Monday, August 14, 2006

Black & White

I'd never been to the Laundromat on a Sunday before. I'd assumed it would be too busy for comfort on the weekends. I can be just a little bit agoraphobic at times. Since I go neither to bars or laundromats for the purpose of meeting chicks, I prefer these environments quiet.

To my surprise there was only one car parked out front as I arrived. It was a very nice car. Ritzy. The kind that bears a hood ornament resembling the United Nations emblem. It was clean and shiny and obviously well maintained. Naturally I wondered how anyone with the means to afford such a car would be unable to finance their own laundry machines at home.

Sure enough, there was only one other customer in the laundromat when I entered. I would have said 'Hi' to him but he never looked up as I passed by.

I coined up the machines, whipped out my last two 'Gain' brand free-sampler laundry detergent pouches and realized I'd forgotten to bring an exacto knife. Fortunately a thorough trouser pocket search produced a pair of nail clippers and that did the trick.

My clothes a-swishin' I made my way back to the truck to enjoy my traditional laundry-day burrito dinner courtesy of 7-11. I should note that this may mark the end of said tradition with Steve-o and I aggressively shopping for a washer and dryer of our own. Furthermore, the new de-tubberization project may warrant that burritos be placed on the prohibited (stupid) food list. We'll have to see how that goes.

My gaze was again drawn to the fancy car and I noticed a bible sitting on the dashboard and I noticed the personalized license plates. Here's what they read. I promise you - no joke:





So much for 'I LV LUCY' and 'POO LVR' ranking in the highest tier of license plate intrigue. This one takes the cake.

Now if this gentleman (and he is black) or his kin have endured some motoring incident involving undue attention from the police and this is a preventative and/or retaliatory measure - then I applaud the strategy - or statement as the case may be. Bravo.

There's a MacDonald's in this parking lot which of course draws an army of seagulls. One of them is standing ten feet from the truck - on the driver's side - looking at me. As 800 grams of burrito is 200 grams too much, I've got some grams to spare. I rip off a morsel of flat bread, roll it into a ball and toss it at the bird. He very deftly catches it on the first bounce and then starts "sqwonking" like a bloody maniac - non-stop until the entire tribe of seagulls comes coasting on to the scene. Dozens of them. It's a blitzkrieg. Scenes from Hitchcock's The Birds come to mind.

There's plenty of extraneous bread so I rip off a few more pieces, roll them into pellets and fire them into the gallery.


The squonker pitches a fit. He's easy to discern from the rest of the crowd. He's very wide and bright white and seems to be wearing orange lipstick. Every poor bird that stands closest to any given offering gets utterly mauled by the charging squonker who drives his victim aside and either wins the morsel or at least comes up with a beakful of feathers.

Why the heck did he go out of his way to throw the party if he didn't want to share the food? Good grief! He's like the Orangeville Northmen lacrosse team playing a home game. It's not enough to out-perform the opposition. It's vital that they rub their noses in it and do some serious harm while they're at it. They're compelled to add injury to insult. Damn psycho bird. With all these stressed out gulls everywhere I worry that my actions may bring about a few splatterings on the truck - or on the shiny luxury car that is black-owned and not stolen.

I could imagine the face of my fellow laundry-doer coming out to find his pride and joy all spot spangled.

'Sorry about your car, man,' I might say to him as I pass by on my way to load up my dryers. 'Listen - I saw the whole thing. It was those seagulls over there - the white ones.'

'Gosh!' I'd add. 'You don't suppose they can read, do you?'


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