Perspective

Sometimes when I get down about my life, I have to stop and remember the past. Like some of the bad jobs I’ve had over the years. For instance, when I was in high school, I worked at this dry cleaner and laundry. The cleaning was done on site, and it was like a  furnace in the summer. I’ll probably end up posting about this place again. It was full of blog fodder.

It didn’t take me long working at this place to figure out that anytime somebody brought in something in a bag, it was bad news. Like Spidey sense, the Vomit Alert would sound, and that was the best case scenario. One time a guy came waltzing in who had $hit not one, but FIVE pair of pants. (What was the thought process there? “Oh, I $hit my pants. Oh, I $hit another pair. Oops, there’s the third…” )

And those old Wisk ads about ring around the collar? That’s real. It was our job to scrub it out. And I’m telling you, there are a lot of greasy bastards walking around in dress shirts.
We also had to check the pockets of all trousers. Once, I found tiny, frilly panties in the pants pocket of a bible beating pastor--married to a large and formidable woman. Generally, condoms were commonplace. Tissues, loose change, phone numbers, and Certs. And one day, there was a little plastic hand giving the finger.

Now, the trouser press was this huge, metal machine that had what looked like a foam ass on it. The pants would be hitched over the foam ass, and steam would blast through them, inflating them like a balloon. The press was operated by a creepy little guy, named Frank, who guarded this job with his life. He had a ridiculously pronounced nervous twitch that would go out of control when he was agitated, his left shoulder jolting upward. One day Frank arrived at work to find the plastic hand giving the finger firmly wedged between the cheeks of his foam ass. He flew into a rage, his shoulder firing into the air. Somebody had messed with his ass, and he vowed that we would all pay the price. For weeks, many articles of clothing would go missing, and as an irate customer chewed us out, Frank would be off to the side with his ass, chuckling and twitching.

So, when I find myself facing frustrations, I have to stop and think of the good old days. Oh, how I don’t miss them.