|The Northbound 405 at 10am on a Monday, we're averaging 20 mph and so it's a good day leaving L.A.|
"The ghost's name is Charlotte" the bartender told me while sliding my drink across the bartop on Sunday afternoon. Her face was totally deadpan. "I have felt her presence before but this time I saw her in the corner, over there behind the pool table."
I sipped my rum & diet coke and considered her statement. She believed it to be true.
Moments before I had placed our three loads of laundry in at the laundromat next door; one coldwater wash, two warm water washes, three identical machines. I put the quarters in at roughly the same time, the digital timer on the coldwater load read 29 minutes to go, the other two 32 each.
29 32 32
I sipped my rum & diet and glanced at the timer on my phone, set to countdown with the first load @ 29 minutes. When it read less than a minute to go, I left my drink with Lance and went to check on them. Now the loads read:
14 14 1
My first thought was... someone here is messing with me. I looked around the room; there was a lady in the corner playing some game on her phone, a scrawny young nearly-naked man sucking on a beer in some truly ratty shorts (someone waited until ALL the good stuff was dirty before going to the laundromat), and a young mother wrangling her two littles with non-stop commentary in both Spanish and English. Nobody looking shady in the corner. Hmmm. Charlotte? Now that the third load was finished spinning I loaded it onto the dryer and reset my phone timer. The remaining two washers were reading identical timers.
I wandered back to the bar next door, to Lance and a new rum & diet. The bartender was telling folks how things had been moved around behind the counter, and how her boyfriend missed an important shot at the pool table once, all attributed to the ghost Charlotte.
When my phone timer went off, I went next door. The washers now read
Totally bizarre. Charlotte has a sense of humor. Or she hates the idea of me finishing my laundry. Or she likes to see me wearing a path between the laundromat and the bar. Or she is getting a kick out of sending me back to the bar because every time I settle back into my barstool the bartender slides a brand new tall rum & diet at me. All this laundry is making me drunk.
One thing's definitely for sure. From here on out I am picking laundromats with bars next door. This was the absolute best time I've had doing laundry ever.