The City

Drunks and Dryers

It had always been in the back of my mind, the chance it could happen. But when I entered my neighborhood Laundromat and saw a guy standing in front of my dryer, I knew the evening was about to get interesting.

Normally I wouldn’t be doing laundry on a Friday night, but when you live three blocks away from the closest washer and dryer, you procrastinate on washing important things…like underwear, for instance. Since today after work I had to pick up Sports Girl Liz at Oakland Airport, I knew if I wanted clean drawers I had to do it last night – there’s no way I’m doing laundry on Super Bowl day.

It was about 9:45 pm, and this guy was teetering in front of the now open dryer, picking through the contents. When I saw him rummaging around, I asked the standard question, “What the hell are you doing?”

He closed the dryer door and started shuffling towards me, with three Balega Trail Buster socks in his hand – one mine and the other two belonging to my girlfriend. He mumbled, “Uh, sorry,” as I snatched the socks out of his hand while walking past him. It wasn’t too difficult to pull off the Chris Paul-like theft of the socks. First off, he was holding the socks like a baby chick he was trying to protect, his arm outstretched with a very loose grip on the Balegas. Secondly, he was absolutely hammered.

He kept moving away from me and stopped in the middle of the Laundromat. That’s when I realized the guy had an even drunker friend that was sitting on the bench. I guess I didn’t notice him after seeing the sock thief in action. The thief then looked at me and said, “I wan some socks. My socks er wet.”

Of course, my response was “I don’t give a $#%*.” I mean, maybe his socks are wet, but rewarding this guy’s bright idea to hit up the local Laundromat for some dry ones didn’t seem like a good idea. I wasn’t worried about him and his friend getting violent either, since I could easily get out of there with a couple Garrison Hearst stiff-arms if things got dicey. I think a 5 MPH gust would have knocked these dudes over.

So as I pulled my clothes out of the dryer, he kept repeating, “I juss wan some socks, I juss wan some socks,” before the drunken pair left and stumbled down the street. So I guess the motto of this story is: don’t do laundry on a Friday night in The City.

Wait, how old am I? It shouldn’t take a wet-footed drunk to teach me that lesson.

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