I decided to go wash my stinky workout shoes at the laundry place a couple weeks ago. I have a washer/dryer combo, but hate putting my shoes in there. I like to go to the laundry place, watch people scream at their kids while reading O magazine, sometimes just to get me a little taste of why I prefer to be single.
Anyway, one of the tvs was tuned into COPS, which I have a fondness for, so I end up watching COPS while starting my Nikes on their journey to clean.
They have these little signs on every single washer "only use 1/4 cup of detergent". Of course I read these everytime and think to myself about filling the entire washer with detergent, just to see what it'll do.
Instead, I put the 1/4 cup of detergent in, and throw in my shoes, sit down and prepare to watch them. The shoes in the washer go round and round, round and round, round and round.
I lose interest, and end up texting one of my friends. A few minutes later, one of the girls who work at the laundry comes down to talk to me. We used to work together.
She's a nice enough girl, but is a Barbie. Mass-produced, nonoffensive, and just like everyone else. Probably with barbie feet, to boot.
She tells me about what she's got going on, and I try to pretend to be interested. She tells me about the new guy in her life that may or may not be her Ken (complete with Dream Home). I talk to her for a few more minutes, making small talk that just about makes my eyes glaze over and my i.q. drop 30 points, then notice that the washer with my shoes is completely white. With suds.
I think about trying to distract Barbie, but she sees the oversudsed washer, and asks if it's mine. I think about just taking off running, sprinting out of the laundry in my flip flops.
Instead, I tell her it's mine.
She just laughs, comes back with a towel (because at this point, that bitch is starting to overflow) and wipes up the spillage.
She ended up having to tuck the towel in. See guilty photo:
She tells me this kind of thing happens all the time. I squeeze out a laugh, and pretend to text someone. She finally gets the hint, and goes back to minding her business.
Well, at this point, I was tired of dealing with the fucking shoes, so I reasoned. I've had these shoes for at least a year. I got them on sale for $30, so I reasoned that I had owned them long enough.
I got up quickly, and ran out the door, cackling like a crazy person.
I ran to my car, got in, and drove off like I lived in Hazzard County.
I hadn't thought much about it, in fact I completely forgot about it, until today. I got an email from the laundry chick asking me if I wanted my shoes back.
That caused another bout of hysterical laughter, I laughed for nearly 20 minutes, just trying to get hold of myself.
And told her : No, I do not want those shoes back.
And Tom Wopat is the man.
Barbies I would actually own:
 Per Mr. C's request, the barbies of the trailer park: