Sunday Morning Coming Down
There ain't nothin' short of dyin'
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleepy city sidewalk
And Sunday morning comin' down
~ Kris Kristofferson
There ain't nothing short of dyin'
That's half as gruesome as the view
Of middle-aged beer bellies
At the laundromat where I go to
~ PsychoMagnet
Every Sunday morning I watch "Meet The Press", cuss the TV, then load the car and head to the laundromat. Now there is an on-site laundry facility at the complex where I live, but there's a number of individualist in the complex that use the dryers in the laundry room as storage devices. Besides, the walk to my car is shorter than the walk to the laundry room, ergo, I go to the laundromat. At this point some of you may be asking yourself: "Why doesn't he go to church on Sunday morning?", and I believe it's a valid question. I don't mind at all that you ask . . . . yourself.
The laundromat is something of a secret society on Sunday morning. It's sort of a club whose members are almost exclusively middle-aged divorced men. Perhaps my use of the term "society" is incorrect as there's really nothing social about it. We members nod to each other upon entering or exiting, and there is the occasionally outbreak of sports talk, but for the most part we're silent. That we're all male, divorced, apartment dwellers is painfully obvious and is never voiced, nor need it be. The fact that we're there so early Sunday morning, lends itself well to the fact that we stayed home Saturday night, instead of being out late trying to "woman up".
The middle-aged man who has given up on women can be spotted at the grocery store, the mall, the post office, and a hundred other public places, but until you've seen him, and his kind, on laundry day you're letting the worst in life pass you by.
One of my fellow members had been absent for a couple of weeks but he was there this morning. As I stated earlier, we don't talk much in this club so I don't know his name or anything about him other than his absence. I suppose I could be like one of those busy-bodies one finds at church and approach him with : "We sure missed you last Sunday". I did notice that he had quite a bit of laundry so my guess is that he just got lazy and didn't actually "woman up". As I pondered my fellow members absence, I noticed he hadn't bothered to comb what was left of his stringy gray hair and he had defied the laws of physics by putting on yet more weight. But, for all intents and purposes, he seemed at peace as he read a hard-covered edition of "The History of Clocks". One wonders how a man like this can remain single.
Though technological advances have given us machines that free us from pounding our clothes on riverside rocks and using washboards, the machines still have to run their course. Thus the laundry game is a waiting game. Most of the members read during the wait, while others watch the 13" black and white TV. I watch the readers and the watchers and try to ponder what they'll do once the club has adjourned. My guess is that the readers will read, the watchers will watch and the blogger will spend an hour recounting the hour and Sunday morning coming down.
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Blogs by PsychoMagnet:
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| 12 Days of Psycho (Day 8) |
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redtigr
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Dec 21 @ 9:39AM
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...but until you've seen him, and his kind, on laundry day you're letting the worst in life pass you by.
It's like being forced to watch videos of life in a prison camp...
I think the antithesis - or double XX version - might just be the Red Hat Society; single middle aged women and seniors with nothing to do, pretending not to care while dressing for attention, pretending to be happy while they do the only thing that matters to them: eating.
It's a sad, sad, sad, sad, world... 
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misschoos
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Dec 21 @ 9:57AM
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I went to a laundrette once when I was in Scotland, it certainly was an eyeopener.
~*~
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wandaful123
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Dec 22 @ 7:53PM
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I am only commenting because you quoted Kris.... *sigh*... yep, even at 72 he's the man!
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jelltex
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Dec 22 @ 9:20PM
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One wonders how a man like this can remain single.
Great line!!!
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