I had some time to kill earlier today so I decided to do some laundry. There were a few guys doing some work on the building next door, and they were rocking out to Creed. God, I hate Creed.
Scott Stapp's brand of shitty Bible-thumping "rock" reminded me what I might encounter at the Washboard laundromat. It seems whenever I go in there lately the same older lady with the funny accent was working, and her music is fucking atrocious. A few weeks ago her musical choice was The Coast 93.1 FM. Easy-listening ear poison. The week after it was the fucking Eagles. And last week it was today's hot country. It's a good thing I'm a firm opponent of concealed handguns because otherwise the lady may have had to clean my blood, brains, and skull fragments off of the bedding she had just laundered.
But on my way to the Washboard I saw the lady walking down Clark street away from the laundromat. score! Then I crossed my fingers hoping it wasn't the grumpy guy working.
And it wasn't the grumpy guy! The blonde cutie with the glasses who I haven't seen in months was manning the station. This pleased me mightily. The last time I was there while she was working she played The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars. This time around I was welcomed by the sweet sounds of Elvis Costello. He was followed by Nirvana Unplugged. Ahhhhhhhhh...
I left the Washboard content having spent a little over an hour in aural bliss. On the way back to Fort Awesome the construction guys were blasting Matchbox 20. Fuck.
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