The laundry people run their business from the slummy side of the condo. I crossed over to that side to talk to them yesterday.
'The guy I live with has 80 pieces of clothes for you to wash. He has put them in a packing box. Please send a car to collect them,' I said matter-of-factly. It is a transaction, after all.
A haggard looking woman in her 50s knocked on the door shortly after 8. She was too small to take down the box herself, even if she was to drag it.
I hurriedly put on some clothes, and together we dragged the box into the lift and outside to the entrance, where we waited for her boss to turn up with a car.
Two tenants were waiting at the same spot for taxis to take them to work.
One was a woman wearing a skimpy cotton shirt and skirt, with two teenage girls in school uniform.
'I just want to know ... is there anything wrong?' she asked her daughter, who looked at her resentfully.
What a way to start the day...an argument with an angry teen.
Another woman, who was waiting alone, had poured herself into a tight pair of lycra-style pants. Her backside was already large enough, without those bubble-butt pants enhancing it.
'Pity your colleagues - they will have to look at you in that ghastly outfit all day,' I thought.
After a 10-minute wait, the laundry boss finally turned up in her car.
I had not met her before. A woman in her 30s, she had a child in the back. I suspect she was on the school run (oops - I said it!).
I heaved Maiyuu's box of washing into the back of her car.
'When-you-like-back?' she asked.
'Any time,' I said.
No need to hurry on Maiyuu's behalf. He has allowed his washing to build up for weeks, which I regard as slothful and negligent.
If he runs out of clothes to wear while the washing is away, then bad luck.
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