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"Thass not Amer'ca," he replied with a tone of menace. "Thass a jerk." · In Paris, angered because I couldn't tell which coin activated which machine, I myself chewed out a roomful of unhelpful strangers on the grounds that, "I know one of you speaks English."I was struggling with some dark times in my life during that last one, but that's kind of the point. Laundromats invite dark times. They are rarely clean or cheery places. I'm sure somewhere there are a laundromats that resemble VIP airport lounges, where young Brazilian hardbodies feel free to sort and fold their socks while standing as naked as Adam and/or Eve. The laundromats I've used are more like biological gift exchanges. I leave behind bits of my own dander and DNA, and I leave with human hairs and Band-Aids clinging to my warm, fresh laundry. It is simultaneously America and a jerk, and I am--as with all who must air their dirty laundry in public—shamed.Previously - Force Majeure@sammcpheeters
