I am the dumbest person alive
Apr. 23rd, 2006 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenYou may recall my earlier post about how there was happy Spring rain here in the land of Siam. Oh tra la la, was my general tone, it is raining and lo' I am forjoyed.
Okay, here's the thing: rain, especially lots of rain, can have aftereffects.
I discovered this when I went to do my laundry.
The landry rooms in my co-op complex are located, as they oft are, in the basements of various buildings. So, as is my want, I gathered up my laundry in my laundry bag, went out into the happy spring rain, and walked over to the next building to take the stairs, which are located outside, down to the laundry room.
I looked down and saw water. Lots of water.
Bear in mind too that since it's daytime the lights haven't kicked on yet. So effectively I am staring down into a dark, dank tunnel of doom, complete with a moat. And then, as though the ominousness hadn't been hammered home enough, a drop of water fell down from the ceiling and went:
BLOOP
So this thing is so huge it's got Foley artists, basically.
But! I am not dissuaded. There are other buildings, I'll go to them!
Well the thing with other buildings is that they, too, have stubbornly put their basements under the ground. Freaky, I know. So when I get to the next building there is yet another dark, dank tunnel of hopelessness and despair, this one complete with a moat around the staircase itself just in case you weren't quite getting the "wet" concept yet.
Now some people would say to themselves "Self, you have clean clothes. Your laundry needs are not that urgent. Call this a wash - ha ha - and come back later in the week."
I, of course, am not some people.
I tippy toe my way around the first moat, climb down the relatively dry staircase, and put my foot down into ankle high water. Because the water here? Was tricksy. It looked shallow. It lied.
Fortunately I'm wearing my Merrills, which are waterproof, so there's a bit of eeping and yet more tiptoeing, but I manage to stay dry. I key open the laundry room door and go inside.
Inside? More water. Not ankle high, but a large enough puddle that actually calling it a puddle is a bit of a misnomer.
Again some would turn back. Again I am not some. I splash my way over, put my stuff into the machines (which are high and dry and raised off the ground, and I guess now we know why) turn them on, and splash my way back.
On the way back I realize two things:
1) The water outside the door has waves in it, so now my socks are wet
2) I'm standing in water as I flip the switch to turn the lights on.
Yet again I could stop and give up on the whole process, but at this point I figure - eh, came this far, and there's detergent all over my stuff now anyway.
So here I am, now waiting for my laundry to get done in the dryer, using snow boots in April to get into the laundry room with some semblance of dry ankles and, moreover, still flicking on light switches while standing in water, thus significantly raising the odds that my obituary will have a headline that says "GIRL KILLS SELF IN STUPIDIEST NON-POODLE RELATED ACCIDENT EVER" and yet I keep going.
That, my friends, is fortitude.
Okay, here's the thing: rain, especially lots of rain, can have aftereffects.
I discovered this when I went to do my laundry.
The landry rooms in my co-op complex are located, as they oft are, in the basements of various buildings. So, as is my want, I gathered up my laundry in my laundry bag, went out into the happy spring rain, and walked over to the next building to take the stairs, which are located outside, down to the laundry room.
I looked down and saw water. Lots of water.
Bear in mind too that since it's daytime the lights haven't kicked on yet. So effectively I am staring down into a dark, dank tunnel of doom, complete with a moat. And then, as though the ominousness hadn't been hammered home enough, a drop of water fell down from the ceiling and went:
BLOOP
So this thing is so huge it's got Foley artists, basically.
But! I am not dissuaded. There are other buildings, I'll go to them!
Well the thing with other buildings is that they, too, have stubbornly put their basements under the ground. Freaky, I know. So when I get to the next building there is yet another dark, dank tunnel of hopelessness and despair, this one complete with a moat around the staircase itself just in case you weren't quite getting the "wet" concept yet.
Now some people would say to themselves "Self, you have clean clothes. Your laundry needs are not that urgent. Call this a wash - ha ha - and come back later in the week."
I, of course, am not some people.
I tippy toe my way around the first moat, climb down the relatively dry staircase, and put my foot down into ankle high water. Because the water here? Was tricksy. It looked shallow. It lied.
Fortunately I'm wearing my Merrills, which are waterproof, so there's a bit of eeping and yet more tiptoeing, but I manage to stay dry. I key open the laundry room door and go inside.
Inside? More water. Not ankle high, but a large enough puddle that actually calling it a puddle is a bit of a misnomer.
Again some would turn back. Again I am not some. I splash my way over, put my stuff into the machines (which are high and dry and raised off the ground, and I guess now we know why) turn them on, and splash my way back.
On the way back I realize two things:
1) The water outside the door has waves in it, so now my socks are wet
2) I'm standing in water as I flip the switch to turn the lights on.
Yet again I could stop and give up on the whole process, but at this point I figure - eh, came this far, and there's detergent all over my stuff now anyway.
So here I am, now waiting for my laundry to get done in the dryer, using snow boots in April to get into the laundry room with some semblance of dry ankles and, moreover, still flicking on light switches while standing in water, thus significantly raising the odds that my obituary will have a headline that says "GIRL KILLS SELF IN STUPIDIEST NON-POODLE RELATED ACCIDENT EVER" and yet I keep going.
That, my friends, is fortitude.
