2002-02-12

Your New American Name.

So. 42 days of utter, stinking sobriety.

Early sobriety is about finding things. Not things in the abstract, touchy-feely sense of the word. No great pseudo-spiritual awakenings or any such dreck. Were I to have something as unpleasant as that, I'd probably have to call Paula and have her tell me a fart joke to put me back in my place.

I mean literally. Finding things. Like, "So that's what happened to that ring/purse/scarf/mix tape."

I've also been doing a lot of laundry. Again � I've literally been doing laundry. Socks and poo-poo undies. I go to this little laundromat down the street from my house. If I get there at the right time, it's very quiet � just me and the nice Vietnamese lady who runs the place. I've found that pretty much any time on Saturday is good, and Sundays before noon. Any time after noon on Sunday and you're contending with that strange portion of the population who seemingly only do their laundry once every three months, and not only do their own, but that of their extended families. We're talking trash bags full of laundry....epic, Odyssean piles of it. I've learned the hard way that to saunter in with my one little gym bag of soiled clothes while one of these laundry orgies is in full effect is to kiss the notion of clean panties for a week goodbye.

The laundromat is located between two bars, and shares a storefront with a convenience/liquor store (known as a "packie" in these here parts). Maybe I'd just been too hungover in the past to notice, but there really are quite a few obviously inebriated people coming in to do their laundry. I feel bad for the lady who runs the place. She's very pleasant, but obviously prefers to keep to herself. I've found myself at times sitting on my hands, trying not to open my big yap when some of these people start in on their monologues at her.

One youngish guy came in, completely beyond the point where he could even align his quarters with the slots in the machines, and had to secure her assistance. He teetered next to her the whole time, watching as she patiently did this task, then asked, "You from Vietnam?"

"Yes."

"Thass what I thought." He paused, reflective. "I really...r-respec' You People�, you know? You're very hard-working." And so on.

Last weekend was kind of amusing, though. A woman came in, loaded up a couple of machines, then went outside to the stoop to polish off a concealed 40 of Schlitz. She came back in to put her stuff in the dryer, then stood in the doorway of the little office where the owner was sitting, eating her lunch.

"Whuss your name, honey?"

She told her, and the woman stood there for a second, perplexed.

"I mean your American name. Don't you got an American name?!"

She revealed that, in fact, she did not.

"You don't?" In a fit of generosity, she decided that she was "gunna give" her one. "I'm gunna give you your AMERICAN NAME. Lemme see..." She stood deep in thought, weaving. "You gotta nice face. I'm gunna call you �Molly.'"

"Molly?"

"Yeahhhh....Molly. Molly!" She brightened, awash in her profound sense of generosity. Satisfied that she'd done her patriotic duty, she returned to the stoop, but not before crowing, "I'll be back in a little while....Molly!"

The owner and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Hi. My name is Molly."

"Nice to meet you, Molly."

lisamcc at 10:53 a.m.

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