October 14 – Day 38: Laundry and Ice Cream

Yet another matinee day, though at least this one didn’t require a second helping in the evening. I decided to walk up to the theatre, because I hadn’t done it for a few days and I hoped that being a Sunday would mean less pedestrian traffic. There were fewer people out, but it was relative and still more crowded than I’d have liked. Regardless, I was at the theatre before I knew it. Pidge had a matinee herself, and preceded that with a bagel, so I was on my own for breakfast.

The show was pretty good. There’s always something for me about the last show of the week that combines being tired from doing seven of them (and three in a weekend) and excited over the pending day off. I felt pretty focused and good, and even tried some new stuff (nothing major; just different line readings and approaches). I think I even got my first line as George Kraft right for the first time. (I’m discovered onstage as the lights come up and, after a moment, Campbell knocks on my door twice. Both knocks are taped sound cues, and I almost always hear only the second one, think it’s the first, and wait for the second. Since they’ve already played two knocks [and there’s no backup sound cue], but I’ve heard only one, it means GG has to do a live knock, all of which means I’m standing alone on stage pretending I’m painting for five to ten seconds, which makes for gripping theatre.) (A side note about sound cues. At one point, I “fire” a gun three times. All of the gunshots are sound cues, and at one of our few tech rehearsals, the first shot was early, the second was fine, and the third was the sound of a typewriter. I just looked at the gun barrel and moved on.)

Anyway, after the performance, we all separated our laundry (Sunday performances always mean wash day is coming!) and left the theatre. I didn’t have any real plans for the evening, other than to hang out with Pidge and do laundry. Had it been just the latter, I probably would have walked home—it was a nice enough day—but the former induced me to take the train. I got home, gathered up my laundry and headed for the laundromat.

I’ve been going to the card laundromat, mainly because it’s nice enough—I mean, it’s a laundromat; there’s not a lot you can do with it—and it eliminates the need for collecting quarters. Unlike previous trips, though, this visit was crowded. Lots of women doing wash for others and lots of “civilians” using machines and then leaving their finished loads unattended. (Needless to say, I hate that. Get your damn clothes out of the way!) I managed to find one washer that was just about finished (and when it was, the nice lady who was doing someone else’s wash hustled to get her stuff out of the way and signaled me to use it) and another just moments later. The odd thing about the machines in this place is that they have timers on them, but the timings make no sense. They’re all on 24-minute cycles, but the second machine started four minutes after the first and finished before the other one was done. After that, I was able to find two open dryers (which was lucky, because there was a land rush almost immediately after—including one guy who used four dryers for not that much laundry), finish up, and head home.

Pidge and I had talked about what to have for dinner, and I gave her some options, and after she mentioned steak frites, I thought of David’s Café, which would give me a chance to get the burger I’d been trying to get for three days now. 

 This is pretty much how crowded it was.

When I got home from the laundromat, there was a huge crowd in front of our porch. There was some kind of event in the basement of the place to the left, and lot of people were attending it, smoking and drinking. I had to work my way past a couple sitting on the steps, which was not easy with a backpack full of laundry and detergent. When we left for the restaurant, they were all still there. I guess they kind of expected people might be leaving from our building, since they had made a bit more room. As we came down, I kind of craned my neck to see what was in that basement, but all I could see was a desk of some kind. 

We walked over to the restaurant and it was pretty empty—maybe two tables occupied—so we got a window seat and ordered—two salads, a burger, and steak frites; nothing out of the ordinary. The waiter left and came back a moment later to verify that I’d ordered the burger, then left again. The salads came pretty quickly, but then there was nothing for the longest time. The hostess came over and assured us that our order would be up soon, but the whole thing smacked of “he forgot to put the orders in,” even though that made no sense since he’d come back to check on what I’d ordered. It was ultimately fine, since we were in no hurry, but it was just odd.

 

 

Hillary. Not there.

The entrees finally came, and were just what we wanted. We talked about dessert, and decided I should try the vanilla ice cream at Mikey Likes It, which was only about four blocks away. We went, and even though late Sunday night seemed to be the time for them to train a totally new guy with absolutely no experience. He was slow, but we still weren’t in a hurry, so it was okay. (It would have been better if we hadn’t been behind four obnoxious hipsters wearing glasses that were just trying too hard—both the hipsters and their glasses—but that’s another story.) As always, I had vanilla (if they can do that well, they can do the other flavors well), and while it was very good, I thought I’ve had better. We ate on the way home, and while I fell asleep a couple of times while sitting up, I managed to stay up late, knowing I had the whole day Monday off.