Sparkle Laundry is not a bad place. They provide a TV room, lay out the day's paper, and even have a snack bar that will whip you up a mean cappuccino. Fuckin' A. Plus, they provide you with as many quarters as you want (bonus!) without looking annoyed when you ask for change. As I loaded a couple of washers, I noticed a rather large, hairy gentleman sitting at the snack bar. He didn't look homeless really, just a bit scraggly. He reminded me of Grizzly Adams from that old TV show. After I got all my undies in the washers started, I decided I needed a diet Coke. The man at the snack bar was reading Nietzsche, so we had brief discussion on some of the common themes that I had knowledge about, and I quickly ascertained this guy was a 54 yr old career student. Scary. As I sat down to read the paper, Grizzly Adams decided to come and chat me up. Now, I don't want to sound like a snob, as I'm no such thing. However, he seemed a bit...well, off. Here is a snippet of our conversation:
GA: Well hello there! What's up, pretty lady?
SB: Um. Hello, how are you? (I am from the South, and bad manners are not tolerated!)
GA: Funny that you ask. Do you know how frustrating it is when your dehydrator isn't working? I'm completely out of jerky. (I shit you not, he said this!)
SB: Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you could just go buy some emergency jerky at the store though, right?
GA: Store jerky?! That stuff is full of chemicals, and I don't even think it's really what they say it is. It's dog.
SB: Oh no! I don't think they could use dog to make jerky. There has to be some law against that.
GA: Sweetheart, do you really think the government cares if we eat dog? They purposely put shit in our food to control us. (Ok, at this point, he's gone beyond eccentric in my book and totally on to being totally fucked up)
(At this point, I'm starting to get a little worried that he might either be carrying his firearm (or several) or a vial of anthrax. He's getting the friggin' bug eyes and starting to twitch. I began to wonder if maybe he might be high on something.)
SB: Uh, well...what do you put in your jerky? (Why? Why did I not just stop talking??!)
GA: I usually use elk or deer. They make the best jerky.
SB: So you are a hunter? My dad likes to hunt too.
GA: I only eat what I catch and kill myself. I won't let them control me.
SB: Them?
GA: Have you been listening to me? The fuckin' government! (with this statement he pounded his fist on the bar)
SB: Oh. Well, I don't think I could do that. I'm not much of a hunter. I don't necessarily have a moral objection to regulated hunting to control populations and as long as the animal is used for food, but I don't really believe sport hunting is right. And I am absolutely creeped out by the whole idea of taxidermy and hanging animal heads on walls.
GA: (Smiles) I could take you hunting. I have a cabin just north of town.
SB: Thanks all the same, but I don't want to be a hunter. Ever. I couldn't do it. I tried it before and just couldn't. I think my loads are ready to dry now. (start to get up)
GA: (Puts his hand on my shoulder as I am getting up) That's too bad. I think you would enjoy my cabin. (wink)
SB: Sorry, dude. Thanks anyway. I gotta get my laundry done, or my old man will beat the shit out of me.
Okay, people, is that not totally serial killerishy? I kept cutting eyes at the soda jerk, but he was quite engrossed in his Nietzsche....or pretended to be. WTF? My skin crawled the entire last 45 min. I was there, and Grizzly Adams was a fucking starer! I finally took my last load out of the dryer early and got the hell out of there. I just hung up what wasn't quite dry once I got back home. Of course, I was completely paranoid about every noise I heard at night and couldn't sleep for the next 3 days. I slept with my friggin' gun under my pillow. I am definitely a weirdo magnet! I didn't even start the conversation. And the fact that the soda jerk didn't even twitch makes me even more uncomfortable because I fear this might be what passes as normal conversation in these parts. Holy shit! So now, everywhere I go, I'm on the look out for Grizzly Adams. Call me paranoid, but it's been two weeks, and I'm still completely creeped out by that conversation. If I don't write anything in a few days, call the police. I may be hanging on a meat hook in Grizzly's cabin just north of town awaiting my fileting so that he can make Sassy jerky.
(Other than this incident, people have actually been pretty nice, and you cannot beat the scenery. I even got a job tip from my satellite installer that panned out. Gainfully employed is good. Serial killer victim, not good.)
What's up with y'all?
