Count ‘Em Out Loud
This blog evolved from a Tumblr I used to keep about my experience in India. I migrated the most important posts…but I recently found this one from when I first moved to India and still laugh/cringe with embarrassment. (Note: I really have NEVER visited that cleaner again)
Warning! Reader Discretion Advised. Undies are mentioned below!
So, while some strange things have happened to me and around me during my 1.5 months (!) in India, not much that has been truly personally embarrassing has occurred. Yes, there was that little incident where my boss made my birthday cocktail hour semi-mandatory for the people I work with (cringe), but that was quickly forgotten when people had fun, and realized the order had come from above, not me.
Cut to Thursday Aug. 19. I have a day off from work, Parsi New Year, and have been desperately trying to get my clothes to the Laundromat/drycleaner for days. I’m always working during their open hours. Anyways, I waltz in SO excited to soon have clean clothes. I have my clothes in a bag so that they may weigh them, or, alternatively, a list of the bag’s contents if they choose to charge per piece.
Neither of these methods is acceptable to our grey-haired laundry master. He dumps the bag on the counter, and counts each piece at a painfully slow and meticulous rate. Leave no bra unturned, no t-shirt un-examined!
Now, I have put my personal laundry in a small plastic bag. Number of undies marked on outside of bag. But no! These too must be counted individually. THREE times. Our laundry proprietor splays my underwear across his counter, and separates (I swear!) by color, then recounts, then calls by color and number to his attendant so he may mark them down on my bill. “Blue, polka dot. 2. Pink striped, 1…” the list continued.
I find myself backpedaling through my years in CCD, wondering if there was a patron saint of embarrassment, or laundry, or undies- someone I can pray to for this show to stop. Meanwhile, as I’m squirming and encouraging Monsieur Underwear-Counter to “Challo!!!” (hurry up! Let’s go!) a small queue has formed in the doorway. All are dutifully watching my unmentionables get mentioned…and mentioned and mentioned.
Clearly I can never go to this Laundromat again. Luckily, just 1 week until have my new apartment and a washing machine of my own.
I once read that Kid Rock never wears the same undergarments twice. He simply buys new ones. Clearly, he does this out of luxury. I may do it out of sheer necessity: as I cannot experience this ever again, I swear it.