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July 07, 2005

Many Mini Misadventures and a Word Game

I’ve promised a little word game at the end, and I will deliver. Stick with me for a few minutes to read my story, though, OK?

I woke up leisurely and blissfully late this morning. I had the day off except for a paid experiment over in the psychology department. I enjoyed my morning and then headed out for the experiment. I took my clothes basket with me; it seemed like a good day to do laundry. My day ended up being far from typical, though.

Following are mini-chapters of my misadventures. They’re in chapter form to help you play the word game!

Better Than a Lashing With a Wet Noodle
I prefer the electronic spinning toothbrush to the traditional toothbrush. I’m not convinced that the spinning action cleans teeth any better, but it makes me feel like I’m being more proactive in my dental hygiene. I squirted my toothbrush, put the brush in my mouth, and clicked the switch to “on.” Immediately I knew something was wrong.

It seems there is a bristle on my toothbrush that is coming loose, because it is sticking out further than the rest (of course, I didn’t realize this until too late!). Note to readers: a longer bristle on a spinning toothbrush becomes a smaller version of a Weed Whacker. Before I could do anything about it, that spinning bristle had become a dangerous weapon, lashing my gums. Long story short, I got several small cuts on my gums from the bristle. Oh, and mouthwash on cuts—not pleasant.

Really Troubling Images? Sign Me Up!
I went to my experiment. It was actually one of the more interesting experiences. It involved a series of landscape photographs, flashing at lightning speed (something like 10 images a second). One of the pictures was turned sideways, and my task was to indicate with the keyboard if the landscape was rotated clockwise or counterclockwise.

Part of the experiment (according to the informational sheet I had to read and sign before beginning) was supposed to include “disturbing photographs.” I think the experiment was measuring if seeing frightening pictures included in landscapes affected one’s ability to focus on the landscape task and still process the rotation.

The experiment started out fine. About halfway through, though, the computer beeped and up popped an informational screen. I got the student assigned to monitor the test administration. She came in, clicked the mouse a few times, and said, “Well, looks like you’re finished.” So I got paid…but I didn’t see any of the disturbing images I’d been promised. I’m not really complaining, but, well…maybe I am. I’m curious about what images are classified as “disturbing.”

I’m Not the Best Person To Ask…I headed to the laundromat. I’ve never been to this particular laundromat before, but it was just down the street from campus, so it was on my way home. Started my laundry; all was fine. I took along my book of word puzzles (my inspiration in including one in this entry) and was busy on some cryptograms when an older Asian man walked in. He came up to me, pointed at a hand-drawn map, and said, “No English.” Apparently he didn’t realize that I am completely navigationally-deficient (you can check out this entry to prove it!). I did the best I could to point the direction he needed to go. He bowed a few times, then exited the building. He stood in the parking lot for a few seconds, then came up to the window, tapped on it, and pointed out a direction. I nodded, he bowed again, and took off. It wasn’t until I left the laundromat that I realized I had pointed him the wrong way. Poor guy. There’s some older man wandering the streets of downtown Nashville in the heat who doesn’t speak English. I felt terrible.

Reba Washes Here?
All along the walls of the laundromat were photographs signed by country music stars. While this isn’t unusual in Nashville, the fact that the pictures were in a laundromat was a little weird. During the wash cycle, I walked around and read them. Just a few: “To XXXX, thanks for the fluff and fold.” “XXXX, the place that gets my clothes clean.” “My favorite laundromat in Nashville.” Yeah, right. Like Randy Travis or Dolly Parton are going to walk in with their dirty underwear.

Exactly Whose Butt is Prohibited?
When my clothes were washed and ready to be dried, I put them in one of those wheely baskets and pushed it over to the dryers. Saw a sign on the dryer: “Please, no butts in the dryer.”

I’m sure that someone had somehow put a cigarette butt in the dryer (though why is a mystery!), and the consequences merited a note. Maybe a note clarifying what kind of butts aren’t allowed would be helpful. Or even better, maybe a sign stating that no butts of any kind are allowed. Just to clear up the confusion, of course. You know I was tempted to drop my pants and give my butt a fluff-dry.

All About Mary Katherine
After I transferred my clothes to the dryer, I left the facility for a few minutes to drive something over to my brother (he’s in town on a mission trip for the week; you can read about it in some of the blogs on my sidebar). When I got back to the laundromat, a cute little old lady met me at the door. I don’t think she worked there, but she was certainly being hospitable to all the patrons; she greeted everyone and told her life story to her captive audience. (Oh, and she’s one of 9 children, but she’s the only one alive. She’s got a 34 year old son named Rob.) Around 10 minutes into her story, I started figuring out that something wasn’t quite right with Mary Katherine.

She had come over to me several times and patted my hair. She kept saying, “Oh, baby girl, you’ve got pretty hair Oh, you look like a little doll with hair like that!” After the first time, I started getting uncomfortable. I was relieved when she went over to the ladies on the other side of the building and talked to them. When my clothes were finished, I went over to the dryer and heard what she was doing, though. In between telling about her son and her dead relatives, she would poke any lady near in the gut and say, “So when’s that baby due? I had a baby myself, you know.” She was disappointed to learn that none of the ladies were pregnant. She still proceeded to tell her son’s childbirth story, though. In fear that I would too be poked like the Pillsbury Doughboy, I threw my clothes in my basket and took off. Didn’t even fold ‘em—too big of a hurry to escape Mary Katherine’s finger.

Zebra SkinningFinally, I reached the parking lot. I saw something right behind my car that looked like a furry dead animal. I was afraid I’d run over something somehow, so I but down my basket and squatted down by the fur. Well, it wasn’t an animal. It was…a hairpiece.

Not the toupee variety, but a hair extension. A lady’s extension; black with magenta streaks. Well, more like stripes. Like some sort of mutant zebra got skinned and then made into a hairpiece.

I suppose the kind thing to do would be to advertise it. I’m not sure of the cost of hairpieces, but this one appears to be made of real human hair. I picked it up. I had to. I couldn’t stop my fingers. And since I hadn’t seen anyone in the laundromat who would’ve worn it (the group was older women, and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have looked good on any of them).

You wanna see the hairpiece? I’ve still got it, so if it’s yours, let me know and I’ll mail it to you if you pay for shipping. (I know, it’s a longshot…but I’ll take a chance)

Now, click on for the word game...

Posted by Anna at July 7, 2005 06:03 PM

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Comments

Posted by: Mom at July 7, 2005 07:00 PM

Posted by: Maryrose at July 10, 2005 03:06 AM

Posted by: Joe at July 10, 2005 10:58 AM

Posted by: kyknoord at July 11, 2005 12:13 AM