells me to run. So, I ran. I ran smack into a horde of Colombian drug lords, complete with Uzis. My fortune has escalated as I contemplate the possibility of a coke score. Zipping a smile across my face, (I had realized at this point it was a fairly large quantity of mescaline that I ate. Smiling was not an option) I spoke to the Colombians, asking for coke, and realized I was fluent in Spanish and French.  My exotic tongue made me the laughing stock of the laundromat. Everyone and I mean everyone, the Marines, the Colombians, all the single people and the referee, were laughing hysterically. I decided to join them. Taking a sip from my flask, I busted out some uncontrollable laughter. The referee was throwing me though, here surely didn’t belong here. Moments later I would find out why he was there.

This whole chaotic masterpiece was being directed from my subconscious via the mescaline (and coke). I knew a portion of this was real and I was handling it well. Laughing and partying on, the ref blows his whistle and climbs up a dryer and announces a Greco-Roman style wrestling match. It a clear and dominating voice, he proclaims “In this corner, the Colombian drug lords versus in this corner, the U.S. mescaline Marines. Winners receive a free month of laundry service and a $30 K-Mart gift certificate”. Ramirez vs Shaughnessy first, I don’t think I can handle this, so I hit my flask.

Whirrrr…whirrrr. The dental drill. Mr. Rodgers was giving Buckwheat a root canal. This was too much, and my flask was empty. I sat down to smoke a cigarette, mescaline running strong, and contemplated the chaotic circus in front of me. Three marines on mescaline Greco-roman wrestling Colombian drug lords (probably high on their s**t), a referee and Mr. Rogers, the dentist, performing oral surgery on Buckwheat. What the f**k!

“Excuse me sonny,” said this old frail voice. It was my grandmother and she was informing me of my lack of clothes. At this point, I could not have given two s***s about that. BOOM! All the washing machines exploded soap and water everywhere. Yea a foam party! I was swimming in the suds with all these fruitcakes and hey, look its Gilligan. What a f*****g nightmare. My whole body began to tense, and I froze, sinking into the suds. I thought I was drowning. I am going to die.

I awoke in my bed and thought was a blessing to be here. It was all a dream but there was an awful lot of noise in the hallway. I ventured out to peek. I walked out into a packed courtroom. I was in my pajamas but now I was in a 3-piece suit. I took to the stand and began to confess my sins. I confessed everything until tears began to flow. I had confronted all my flaws. I remember the judge staring with his beady eyes. What now? I was dismissed from the stand and sat with the defense. Matlock was the f*****g bailiff and the prosecution was Shapiro. I knew I was screwed no matter what happened.  Come to find out, I was on trial for not paying the laundromat for washing my clothes. All this for $4.00. Can you believe it? I plead no lo contender and was found guilty. The through me into a cell with a large, naked black man. I was shitting myself, but Otis ran into a corner and huddled there. He had a tattoo on his left arm of ‘MOM’ and on his right bugs bunny. What a b***h! I didn’t know what was to come next as I sat in this cell with big bubba b***h.