A funny thing happened on the way to the laundry

I finally got my head out of my ass enough to get to the laundromat today. I'd been planning on it for two weeks but my heart and my head hurt so much that the thought of being out of bed when I wasn't at work was well... nonexistant. Sure I'd feel bad about that if I didn't know that grief does that to you. Besides, the only way to turn those feelings into anything helpful and productive is to process it. And there was a lot to process: system wide overload.

So I get to the laundromat and have my typical "Oh shit I'm in a new place how do I not make an ass of myself for not knowing the place like I know my own laundry room" 30 nanosecond panic attack. Got myself put together and put on the fake "A hurricane wouldn't phase me" attitude and went to change in my 20. Of course the attendent spotted me, the newbie, right away and gave me the tour. This laundry provides cups for the change machine so that your pants don't fall of your hips carrying 20.00 worth of quarters. Kinda felt like a casino with all that coin clinking into the metal tray. I got over that feeling really quick when I saw how much the wash cycles cost. Yikes is a profoundly understated exclamation. After loading 3 machines, setting up my laptop and cracking open a Dr. Pepper I settled in to keep up with facebook. I hadn't even gone through 3 notifications when I noticed the character in residence.

He was hawking his resale shop and talking at warp 4. He hit up a mom and her tween daughter, a set of goths and I thought, oh thank God I'm spared. He seemed to be ignoring anyone that looked busy. A freelance writer, the only other male in the place, was face to screen with his project. I was working, as I said, on letting friends know I wasn't dead. The freelance writer fetched the last of his clothes from the machines and the hawk swooped.

If only I had ignored my washers for another half an hour and kept my nose to my screen I would have been spared. But no, after wasting the laundry owners time with still occupied machines for half hour longer than the cycle ran, I put my clothes in the dryers. After reminding Mic what a card he is and finding that I will be working the next time the gang wants to get together, he pointed out my dryers were done. So I added coin and was cornered.

Today I am wearing a necklace constructed of two store bought strands, a store bought cameo pendent and the clasp from one of my grandmother's costume jewelery pieces (see photo). I'm also wearing a persian inspired patchwork vest with velvets and thick embroidery and lots of appearal trim over a deep purple camisole top, jeans and the "sexy" mules. I'm still in my 12 jeans but have done enough stupid things during emotional upheaval that I feel like a 14 and everything is tight again. Grrr.... once he saw the necklace I couldn't get rid of him.

He needs jewelery in his shop and he needs people who are willing to do consignment. Now, you know that I'm just dying to have the break of a life time so that I don't have to wear the fake confidence facade and can sit and assemble/paint/create/whatever without dealing with the rejection or trying to talk the goods up. I'm not a hawker. There is nothing high pressure about me. Besides that... discovery is an honor. Accepting wares after an arduous sales pitch is an obligation. I'd rather be honored. But I'd rather be honored by a legitimate businessman.

I listened to his pitch and his lofty plans because... well I'm just politely stupid like that. He had the right things to say about the necklace, meaning that he knew his stuff; the right things to say about the ensemble I am wearing today, meaning he knows complementary/analogous colors, motifs and his periods so he at least knows his arts. Where I think he went wrong was turning the burgeoning business arrangement into an opportunity to pick me up. "I love your eyes, their shape and their color. You have amazing curls" (that was an exageration) "that are perfect for the shape of your face." Another bad idea might have been guessing my size and saying he prefers women of substance to the skinny underfed runway models without personality. He his a high pressure sales guy with everything he is selling... including the "hassle free" coffee he'd like to have sometime. He is also bi-polar and has no internal editing button.

I don't know how to take this one. Either this falls solidly into the "It can always be worse" or loosely into the "Be careful what you wish for" category. Or it's just one of those fun stories to blog about.