Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Washing sheets and makin' waves

About a week ago, while at Farmer and the Cook, a young girl said: "So, you have lots of red sheets?" I said "Yeah... well where I work we do." An older woman sitting at the same table suddenly came to life and said: "It was you, you are the one who got so angry at the laundry!" I was like: "Woh, wait a second, I remember that, you freaked out because I started using one of your dryers. I waited like 25 minutes. Your dryer finished its cycle. I waited 25 minutes." Older woman: "Oh, it was my boyfriend's clothes." Thats when the young woman, S, yells "Can't we just drop it!"

I leave that scene immeditately. A little too twisted for me. That laundry incident happened at least a 18 months ago. The charge had lay buried but still had some potency. Thus, when I found this post, I was like ahh.

[written at least 18 months ago]

The chineese symbols on this journal depict love. Ironically, my first entry will involve hate and fear.

Today was laundry day. I slowly eased Baba's (Bagavan Das) dirty cream colored van down the windey roads, rock music coming out of a decent system keeping my fear of flaw at bay. Not thinking about the lack of insurance or possible lack of that is. Baba doesn't even know I'm driving his hippie rig. I just use it for retreat laundry.

My timing was off a bit and there was a few peops ahead of me, filling up all the dryers - the bottle neck of all laundry operations. When my red sheets complete the wash, rinse and spin cycles, I see that all the dryers are filled with clothes and such. Several dryers stop and just sit there. No one comes in to pull clothes of them out or throw in more quarters. I wait 25 more minutes before pulling the clothes out, placing them in an empty basket, putting my sheets in and starting them spinning once again. Soon after, a middle-aged woman zips in, eyes blazing, lips pressed tight against her teeth. She blurts out: "These clothes are still damp, couldn't you..." She trails off.

I answer: "I waited 25 minutes after your dryers had stopped before putting my sheets in."

She spits out: "You could at least say you are sorry."

I reply: "You should say you're sorry. You've held me up. Next, I'll be holding up the people waiting after me. I'm between a rock and a hard place."

The 50 something woman has nicely dyed streaks of blonde running thru her gray straight hair. Her eyes shoot sparks like a car bottoming out as she rampages against some mirror image cobweb of memory dragging the past past the present snaring random men like myself. An extreme example of passive aggressive disorder. I use the confrontation to strengthen my ability to stay grounded and centered while under attack from white zombie feminatzi.

It aint easy bein me
when you know it
you really know it
but you can not show it
don't make waves
amongst the slaves