Laundryroom Swapmeet

Item:

The base of a Kenmore 5-speed blender.  No glass pitcher included.

Why It’s Here:

Resident has recently discovered organic-friendly grocery store Whole Foods, is taking the name way too literally.

Probable Recipient:

Prince Charming, who has been all these long nights coveting the glass pitcher discarded in flight by the emotionally unstable but incontestably hawt belle of the ball.  Having fit that glass vessel into its rightful and destined place, he will make a smoothie.  Of love.

You know what Disney needs:

More blenders.  Beauty and the Beast had all this anthropomorphic furniture, sure, yay, awesome, but I don’t remember seeing a blender.  Shameful.  Makes you wonder if old Walt was an anti-Blendite.

“Kenmore”, he would shriek at some cringing young animator’s suggestion, letting backhand fly, spilling inkwells across drawing tables.  “Kenmore?  How about Ken less!  How about Ken not a chance in hell!”

Item:

A framed print of a painting of a bored (or possibly wistful) angel.

Why It’s Here:

Previous owner got sick of all the eye rolling.  “Damn you,” he said to the painting, “why can’t you just give me a straight answer for once?  Just tell me!  Tell me!  Do these pants, or do they not, make me look fat and oh don’t you roll your eyes at me you chubby little son of a—”

Probable Recipient:

Local budding Christian Bebop artist Cherub Checkers, pen behind the recent godpop hit “Do the Twist (in His Name)”.

Fats Domino, Chubby Checkers:

These are names that would just not fly these days.  Alternative Bodystyle Backgammon, maybe, but don’t push your luck.

Item:

A package of Super Bondex Iron-On Fabric, made of FINE QUALITY PERCALE.

Why It’s Here:

Someone clearly doesn’t see the value in MENDING, REPAIRING, or DECORATING.  They don’t appreciate the fine work being done by Good Housekeeping.  They don’t want to JUST IRON ON—they prefer, apparently, to SEW.

Jackals!  Philistines!

Probable Recipient:

I’m banking on supervillain.  A real crafty, DIY antagonist looking to build a Spiderman suit from common household materials.  You can almost hear the Jack Kirby expository monologue:

“‘He thinks he can escape me, but I will pursue him with the aid of my bondex gloves!*’

[*see issue #174, “Not All Who Launder are Washed” —ed]”

I see weird referrer log traffic already:

I already get—daily!—traffic from people googling the phrase “cellophane bondage” [for the most innocuous of reasons], so I can’t imagine what kind of additional weirdness “bondex” is going to bring.

Remind me not to make any “golden shower” jokes on the site.

Oops!

Item:

A black molded-plastic bucket chair.

Why It’s Here:

Remember the episode of Seinfeld, where George talks to a security guard in a store and asks if he gets tired of standing all day, and they sort of discuss the relative merits of sitting versus standing, and then George ends up buying the guy a stool and the guy nods off and hijinks ensue?

I think this is sort of like that except without the guard or the store or George Costanza.

Probable Recipient:

The new laundry room security guard that we might get if we decided to get a security guard for the laundry room for some reason.

I’ve been dying of the flu:

and that’s why I didn’t update the last couple days.  I’m feeling a bit better now, and also intensely (read: “very mildly”) guilty about my first failure to update since 2007 got kicking.  Mea culpa.  Mea maxima culpa.

Item:

An e-solitaire handheld game, apparently manufactured by Excalibur.

Why It’s Here:

Previous owner found wall with drying paint on it, lost interest. 

Probable Recipient:

An incredibly disappointed ten year old.

“Mom, I asked for a Nintendo DS, not a pretendo POS!  I hate you!” 

At this one job I had:

there was this lady who had a little handheld video poker game that she would play all day long.  (It was the sort of job where you could do that.  For my part, I did a lot of writing and a fair amount of drawing.)

So she’d be playing and playing, hand after hand, and every once in a while things would be going really well and you’d hear her stand up and tell a neighbor about how much she won.

And if she had a really bad run, man, she’d curse a blue streak.  I’ve never seen someone more angry at a fake gambling game.  “Fuck,” she would hiss, “you fucking shithole.  Fuck!”

Item:

Six magazines: three issues of local richie rag Portland Monthly, plus one issue each of the sisterhood of Us, Star, and People.

Why It’s Here:

Have you ever tried to read any of these?  These are here because burning is too good.

Probable Recipient:

A humble and generous fire.

Friday is sigh-day:

And I’ve got nothing.  How are you doing?

Item:

A stainless-steel butter knife and an orange-handled peeler.

Why It’s Here:

There was a terrible argument.  They became enraged.  They decided they could only settle things with a knife fight.

In the cupboard, they found a butter knife…and a peeler.  At first, he argued that a peeler was like enough a knife that the difference wasn’t an issue.  She objected: you could hardly stab with a peeler.  The knife was an unfair advantage.

So he offered to take the peeler.  Insisted.  She became suspicious, and accused him of intending to not stab but rather shred, an altogether more demoralizing martial tactic.  Tool-choice negotiations deteriorated, with shouted vituperations and threats renewed at yet greater volume.

Finally, she suggested they have a drawing.  They would put the names of each tool—”mr. knife”, “mr. peeler”—on slips of paper in a hat, and then each would draw a slip and be thus assigned a weapon.

But when they drew from the hat they looked at the slips and then at one another, shocked into the realization of what fools they had been:

Neither of them knew how to read.

Actually, that doesn’t really explain how these got down the laundry room, I guess. 

Probable Recipient:

Mr. Obsessive Utensil Collector.

Peelers are a serious health hazard:

You can really slice a serious chunk off with those things.  Ouch.

And don’t get me started about cheese graters.  More like hand graters.

Goddam cheese graters.

Item:

A canister of Faultless brand heavy starch, with a no clog guarantee.

Why It’s Here:

Whatever the reason, we can be pretty sure it’s not the starch’s fault.

Probable Recipient:

The can advertises an “extra crisp finish”, so I’m banking on a goofy, accident-prone neighbor whose poor decision-making skills are matched only by her inventiveness in the kitchen: extra crispy chicken, baby.

There’s a picture of a shirt:

and an electric iron, just in case you bought this on impulse and weren’t sure what it was for.  Thoughtful!

Item:

A green-tinted glass bottle, full of unidentified liquid, with a cork stopper.

Why It’s Here:

Because some guy’s girlfriend was so angry about not being able to open it that she decided to get rid of it. He tried to open it himself to change her mind, but in the end he couldn’t stop ‘er.

Probable Recipient:

Someone who has been waiting to hear from an sea-faring lover for so long that they’ve lost all sense of reason.

And they’ve been listening to the Police, see.

Message in a Bottle? The song?

Get it?

*taptaptap*

Is this thing on?

If this stoppered bottle had a name:

It would be Tom.

…

TOM STOPPARD, DAMMIT.

Glancing through my referrer logs this morning, I saw that folks got to the site by searching for, among other things, “what the shit”—a phrase you may recognize from the top-right corner of this page.

Well, that’s understandable: the swapmeet is the top google hit, baby.

Mostly I’d just like to thank the Academy is all.