Posted by: LucidMystery | November 2, 2008

Good Times with my Laundry Basket

My laundry basket and I go way back. I’ve had the same one since my freshman year of college, and it has served me well over the years in spite of the numerous injuries it has sustained while hauling piles of my worn clothing (which reminds, I need to buy more duct tape at Target today.)

You might think that a laundry basket is just basket–or at least a Rubbermaid contraption that derives its name from its wicker ancestors–but my basket is different. We go on adventures. Why just yesterday, my basket and I had some one on one bonding time. Let me tell you all about it.

Ah laundry day. Not exactly my favorite day of every other month, but it has to come eventually. The one upside is I feel like I’m getting a new wardrobe since I have often forgotten what clothes I actually own by the time they are washed again. Yesterday was one of those days. As I sorted through my three massives piles (lights, darks, and pinks), I would hold up a shirt and exclaim “Whoa! I forgot all about this one!” And into the the trusty laundry basket it goes.

Now, I do need to explain a little about the laundry doing process in my apartment building. I live on the 2nd floor, and the laundry room is on the 4th floor, but you can’t take the elevator. No no, the elevator dumps you into the storage area, which is creepy enough to film Saw 5 in. I’m not walking through that to do laundry, so I take the stairs, which leads me right to the washers and dryers. Burns 2.3 extra calories as well. Whenever I head upstairs to do laundry, I take my keys because my door has one of those locks that is always locked from the outside no matter what (can you see where this is going?)

So yesterday, I loaded up my laundry basket with clothes and a bottle of All: Small and Mighty, walked into the hallway, closed the door behind me, and realized my keys were still in my apartment. Crap.

Well, it was 1:30 in the afternoon, so at least some of my neighbors have to be awake, even if it was the morning after Halloween. The company who owns my building has an emergency number for geniuses like me who lock themselves out, and I figured I could solicit help from somebody on my floor to call that number. Afterall, I’ve been leaving them candy all month. Easy bribery. So, I set my laundry basket down at my door, and begin the process of door-to-door begging.

Now, here is where the story gets annoying. Out of the 9 other apartments on my floor, I could hear activity from at least 7 of them. TVs, radios, or cereal bowls, that kind of stuff. I even heard people talking from two of them. But not one single person answered the door. Not one. Now let me point out that our halls echo something dreadful so you can hear doors even at the far end of the hall being knocked on. I’m not saying all of my neighbors heard me knocking all the way down the hall, but they should have at least heard their own door, even over the TV.

So now I’m frustrated. I stand by my door–in my pajamas still, mind you–and stare at my laundry basket, figuring I’ll have to start trying one of the other floors. Suddenly, I hear the elevator stopping on the floor above me. I run up the stairs and catch what looks like the biggest computer nerd ever coming out of the elevator. The only way to give you the full effect of the conversation is just to give it to you verbatim. Also, keep in mind he never made eye contact during this exchange.

“Excuse me sir,”

He pauses.

“Hi, sorry, my apartment is [downstairs] and I locked myself out. Do you think you might be able to help me get ahold of [the landlord] so they can let me back in?”

“Uh, well, I don’t…I think their number is 5930809q2”

“Oh, thank you, but my phone is in my apartment.”

“Right, well I’m on my way out” (btw, he was carrying grocery bags, so he was clearly on his way back in) “So I really can’t do anything. Maybe the intercom outside calls the office.” He walks away.

The intercom outside of our building? Great idea. The building is locked from the outside, so if I go out there to try the intercom, I’ll be even further locked out. So I go back to my own floor, and luckily, I heard the elevator again, this time on the first floor. I run downstairs and catch someone else who is coming back from grocery shopping. He has no problem understanding my issue and tosses me his phone, which has that emergency number in it. I call for help, thank the dude, and then chill outside my door with my trusty friend the laundry basket. We had half an hour all to ourselves before a cranky maintenance dude came to let me in.

All’s well that ends well, I guess. I do want to point out, though. While I was sitting outside my door, Computer Nerd comes down the stairs and sees me chilling with my laundry and asks if I ever called anyone. This next bit of his was great “I forgot I had a cell phone, so I guess I could have helped you.” Um…whaaaaat? How does someone forget they have a cell phone? Whatevs. I made it back inside, got my keys, and did my laundry. No Computer Nerd needed.

It just goes to show, people may be unreliable, but laundry baskets never change. All the while I was going through that ordeal, my laundry basket never failed to hold my dirty clothes.

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