The Literary Girlfriend: The Big Question

Not THAT big question! Yeesh! We just met in a laundry room. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Under normal circumstances, I’m a polite guy.  I open doors for women, whether they like it or not.  I give women dibs on the newly opened checkout line in the grocery store (when I have the position to make that call).  If a woman leaves her clothes in the laundry room dryer too long, I’ll leave the garments alone, even if that means a really long wait until she finally returns to retrieve them.

Yeah, I’ll wait.  But before that happens, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I get to that dryer first.

*****

I had it timed perfectly.  I returned to the apartment laundry room thirty minutes after the hot chick in the clingy t-shirt and I had started our washing machines.  She had a slight head start because of my clumsiness.  But I had an advantage.  I knew that there was only one dryer that was working, and I was pretty sure the hot chick hadn’t noticed.

I stopped the washing machine in its spin cycle and checked my clothes.  They were more damp than I liked but not soggy enough to leave them in.  A good cycle in the dryer would take care of that.  If not, I’d run a second cycle.  As long as I pushed in the second set of quarters before the first cycle of drying stopped, I would be within my rights.  It might be bad laundry room etiquette, but I was sick (with maybe the flu) and it wasn’t my fault there was only one working dryer.

I was putting quarters in the slots of the one working dryer when the hot chick came in.  Even though she still wore the same clingy t-shirt with the local NFL team’s logo and really short shorts, she was wearing a bra this time.  As soon as she saw me, she shook her head and said, “You in a hurry too?”

“Doctor’s appointment this morning,” I muttered, even though it wasn’t true.    As punishment, my hand jerked and a quarter fell, rolling into the hot chick’s path as she walked past me.  She stopped and let the quarter roll past her and behind the laundry room trash can.  She raised her eyebrow at me and then strolled to her washer.

It took me way too long to find the quarter.  I thought it had rolled behind the trash can, but it had somehow gotten under it, so I had to move it, but instead I bent my legs and tipped the trash can, but as I reached with my other hand to grab the quarter, the trash can slipped and the contents spilled to the floor.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I groaned.  Luckily, nothing disgusting had fallen out.  There were just a couple plastic detergent bottles and some lint.

“Rough morning,” the hot chick said, walking her clothes to the nearest dryer, seemingly unaware that it was broken.

It wasn’t going to be her morning either once she realized that the other dryers weren’t working.  And that’s where my dilemma came in.

Should I tell her that there was only one dryer?  I felt like a jerk either way.  If I told her, then she’d know that I’d rushed down here to claim the dryer before she could.  If I didn’t tell her, then she might lose her quarters in the broken machine.  Either way I’d be a jerk.  But if I didn’t tell her, then she wouldn’t know I was a jerk.

I had finally pushed the quarter slots through and started the dryer when the hot chick cursed.

“Shit!” she said.  “Shit!” she said several more times.  Fortunately, she had noticed the “Out of Order” notice before she put her money in, but she still cursed.  If anything, she over-cursed.  At that point I had lived in the apartment complex for about two years, so I had witnessed numerous women utter lots of profanity.  But I had never seen such a sudden shift in disposition in a woman before.

I was a bit uncomfortable.  Unfortunately, she was between me and the exit, so I couldn’t leave the room without brushing up beside her and that would have been poorly timed.

“Did you know these dryers were broken?” she asked, hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed.

“They are?” I said.  My performance was lame, even by my standards.

“I hate this laundry room,” she said.  “I fu… I hate it.”

“Yeah,” I said.  “As high as the rent is around here, you’d think we’d get better machines.”

“You’ve got the only good dryer in here,” she said, eyeing me.  Then she took a deep breath.   “Do you mind sharing it?”

I hadn’t thought of that.  In fact, it seemed kind of rude for her to ask, especially since we had just met.

“I don’t know.  Is that even legal in Texas?”

She had a quick silent laugh and rolled her eyes at the same time.  “I’m sorry, but I’m really in a hurry.”

“Me too,” I said.  “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in less than an hour.”  That was a lie, but it sounded good.  I had a runny nose and a bad headache and probably had a fever too, but I hadn’t taken my temperature.  I guess I could have if I really went to the doctor.

“Plus these dryers aren’t very good,” I added.  “If you put your clothes in with mine, we’ll probably need to use a second cycle, and then I’ll be late for sure.”

The hot chick didn’t blink the whole time I had been talking.  “Are you fu… Are you serious?” she asked.

“No, I’m not serious,” I said, even though I had been.  “I’m sorry.  I have a monotone voice, so people can’t tell when I’m joking and when I’m serious.”

“Jesus Christ,” she said.  “I couldn’t believe that you wouldn’t… Wait a minute.  Are you serious right now?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said, opening the dryer door.  “Go ahead and put your stuff in.”

“You’re voice really is monotone,” she said as she dumped her clothes in with mine.

It was the first time I had ever done laundry with a woman without buying her dinner first.

*****

To be continued in The Literary Girlfriend: An Awkward Moment with Women’s Underwear…  And yes, the hot chick does get a name soon!