A Well Kept Man

One of the best parts of last week was finishing a load of laundry and finding out that the person who used the washer/dryer before me decided it would be neato to wash their clothes with a fountain pen filled with ink. Needless to say a bunch of our clothes now have blue ink spots on them...which unfortunately is not currently in style. Oh, to be in a house again....

Today is apparently Friday. Obviously.

Except I thought it was Thursday. Which it is not. Obviously.

But since I thought it was Thursday I decided to do a load of laundry (Thursday being the day we have a time slot to do laundry). So I went down this morning to do one load, nobody was in there, the machines were untouched from last night (because yesterday was not Wednesday, but Thursday, our laundry day and we didn't do any laundry). When I went down a second time to change the clothes from the washer to the dryer, still nobody there. Must still be Thursday (except that it is Friday).

I went down the final time to fetch the clothes from the dryer and there was a little old lady from upstairs waiting. Then I realized that today is Friday, not Thursday. I can't do my laundry today, I am doing laundry in her time slot... She doesn't look happy....Uh-oh.

I pretended to need something from storage (which I didn't). I politely said 'Bonjour' and headed in to the storage area to 'find' something that I 'needed'. Ski boots (no snow), skis (ditto), poles (ditto), suitcase (not going anywhere), empty box (just moved in).... tablecloth (company coming tomorrow), perfect, now I have a plausible storyline! I came back out hoping she had left... she was still there. Only now she was staring at my laundry which had just finished tumbling in the dryer, but still sitting in the dryer waiting for the owner to come claim the contents. Time to fess up, or...

I could just go back upstairs and wait her out. (Which I decided was better than admitting I can't tell Thursday from Friday).

But she must have been even more bored than I (truly a patient woman) and continued to wait there for a half hour. Meanwhile, I am beginning to worry that my clothes will wind up in the garbage (it was mostly underwear and socks, easily replaceable, I can live with that...can Alli?). So I just sat at the top of the stairs (three flights up from the basement) and watched for the light to go out in the laundry room and for her to get on the elevator back to her apartment.

Being unemployed I too have patience, plus it's raining so I can't do much outside. I finally saw the light go off, and heard the sound of the elevator humming it's contents to the floor above us. I wasted no time rushing down to the laundry room to collect my goods....except the lights were all off and I didn't know if she was secretly waiting to catch the culprit.

My heart hasn't beat that fast in a long time, but I knew I had to face the music. After all, I figured I could just claim ignorance as I am incapable of reading French and therefore cannot tell whether today is Thursday or Friday. I opened the door and.....

I ran in there, grabbed my clothes, cleaned out the lint trap, shut the door, ran back upstairs (didn't want to risk her being on the elevator either), dove into our apartment, and now I am writing about the harrowing experience. It was like the time I had to dodge sniper fire in Bosnia when my plane was landing, very scary!

I am glad it is over now, and that I was able to rescue our clothes without being noticed....as far as I can tell...Hang on, the doorbell is ringing....

After trekking the hills of Lausanne in search of a bicycle tire repair kit, I finally found what I was looking for at a small sports shop. After successfully locating the patch kit, I proceeded to the cashier (caisse) where I attempted to pretend to be a local.

Clerk: Bonjour Monsieur
Mark: Bonjour (I hand him the kit)
Clerk: (Scans item, totals the price) Huit francs et quatre-vingt-dix centimes (8 francs and 4 twenties and 10 cents...or 8.90 CHF...at least that's how much my receipt says, again, I'm not fluent yet, so this may be incorrect)
Mark: (I swipe my bank card, punch in my pin...life is good)

At this point I'm expecting the transaction to be over, maybe getting a Bonne Journée (Good Day), but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I'm American (maybe the fact that I was super sweaty from walking up to the city distracted him from my Ohio State Buckeyes football t-shirt, causing him to mistake me for an exercising European)


Clerk: Voulez vous un sac por le kit? (or something close to this "Would you like a bag for your kit?")
Me: Uhhhh (I didn't have a clue what he was asking. It's interesting; I'm to the point now where I can understand some basic questions, and if I listen closely I can understand some words, but if I'm expecting to hear one thing and hear something else, or if I'm not expecting anything at all, I turn into a deer staring into headlights)

Clerk (in perfect English): Do you want a bag for your purchase?
Me: Non, merci beaucoop.

Why is this interesting? Because when you pretend to know French and get caught not knowing how to respond, people notice the fact that you are wearing white socks and running shoes even though you aren't working out, and that you are sweaty because you are out of shape, and that you probably only speak English. He didn't bother repeating the question in French, nor did he switch to German or Italian (2 of the more common languages spoken around here); he went straight to English. I guess I need to keep learning.

For those that were wondering, I patched the tire on my bike so I am mobile again. I tested it out with Alli last night on a pleasant bike ride down to Lutry (10 km ride = 6 miles). Today, I am going to be attempting laundry, although I have only been cleared to wash towels, sheets, pillow cases, and my underwear. I still haven't been forgiven for shrinking and/or changing the colors of previous loads of laundry in our first couple weeks as a married couple (which is fine if you ask me).