Did I ever tell you about Crazy Lady? I think I started to in Your Friendly Neighborhood Hatchet Man, but got sidetracked in the telling of a story about some other crazy shit.
Well, as I mentioned before, Crazy Lady is this psycho in my apartment building. One day, while entering the laundry room to switch my clothes from washer to dryer, I saw this white-trashy, leatherfaced ogre pulling clothes out of a washing machine. We have two machines, and I had clothes in both – so you do the math.
I looked from her arms, piled high with my clothes, to the top of one of the old grungy dryers. My other pile of clothes was dripping in a heap amid the rabid dust bunnies atop the machine. For a second, I just looked back and forth between the two garish scenes, like a confused tennis fan.
“Those are my clothes…” was all I could get out.
She plopped the sopping second pile over the first, and loaded her own clothes into the washer as she casually said, “Yours were done a long time ago.”
We know that the washers take fifteen minutes, so I showed up at the laundry room about seventeen minutes later. She had to have been waiting for the machine to stop, then froze time all around the world, except inside the laundry room, waited for ‘a long time’ and then unfroze time. That’s a pretty fucking amazing magic trick for a greasy old bag to do.
I calmly told her she shouldn’t have put my clothes on the top of a dirty dryer, to which she replied, “Well… I wiped it off.” This is as likely as her time warping powers.
I quietly, but angrily, shoved my first load of soaking clothes into the dryer. The second dryer was empty too, but there was another person’s pile atop it. I thought: fuck this, I want to dry my clothes and get out of here before whatever ate this bitch’s mind gets mine too. So I pushed my second load into that machine.
As I walked out, I sarcastically muttered, “Gee, thanks for putting my clothes on the dryer instead of the floor.” To this, she sincerely said, “Oh, you’re welcome.”
I came back a while later to see if she had taken my drying clothes out too. She hadn’t, but a large unhappy black man was standing in the laundry room, staring angrily at the dryer with his clothes on top. When he saw me open that dryer to check if my clothes were done, he snapped, “Did you take my clothes out…they’re not dry yet.”
He was mad, but was obviously trying to keep his cool. I assured him I found his clothes on top of the machine, and didn’t know what to do, so I just put mine in. Then, I told him about this crazy lady who took my clothes out too. We both shook hands and laughed, surmising that the bitch took his out so there would be room for me to put my clothes, which she took out for hers. This seems to follow some twisted, psycho logic.
I took one of my loads out so he could finish his, and went back to my apartment to watch History Channel.
Checking my clothes again, later, I found his clothes on top of the dryer, still not done – and the dryer was on. I opened it, and sure enough, Crazy Lady had filled it with her clothes. I closed the door, and went up to the guy’s apartment. He answered the door, and we said our ’s’ups, then i told him his clothes weren’t done because the bitch took them out again.
He stomped down the stairs, looked in the laundry room and smacked the door frame with his beefy black hand. Without a word, he opened the dryer door, and instead of switching the clothes back, just left it open so her time would run out with the machine off.
We both went to our respective homes with satisfied smiles on our faces.
Now, acutely insecure about someone taking my clothes, or dirtying my clothes, or just doing god knows what with MY clothes, I went back relatively soon to keep an eye on them. Low and behold, the Crazy Lady was in the room, and huffing and puffing like there were a hundred little pigs building condos on her turf.
She glared up at me, and after I just shook my head, she stormed up the stairs to the guy’s door. She yelled at him about respecting people’s property, and wasting people’s money, and being a bad neighbor, and other random Crazy Lady shit. With the guy not giving in to her tirade, she rumbled back down the stair case, and banged on the door of our sweet, ridiculously old, slightly senile landlord’s apartment.
Crazy Lady told the nice old lady about how she had been mistreated, and how she did nothing to deserve such rude behavior. At this, I (who has been standing here the whole time laughing to myself) spoke up.
“When I came in here a while ago, and saw you taking my clothes out, if you had been a guy, I would’ve probably punched you in the mouth.”
“You’re trying to get violent with me?” she yelled, as the stench of rotten teeth and cigarettes poured out of her creased lips. “Fuck this, I’m gonna go tell my husband you threatened me, and he’s gonna come shoot you with his .45!”
FREEZE – if you’re already starting to make the connection with Your Friendly Neighborhood Hatchet Man - then you’re a smart cookie.
I laughed at this, and that made her even more mad. She started cussing at me, and muttering about rude people, fucking stupid people, damn bastards gonna get shot, and on and on. I hope you can start to see the obvious trend here.
For those of you who didn’t read the other post, either a few days ago, or now with the multiple links I’ve provided… then I’ll just clarify something: it turns out that Crazy Lady’s daughter is the same psycho little tramp that has been disturbing the entire complex. This is the mother of the monster that upset my fiancee, and got me arrested for telling her to go to bed (albeit, with an axe.)
So, the moral of the story is… well, there is no moral I can find except that crazy whores have crazy spawn.
The End (I hope)
