spitting nails

is the theme of today. bosslady was in her office in tears when i walked in with the floor den-mother, have no idea what her drama was, but after the meltdown, she was spitting nails. at the 7th floor staff. in emails. everything. thankfully, those of us on her 'team' got an email in advance warning of her demise. poor dear. i'll be sure to bring a grover in 9 months.

(just a hunch...)

and tonight, i am spraying my shirts, separating my whites from the colors, get there at 715 and see a new sign: last wash at 630. wtf? since when? so i ignore it, and put my three loads in, from a bag that weighs, so help me, more than 200 pounds. 'excuse me, last wash at 630.' 'what? since when?' 'two weeks ago.' 'what? well, i'll do a quick dry, i'll be out by 750.' 'no, i leave at 8.' 'and i'll be done by 8.' 'you wash tomorrow morning. i'll be here at 7.' 'if i leave, i'm never coming back.' 'you wash tonight. no dry.' 'and dry when?' 'tomorrow morning. [hahahahahaha.]' 'i've been coming here for over four years, but can assure you that i'll never come here again.'

looking forward to some place where i can select hot water and get it, and where i won't have to go through this again, even if it's the place on west fourth that caters to nyu students. as you are all my witness, i'll get another hernia lugging my dirty laundry all over town before i'll go back THERE again. i hope the bastard goes bankrupt.