Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Washday Sunday: Tales from this Godforsaken Whatever

There is never a week that I don’t get my hands chemically-burned by commercial detergents. I’ve tried different variants of different brands but I end up with sore fingers, which usually takes about five days for the blisters to dry up. The stingy feel, especially when run by and soaked in water, lasts for about a day.

When life was still easy and little bit convenient, we had the washing machine. Every middle class family probably owns this piece of appliance that I think is semi-useless save perhaps for the all-too-good promise of convenience and the economic inevitability of purchasing power brought about by the occasional increase in income. Some who can afford to have manang labandera doing the laundry for them, choose to have the dependable hands of humanity rather than the regurgitating wheel that spins and loops your clothes.

So while I still bask in the far-off reality of a laundromat in some big-shot city like NYC, Indian-sitting with a book in hand and an iPod in my ears, or the perverted thought of a quickie sex with some hot chick atop the frenzied machines on a lazy and gloomy morning, I have to make do with the refuge of the shade on a makeshift small bench on a scorching Sunday morning, with pestering flies like tiny black helicopters hovering over the liquefied suds beside my feet, the doggie stench of Scooby, drifting off to thoughts that would make me forget I'm ruining my precious fingers.

10 comments:

Jhed said...

I don't do clothes as well. Like what I always tell my mom when she starts to complain how lazy I am..

"Make me sweep the floor or wash the dishes.. just don't make me wash my clothes."

Talamasca said...

Aw! You poor little thing! I kind of relate with what you're going through since I wash my own clothes, too, y'know... but... err... sans the old ways like yours because, dude, that's just way too ancient ... no, make that antique... oh wait, carbon-dated is more like it! LOL! ;-p

Anyhoo,thanks for blog crashing! Come back anytime! Kbyenow.

aajao said...

wow. i'd do the laundry anytime! not here in the P.I. though. perhaps in Canada where washer and dryer machines are way convenient--- laundry today, wear it after! :)

Zeichs said...

be it 'bout washing clothes or just bitching 'bout office environment, jay still leaves us entertained, jovially amazed and minutely envious for his literacy.

its 09153731366... Lenard Apao

keep in touch!

jayclops said...

huy lenard! asa nman ka sa earth? or bcg sa mercury. hehe.

Anonymous said...

I do always marvel at how they do wash clothes in the provinces. I’ve seen labanderas do stomp and massage their clothes with their feet like juicing grapes for wine in European countries. Hmm, might be a good cheaper way to get a foot spa.

Anonymous said...

There's supposed to be gloves for doing laundry, right? so you don't scald your hands with the detergent and bleach?

hey, i've got a delicious one for you. You heard about the british movie Hot Fuzz? Not yet released here and I doubt it ever will being small and all.

Just finished watching it. Funny as hell. Then again, I'm speaking from the POV of a fan... hehehe.

jayclops said...

Hay, kataw-an ko sa among mga silingan kung mag gloves2 ko. Haha.

Anyway, yeah I heard about it. Sige will include that in to-watch list. Iba talaga ang Brit humor. It's so way above there unlike the usual Hollywood schticks. Panis talaga. thanks, btw.

Jap said...

Jay, I know how your hand feels. started doing my laundry when i began work here in Qatar. couldn't stand it so I started to bring my clothes to the laundry shop next door. I still do my undies though and I use Ariel cause I believe the promise that you only have to soak it.

Have you tried Perla? I heard it's great on the hands hehehehe

jayclops said...

hay, im the connoisseur of laundry. before ang surf lang ang di nakakasugat sakin ngaun kahit ano na. i wonder why i have sensitive hands despite the fact that i've been washing my clothes for the longest time.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting