walkingshadow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walkingshadow) wrote2002-04-29 03:08 am
walkingshadow) wrote2002-04-29 03:08 am
(no subject)
This has been a strange night.
It started very well. Sandwiches at Jules's, followed by a Smallville mini-marathon complete with shrieking, ogling, and cringing. At about twelve she sent me on my merry way. I had laundry to do.
It's spring because the days are hot and hopelessly muggy, but the nights get wondefully cool and breezy. Passing by the terraced steps near the Marston library, I saw a roach sitting silent on one of the brick walls and recoiled in irrational panic, hands clenching. Should have seen it as a portent.
Went in the main doors of Rawlings and down the stairs to the basement, to ascertain the status of the laundry room. Empty. Not a soul. Lovely. Back upstairs, to find Erin already in bed. Whatever. I'd worry about waking her, but she never seemed to show the same concern for me. By the glow of my computer monitor I sort it all as quietly as I can and stagger downstairs with what ends up being four loads. Still deserted. It's furnace-like in there. Clothes in, detergent in, attempt to pay with my Gator-1, as I've done countless times this past year. Swipe: "Invalid Port 78." I stare at it. Ask it, "What the fuck?" Not being sentient, it doesn't return an answer. Invalid Port 78. Now my world is all askew. I think a minute.
Back upstairs to look for change. One of my floormates is talking on the phone in the hall and I interrupt to ask if she knows any reason why the cards wouldn't be working in the laundry room. She doesn't. In my room I have two quarters, two dimes and a nickel. Back down to see if it works. Seems like it would, but it only takes quarters. Gah. Upstairs. Bother the floormate again to ask her for quarters. She has six. Suggests the game room at the Union for more. Back to the basement. The machines work fine, and now two out of four loads are chugging along. Grab keys, phone, and wallet, and trek out to the Reitz. Call Jules along the way to share the mirth. Amused and sympathetic.
The game room was closed. Huh. To the second floor, where the food court is. Realize the reason the laundry room is empty at midnight on a Sunday night is everybody is at the Union, studying for finals. Poor fools. Subway is closed, Wendy's is just closing, and can't give me change. They point to Java Lounge across the floor, open 24 hours, like any self-respecting coffee establishment in the midst of college students staying up all night. They can give me two dollars in quarters. I now have enough for the wash. On the way out I call Jules again and tell her. She asks about the dryers. Ah. The fucking dryers. I have forgotten about them. More sympathetic than amused. Tells me to come over, for she has quarters. Which I do, and which she does. Definitely my savior tonight. And we even got to skip over the redemption and resurrection and galling taste of muddy river water. At least I knew I wasn't waking her, or dragging her away from some source of entertainment. Endless gratitude nonetheless.
Walking home again, same route, same cricket buzzing anxiously in the same tree by the library. Déjà vu. I think I've been this stupid before. I take a different path through the terraced steps and avoid the roach, though the panic stirs even unprovoked. Washers churn, dryers spin, and I drink water and consider life's little quirks. And no, I don't think there's a fee to be demanded from the universe, but I'm not above rewarding myself for a night spent bewildered and wandering campus. Always an adventure.
It started very well. Sandwiches at Jules's, followed by a Smallville mini-marathon complete with shrieking, ogling, and cringing. At about twelve she sent me on my merry way. I had laundry to do.
It's spring because the days are hot and hopelessly muggy, but the nights get wondefully cool and breezy. Passing by the terraced steps near the Marston library, I saw a roach sitting silent on one of the brick walls and recoiled in irrational panic, hands clenching. Should have seen it as a portent.
Went in the main doors of Rawlings and down the stairs to the basement, to ascertain the status of the laundry room. Empty. Not a soul. Lovely. Back upstairs, to find Erin already in bed. Whatever. I'd worry about waking her, but she never seemed to show the same concern for me. By the glow of my computer monitor I sort it all as quietly as I can and stagger downstairs with what ends up being four loads. Still deserted. It's furnace-like in there. Clothes in, detergent in, attempt to pay with my Gator-1, as I've done countless times this past year. Swipe: "Invalid Port 78." I stare at it. Ask it, "What the fuck?" Not being sentient, it doesn't return an answer. Invalid Port 78. Now my world is all askew. I think a minute.
Back upstairs to look for change. One of my floormates is talking on the phone in the hall and I interrupt to ask if she knows any reason why the cards wouldn't be working in the laundry room. She doesn't. In my room I have two quarters, two dimes and a nickel. Back down to see if it works. Seems like it would, but it only takes quarters. Gah. Upstairs. Bother the floormate again to ask her for quarters. She has six. Suggests the game room at the Union for more. Back to the basement. The machines work fine, and now two out of four loads are chugging along. Grab keys, phone, and wallet, and trek out to the Reitz. Call Jules along the way to share the mirth. Amused and sympathetic.
The game room was closed. Huh. To the second floor, where the food court is. Realize the reason the laundry room is empty at midnight on a Sunday night is everybody is at the Union, studying for finals. Poor fools. Subway is closed, Wendy's is just closing, and can't give me change. They point to Java Lounge across the floor, open 24 hours, like any self-respecting coffee establishment in the midst of college students staying up all night. They can give me two dollars in quarters. I now have enough for the wash. On the way out I call Jules again and tell her. She asks about the dryers. Ah. The fucking dryers. I have forgotten about them. More sympathetic than amused. Tells me to come over, for she has quarters. Which I do, and which she does. Definitely my savior tonight. And we even got to skip over the redemption and resurrection and galling taste of muddy river water. At least I knew I wasn't waking her, or dragging her away from some source of entertainment. Endless gratitude nonetheless.
Walking home again, same route, same cricket buzzing anxiously in the same tree by the library. Déjà vu. I think I've been this stupid before. I take a different path through the terraced steps and avoid the roach, though the panic stirs even unprovoked. Washers churn, dryers spin, and I drink water and consider life's little quirks. And no, I don't think there's a fee to be demanded from the universe, but I'm not above rewarding myself for a night spent bewildered and wandering campus. Always an adventure.