Well, rats

It’s my day off, and I’m doing laundry. This is not what I planned.

“Get laundry done” was on the list, which consisted of three to-do items. But I fully intended to take my four-kilogram bag of dirty and stinky stuff down to the 5-11 and drop it off for them to do instead of sink-washing a selected few items.

One of the other two tasks went off without a hitch, though, so I guess I should take time out to be thankful for that. Batting .333 will get me into the Hall of Fame. And the 4 p.m. event is still upcoming and looking like it’ll still happen. (That’s a late lunch at Mr. Curry.)

But laundry. Sigh. My normal routine here is to sink-wash stuff but once a month do as wholesale a change as I can and take stuff to the actual cleaners, which, in my building, somehow originates in the mini-mart. From my little perch on the fitness room bike, I watch the guy load and unload the day’s clothes.

That part of the routine I figured out – I have to take my stuff *before* heading to the fitness room, or laundry takes and extra day.

So this morning, I woke up loaded the rest of my load into my re-useable bag (purchased for Rp. 12,000, it’s been a great investment so far. I got brown because I thought Zippy might like it when I’m done with it), grabbed my Rp 650,000 to go pay my utility bill and head down the elevator.

Remember the revelation that the 5-11 isn’t open until 11 p.m.? And how I speculated it probably wasn’t open at 5 a.m.? Well, it’s not open at 8:30, either. I got down the elevator, saw no one in there but tried the door anyway and then retreated with the load of clothes (and duvet comforter) back up to Tower A, 08-09.

Strike one, though I did head back out and paid the electricity bill with no hassles other than, once again, walking into the wrong building first and then having to wait forever to pay the thing. But it was successful, so no complaints there. (And I’m bright enough to have brought a book to read as I stand in line.)

I also got the little utility receipt stamped “paid” by my apartment management company, which seems like a useless step but whatever. They’re happy.

By that time – well past 5 a.m., I might add again – the 5-11 was open and I tried again to drop off my laundry.

“Finish,” they told me.

Huh?

After bringing in someone to help translate, I learned that, although the little motorcycle guy is omnipresent in his comings and goings, they are not, for some reason, accepting clothes to clean. The reason I got was “it’s a holiday.”

Well, it’s not a holiday. That was last week. But, from the little bit that I understood from the four-way conversation, they are still short people and basically aren’t doing much right now.

Strike two.

Really, I’m not sure how not even trying is going to help them. It would seem at some point that they’ll need to catch up. But at that point, I was getting irritated but knew the people in front of me weren’t the problem, so no point in being nasty. They’re just the middle folks. And honestly, I figured I’d be able to find another place to do it.

And, after taking a shower and grabbing a bite of plain macaroni (my monthly visit to the expat grocery store yielded no refill in alfredo sauce, and I’m kind of upset about that), I grabbed my four-kilo bag (but left the duvet cover) and set out in the neighborhood.

All over, there are “Laundry and dry cleaning” signs. I mean, ALL over. I figured this would be a cakewalk. Maybe the bule would be a little overcharged, but I’m starting to care less and less about this as I lugged my clothes in the hot sun.

Oh, and let’s just mention what I’m wearing right now. I have one of the three long-sleeved shirts I brought, a kind of a cropped Timberland thing that’s really light weight, and a pair of Old Navy drawstring pants that I think might be PJs. I’m not sure; I bought both at Goodwill. On my feet are my FSU Crocs. I am not kidding about the wholesale laundry part – it’s time for EVERYTHING to be machine washed.

So I struck out. This in itself amuses the group of about 2-3 motorcycle drivers who sit, in a shady spot, right outside my apartment building. The walking thing just totally baffles them and as a result they just think I’m some kind of weirdo.

The fact I say hi to everyone is also an anomaly, I gather. From the moment I walk out my door to the point where I get to the office – or wherever – I feel like I’m in a parade. I smile, wave and say hi. It endears me, what can I say?

Laundry. Sigh again. I went to one place and they told me to come back in four days. Huh? So I turned and went the other direction – which, I am sure, blew the minds of the food stall-dining folk I’d just passed – and walked the other day, toward the lone monkey.

I passed him (a guess on the gender) and headed to the first laundry place I found. Again, “finish.” Crap. Two doors down, there’s no one home.

Around a corner, the person in a “dry cleaning” place points me to another place down the road. That door is locked.

Some men on the street wave me further down the road. I enter a kost (kind of a lower-budget hotel where you live, think “My Name is Earl” without Catalina) and find a washing machine, but no one around – at least no one awake. There was a possibly dead but probably sleeping guy, but I opted not to poke him.

Tried about two other places after that and came up empty and by that point I’d circled the entire block-sort-of-thing (it’s best, while wandering, to keep your eye on your building so you know, at least somewhat, how to get back) and was back to the first place I’d tried.

Strike three. No Hall of Fame this year.

The motorcycle drivers got a huge kick out seeing me return not 20 minutes later with the exact same bag. It’s fun to keep them guessing, but that’s about the only plus I get out of it.

Now there are two pairs of pants and two shirts soaking and hopefully all but the jeans will survive another two weeks without offending anyone I sit close to at work.

And we’ve got a glut of people now, so it’s possible that could happen. I had to give a little lesson in how to do a few fixtures yesterday and wondered if I should apologize because I *think* my shirt was a little ripe. There appears to be no Febreze here.

What we do have right now is a surplus of rats. It must be rat season, because I see a lot of them, and most are medium-sized. It must be teen rat season. The last few days, I’ve seen two (and I’m hoping they’re the same two) graze in the plants outside the window of the fitness room. leave to his dorm room

I’m also noticing a lot more flattened rats in the streets. I figure these must have been the dumb ones, and man, there are a lot lately. I thought about bringing a camera and taking a picture of the squashed corpses because they’re kind of … um …. I guess they’re just flat-out morbid, but they’re ALL over. In one spot, had I brought a camera, I had an easy shot with three pancake critters.

I decided against it, not necessarily because it’s so morbid but because I already draw enough attention myself merely by walking.