underneath your clothes... theres an endless story.

some Lid Opener eh? ;) :P :)

I shuld suggest this to my statistics professor.

This ones about Laundry rooms...

Back in Manipal, my hostel of a thousand or more women, were granted an incomplete room (had 3 walls only) with 8 washing machines… 1 of which washed but dint spin, 5 would soak and not wash, the remaining 2 had soggy papers stuck on them with “OUT OF ORDER” scribbled in washed out ink (“O.t O. O.d..” is more like it).. I guess I shouldn’t complain considering the boy’s hostels dint even get that…Although some guys hit the jackpot n found girlfriends who brought their clothes back into the girls hostels and washed them for ‘their Men’… I always said they were IDIOTS! And they always said I was single. Sure I’m not a Hopeless romantic... I’m the Hopeful one... I cling on to the hope that someday there shall be a jerk who has access to his own laundry room…. and can cook… and is smart…tall, just-right-dark and just-right-handsome… and witty… and…. not in my imagination. :P I cling onto it for life!! :D

For now, back to the Laundry rooms of Phoenix Courts..

Okay so here we have a room dedicated to washing clothes... 2 washing machines that work from soak to spin. 2 dryers that DO dry so my room wouldn look like a WestSide clearance sale scene. We even have 2 very comfy couches in there which I’m scheming with flatmates to smuggle into our rooms… its just the CCTVs that need bribing… and Osama, our Arab security guard.

So yesterday I realize I have no clothes left for tomorrow.. partly cos I hardly brought any, the pressure cooker ate up my baggage allowance and partly cos it had been over a week since we did the laundry. Turns out my flatmates were in the same boat. So we fill 4 huge bags with clothes and I stumble down first to get the room empty, making people I meet along the way feel sorry n open doors for me…. My flatmates come down with the rest of the bags and a 5 pound note hoping to ask Osama for coins..

LOOKING FOR COINS: We, Indians, have no value for coins… A 10 rupee note is one’s wallet is more appealing that ten coins of 1 rupee and no notes. Here I continue to remind myself that “1 pound is not 1 Rupee”… especially in places like Poundland and the 99 pence stores :D. “Chillar” has Value!!

Now Osama is Missing. We ask a lady who was waiting for the elevator..no luck. We bang the 1^st 2 rooms in the hall n nobodys home. I finally tell my flatmate, (lets call her) Groovy, that going to the closest shop to get change made more sense…

So me, in my track pants n tee and an oversized jacket, and my other flatmate, (lets call her) Skinny, step out into the chill that kills. Enter the store around the corner owned by an Indian or Pakistani (we look the same) which btw resembles the ones that are shown getting mugged in Hollywood movies..He dint have 5 pounds in coins. So we cross the street to a clothing and accessory shop for punks. Skinny wonders if we should go in.. I dint wanna walk any further in my attire n the shop seemed empty so I suggest it’s worth a shot. We walk in and there are 2 guys in there. I walk to the one at the counter n ask him for change for 5 pounds..

“Sure.. whadya need it for luv? Car park??”

“no….. *grin*laundry”

“Aaaah! Haha! here you go dah’ling’” J

“Thanx..cya!” J

‘wow he actually thought WE owned cars’ is what I was thinking… ‘did u HAVE to say laundry’ was what Skinny was thinking.. But at that moment Laundry seemed an unexpected hence interesting reply.

MR. METALLICA: Back in the Laundry we realize we’ve accumulated 4 loads of clothes to wash... luckily we came well equipped with ipods, water n novels… Skinny had a tube of Pringles tucked under her arm too (damn how DO they still stay skinny??!?!). We plonk ourselves in comfy bad postures that do to us what Global Warming is doing to the Poles, according to our Physiotherapy books at least (but they’re so comfy..Blah!)..

After about an hour n half, our washes are done and but the dryers were filled with somebody else’s dry clothes.. I notice an empty laundry basket at the corner of the room so I take the clothes from inside both the dryers n stuff them into the basket... Did fantasize about guys ‘CK boxers in Laundry rooms’, but it was nothing like reality at that moment. In about 15 minutes a woman and a man, both with pierced nose bridges, walked in. I repeat “NOTHING like reality”. Groovy said we needed to use the dryer… Mr and Ms Metallica thanked a Pringle-munching-Skinny, carried their basket and went on.

Meet JOE BLACK: After a while another guy, “Joe Black”, walked in with his bag of clothes.. he put his stuff into the washing machine we’d jus used. He was new too, we could tell by the way he kept looking back for our approval just before he pushed any button… like he was scared he’d press the wrong one and the machine would vomit his clothes out on him. :D

A second guy walks in just then.. looks at Dryer 2, mumbles something to Mr. Clean and walks out. A little later we realized his clothes were in Dryer 2 which I had stuffed into Mr. Metallica’s laundry basket assuming it was from the same flat. I wondered what the Metallica would have to say when he’d find another man’s boxers in his and his girlfriend’s clothes!!

Muha-muha-muhahaha!! :D It felt like Valentine’s Day in Manipal when for kicks I’d interchange love notes from bouquets delivered at the reception… usually the largest with the smallest. Only here I did it unintentionally with washed boxers... got my dose of cheap thrill none-the-less.

Finally the dryer, that im sure in a few days will be responsible for messing with the Tectonic plates of the Earth, did what I paid it 1 pound to do…

5 hours had passed, 4 washes were done, 3 men met, 2 boxers interchanged, all in 1 room… with half roll of Pringles eaten and Quarter novel read………..