In Which I Lose It
Maybe it was hormones. Or maybe it was the fact that I was trying to take a vacation day to spend time with my kids but had no less than four hours of conference calls scheduled. Or maybe it's just because I'm a redhead with a short fuse and a quick trigger. But let me tell you: I had myself a good old-fashioned temper tantrum yesterday.
My upstairs neighbor is a laundry hog. He takes his sweet time between loads, leaves for work with clothes in the washer, and NEVER comes to fetch his last load after it dries. Eventually I have to take it out and pile it on top of the dryer, where it languishes for several more days, invading my laundry space and just generally pissing me off.
Yesterday, Laundry Hog got a little payback.
Thursday, 9 AM
Laundry Hog has been washing his clothes since Monday. This is not an exaggeration. Who knew a single man with JC Penny fashion sense could own so many pieces of clothing, but that dryer has been running for four days straight. Finally I hear it stop.
I go downstairs to investigate and find the washer empty. Sweet! I shove in some sheets before Laundry Hog can decide that his curtains are looking a bit dingy or that the bathmats could use a fluff. I hear him on the back porch, talking on the phone while he has a smoke. And if I'm hearing him, he's hearing me.
His stupid clothes are a still a bit damp so I put another 20 minutes on the dial. I am feeling generous.
10:00 AM
Laundry Hog's clothes are still in the dryer. I pull them out and reluctantly give the pants and sheets a courtesy fold they do not deserve before piling them on top of the machine. I put my own clothes in the dryer. I am getting irritated.
11:30 AM
His laundry is still on top of the dryer. He is still home. I try to fold my clean clothes onto the six square inches of dryer not covered by his Canyon River Blues. I am annoyed.
1:00 PM
Laundry still there. I fold a batch of shirts and begin to toss another load in the washer. My pile of clean shirts falls off of their six inches of dryer space and directly onto the filty dirty nasty disgusting lint-covered floor. I am enraged.
1:01 PM
I grab Laundry Hog's laundry and fling it across the room. I kick it, swear at it, pick it up, throw it back down, jump on it, swear at it some more, and stomp on it until I remember that Laundry Hog is also a cop.
1:05 PM
I pick all Laundry Hog's clothes up off the floor, slam them back onto the dryer, and finish my own laundry.
4:15 PM Today
Dick.
My upstairs neighbor is a laundry hog. He takes his sweet time between loads, leaves for work with clothes in the washer, and NEVER comes to fetch his last load after it dries. Eventually I have to take it out and pile it on top of the dryer, where it languishes for several more days, invading my laundry space and just generally pissing me off.
Yesterday, Laundry Hog got a little payback.
Thursday, 9 AM
Laundry Hog has been washing his clothes since Monday. This is not an exaggeration. Who knew a single man with JC Penny fashion sense could own so many pieces of clothing, but that dryer has been running for four days straight. Finally I hear it stop.
I go downstairs to investigate and find the washer empty. Sweet! I shove in some sheets before Laundry Hog can decide that his curtains are looking a bit dingy or that the bathmats could use a fluff. I hear him on the back porch, talking on the phone while he has a smoke. And if I'm hearing him, he's hearing me.
His stupid clothes are a still a bit damp so I put another 20 minutes on the dial. I am feeling generous.
10:00 AM
Laundry Hog's clothes are still in the dryer. I pull them out and reluctantly give the pants and sheets a courtesy fold they do not deserve before piling them on top of the machine. I put my own clothes in the dryer. I am getting irritated.
11:30 AM
His laundry is still on top of the dryer. He is still home. I try to fold my clean clothes onto the six square inches of dryer not covered by his Canyon River Blues. I am annoyed.
1:00 PM
Laundry still there. I fold a batch of shirts and begin to toss another load in the washer. My pile of clean shirts falls off of their six inches of dryer space and directly onto the filty dirty nasty disgusting lint-covered floor. I am enraged.
1:01 PM
I grab Laundry Hog's laundry and fling it across the room. I kick it, swear at it, pick it up, throw it back down, jump on it, swear at it some more, and stomp on it until I remember that Laundry Hog is also a cop.
1:05 PM
I pick all Laundry Hog's clothes up off the floor, slam them back onto the dryer, and finish my own laundry.
4:15 PM Today
Dick.
Tequila Red called it a day @ 4:57 PM
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