Nebulous Mooch

We spend Wednesday mornings at the laundromat. Our apartment complex charges too much to wash and dry so we choose to wash and dry elsewhere. Up until a few months ago we went to a 24 hour coin laundry down the street from the lovely Chateaux Versailles Apartments and right next door to a tanning salon. It always contained interesting characters.

The constant yelling of The Price is Right played in the background as women laid claim to limited folding table space. There were always people in the laundromat who wanted to claim a wheeling basket as there own. They’d sit in the plastic blue chairs with one hand on their chosen basket snarling at anyone who seemed to be looking at it.

It was sometimes fun to try to guess the relationship of the people who came in together. Once a man and woman came in to wash a heap of clothes. The woman was young and pregnant. The man was in his early sixties. Since they looked alike my husband and I assumed they were father and daughter until they started doing some un-father-and-daughter like things.

There was a couple that came in pretty regularly that always used Dawn dish soap in the washing machine. I’d watch the water, thick with foam, slosh around through their machine’s glass door and think, “At least they won’t have any grease stains.” I always wondered whether they were able to get all of the soap out of their clothes. There was a young couple that would use so much bleach that the laundromat would smell like a swimming pool.

For about a month, a man and woman (I don’t know their relationship because they hardly spoke to each other – probably just co-workers) used to back a pickup truck loaded with sheets up to the back door. They would pack every machine in the place with their sheets and take up every folding table and look at you as if they were daring you to complain. “Great! The eastern European sheet company is here again,” my husband would sigh as we walked in the door. No matter what time we tried to get to there they’d get there just before us.

Fortunately, we’ve found a new laundromat. It is clean. The machines are new and it has plenty of folding space. Usually, when we get there in the mornings, it’s empty. I miss the characters from the other place but the peace of mind I get washing at the new place is far more valuable to me.

My husband and I have decided to drive into the confusing world of mortgages and credit again. Recently, we heard about a very good deal on a condo. We looked at it and, of course, my husband fell in love with it right away. Before I knew it we were making an offer on it. Never mind the fact that we didn’t have a pre-approval for a reasonable mortgage. I tried to bring this up, but my husband and parents didn’t seem to understand my concern.

Things started falling into place, like it was meant to happen. The place needed a new stove. Someone from church was giving away a perfectly good stove. We picked up the stove and made arrangements to store it in my sister’s garage. Then we thought we had found a good mortgage. Things were going smoothly.

Then there was a sudden kink in chain. My husband has no credit score, so we couldn’t get the mortgage. No score? How is this possible? We wondered the same thing. After several days navigating the automatic phone mazes of all three credit bureaus, my husband was able to talk to some real people and get some vague answers.

He has no credit score because he has had no activity (debt) for more than six months. This is a real conundrum. The financing people say, “Sorry, we can’t loan to you because you have no credit score.” The credit bureau says, “Sorry, you aren’t borrowing any money right now, so we can’t give you a score.” The world we live in is crazy. Last year, when we paid off his car early, we thought we were doing a good thing.

I like to listen to the news while I’m driving. I’m a big fan of NPR current affairs shows, or at least I’ve always thought I was a big fan. These days I think I might just be a fan of background chatter, I don’t think it really matters what the chatter is. Whenever I’m asked what was on the news today, I can’t answer the question.

I know someone who never listens to the radio when she drives. She says she likes the quiet. The car is one of the rare places where she gets quiet. I’ve tried this and it doesn’t really work out for me. It’s not quiet. There’s just a lot of road noise. I’d rather drown that out.

My husband blew out a speaker in his car last week. He doesn’t like road noise either so he wears earplugs while he drives. Then he turns up his stereo so that he can hear it clearly with the earplugs. This is how he blew the speaker–true genius in action. I’ve told him that it’s a dangerous practice, but he disagrees. He also plays the harmonica along with the music while driving with earplugs. He says that playing the harmonica while driving helps him to stay awake and alert. He makes me a nervous wreck. At least he doesn’t put the seat all the way back, keep his eyes half closed and try to sleep while driving…anymore.