Laundry Room Machismo

I'm inspired by recent events (see Alana Noel Voth's recent piece on bullying, which inspired Kristina Wright's piece on Oh Get A Grip!)to post this 'just getting something off my chest' piece I wrote a couple of months ago.

It isn't smart or thoughtful or intellectual. It's a from-the-gut "I don't get it!" rant.

Let me start by saying I don't hate men. I've made it through a fairly ugly separation in which I did not get what I deserved and have been ripped off a number of times by male businessmen. Prior to that I survived years of relationships with men. I live with one now. But - who do so many of them think they are? This?

I guess they think they are the supreme rulers of the planet. Which is, by and large, the truth. But does the fact that we have a male Prime Minister entitle every man to self-righteous jerkdom?

We have a laundry room in my apartment building. Sometimes I chat with the other women doing the laundry, or converse with their little children to give the harried mothers a mini-break. We commiserate about the drudgery of doing laundry. Sometimes we don't talk. We're too busy trying to get through the drudgery. We work in companionable silence.

Every so often a man shows up. Then, the casual camaraderie is broken.

Men don't like doing laundry. Here's an inside tip, guys - neither do women! Laundry is a job that needs to get done. Unlike you, we do laundry for the whole family, not just for ourselves. So we get a good look at a man's dirty clothes and guess what. It's not a pretty sight.

When a man shows up, in my experience, he starts bitching. He's probably in a bad mood because he has to do his laundry, and that's not a job befitting one who is of the same sex as the Prime Minister of Canada.

Last time, it was a fellow with anger issues who tantrummed like a baby because the washers and dryers were on a card system, no longer coin operated. Of course, this had been announced via posted messages in the elevators, but perhaps he missed them, or perhaps he can't read. At any rate, he screamed at me, as if I were his abused wife or worn out mother.

”This is the most fucking ridiculous thing I've ever seen in my life,” he raged. He must've led a very sheltered life.

Like most women, I've encountered guys like this before.
I knew if I responded he'd double his fury. But after a few minutes of his profane screeching, I simply couldn't stand it any longer.

“It's really not that difficult,” I said.

Yes, he exploded, as I'd known he would. I left.

Today, I loaded four washers (of six) with my laundry. It's a busy afternoon. The washers and dryers are in full use.

A man, worse, a young man, came in. He carried a laundry basket with his precious gym shorts and dirty socks in it. Once he discovered there was no washer for him, he turned on me.

“How many washers are you using?” he demanded to know.

”Four,” I replied.

“Don't you think that's selfish?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

Oh boy, that got him good. He started raving at me. “You don't think it's selfish to use ALL the washers and leave NONE for the rest of the people in the building?”

“Snooze, lose,” I replied.

He left in a huff, muttering rudities. The woman using the other two washers and I looked at each other, shrugged, laughed, and continued doing our laundry.

I think perhaps he would've liked it if I'd said, “Oh poor you, just leave your dirty clothes here and I'll do them for you and let you get back to the serious business of running the country.” But I didn't.

I think if bad tempered men knew how silly they look when they start yelling at women in the laundry room, if they knew how little effect their tantrums have on us, they might think twice. Perhaps, after their little pooh pooh fit, when they do their laundry and see the evidence of their fury in their underpants, they'll get the message.

Must go, if I don't get my laundry out of the dryers the moment it's done, I know not what will happen to it. The PM by proxy might seek revenge . . .

photos: sodahead.com
bleacherreport.com
facebook.com
babyshower.net