Oct 24 2004
Clean
You know you’ve reached the heights (or depths) of slothfulness when the cleaners actually call you and ask you to pick up your stuff. They were nice about it, but I still felt like I was getting sent to the principal’s office. If I ever had any lingering concerns about being a responsible adult, I think I can stop worrying (after all, it causes those pesky wrinkles).
So I finally picked up the cleaning. It reminded me of a conversation I once had with a guy whose family owned a dry cleaning business. He said that he’d gotten lots of great clothes from it. I asked him how, and he said, “People just forget to come and get their stuff.” Pause. “And then, you know, some of them die.”