The Pitfalls of Doing Laundry at a Dinner Party
Looking back, in all fairness, it was a very kind gesture for them to invite me and now, with the passing of time, I realize I could’ve handled things better. The dinner party was on Friday, but the week was a crazy busy one and my washing machine went down the previous weekend. I had bought a new one, but it would only be delivered the following Monday and I was at the end of the line regarding clean clothes. I needed to get through the weekend, so I thought it made sense to combine the dinner party with a laundry night and brought over a very small load to wash. It wasn’t a particularly stinky batch, especially considering the recent hot weather, but it did have a certain aroma if one intentionally smelt it.
I arrived right on time, at 6pm, as I figured that no one really does that anymore and it would give me a chance to get the load in before the other guests arrived. Robert answered the door, while Jen was still preparing the meal. After the usual pleasantries where I presented the host with a particularly pleasant bottle of Saint Emillion, I jumped right into it.
“Hey man, I’m really sorry to even ask this, but I’ve been having some washing machine issues and even though I bought a new machine that will be delivered next week I’m totally swamped this weekend, so I’m wondering if I may be able to do a quick load while I’m here?”
Robert didn’t know what to say and looked like a diehard Star Wars fan walking out of The Phantom Menace for the first time.
“I brought everything to just punch it out. I don’t even need to dry it.” I added pointing to my backpack.
“Um, I guess it’s ok.” He finally replied, before adding, “Jen will have to help you. I don’t do laundry.”
“Great, thanks so much, I really appreciate it….I’m actually embarrassed to even be asking.”
“Uhh, don’t worry about it.” I took this response as a good sign. He was being supportive.
Jennifer was also a little taken aback when we explained the situation, but she rolled with the flow and we got the load in the machine and went back to the kitchen to have a cocktail. Now, I’m usually a beer drinker, but Robert was drinking martinis and he made one for me while Jen and I were at the washer, so I went with it.
Most of the other guests arrived by 7pm, which was expected, but since I didn’t eat much in anticipation of a home cooked meal, I was already feeling the martinis. I was just starting my fourth by then and was making some serious headway into the cheese, olives, hummus and crackers that were out for pre-dinner snacking. Everyone did the usual introductions by asking what I did for a living and then telling me what they did (lawyer, banker, accountant, etc.). I told them I was an unpublished writer who used to work in finance in Eastern Europe/Russia, but called it quits when Putinism undermined all of Yeltsin’s gains and that Crimea and Donbas were the last straw. That didn’t get much traction or follow through, as usual.
By 7:30pm we were all seated at the table. There were only seven of us, three couples (including the hosts) and myself. By the time we sat, I had just finished my fifth martini and was already regretting my acceptance of the invite. These were just not my kind of people.
Unfortunately, Jen made some type of fish casserole, which really didn’t suit me at all, but I was hungry and decided to just focus on the meal for a bit, as the conversation was quite dull. Once I was satiated, I mentally returned to the conversation, only to realize that it had advanced from tiresome to insulting.
“It’s starting off well and I think we’ll soon have some real accomplishments on the health care repeal and tax reform.” Teddy, the short, rotund banker with a mustache who wore a tie and jacket throughout dinner was saying.
“Oh, I agree, it’s only to be expected that there’d be a learning curve. We’re already over the hump.” Robert chimed in, and the entire table agreed with head bobs and snorts.
I couldn’t take it, “Learning curve?!? This is a disaster unfolding before our very eyes. What in the world are you referring to when you say “starting off well”? Do you mean supporting neo-Nazis, attacking our institutions or the pulling out of the Paris Climate Accord?” The whole table turned and focused on me now.
“Gorsuch was a real home run- you can’t deny that. And frankly, anything is better than what we’ve had for the last eight years or having that lying bitch in the White House.” Teddy responded with a new flush of red entering his round face.
“Whoa, are you kidding me? I’m seriously confused. What about Obama didn’t you like? I mean, don’t you honestly believe that, even if you disagreed with his policies, he sincerely tried to do the most good for the greatest amount of people every day he was in office? Can you ask for more from a president? Especially compared to Trump?”
“I don’t know who you are, but I’m NOT a socialist. I make a lot of fucking money and I pay more in taxes than you make in a year, maybe two, and I’m not going to be supporting loafers looking for a free ride.” Teddy was a real ignorant. In his arrogance he assumed that since I labeled myself a writer, I couldn’t possibly be worth anything to society or have an income.
“Are you serious? You pay more in taxes than I make in a year? Even if that’s true, does it really mean anything? What about taking away healthcare from 20 million people who need it the most so that pricks like you can get a huge tax cut? Kicking the Dreamers out solely to rally up an ignorant xenophobic base is good policy? And don’t even start with Russia being fake news, the guy’s been money laundering for them for over a decade.”
At this stage, Robert stood up and stopped the conversation. “Mike, I’m sorry, but I think you drank too much and it’s time for you to go. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“This has nothing to do with the amount I’ve had to drink. It has to do with basic intelligence, decency and common sense toward how our country is run.”
“You should go, please leave.” Jen added and the table agreed with head bobs and snorts.
“Trust me, I’m going, but when Trump blows up the economy, possibly gets us into another stupid war and is getting impeached, I hope you all remember this.” It was clear that my company and insights were about as desired as a hurricane passing over Puerto Rico.
When I started making my way to the door, the whole table erupted (at least all of the men did). They were yelling- “Get the hell out of here!” and “Fuck off you socialist!” and other things I prefer not to repeat.
Once on the street, I walked a few blocks cursing at the sky about such idiots and fools and how our country is so lost at the moment. I then got a ride and headed to the Ale House. It was only then that I remembered the laundry I had left in their washer. I knew I couldn’t go back for it and, sadly, it became a casualty of my indiscretion of attending a dinner party with Republican chaff.
Once back in the Ale House, I relayed the story to Bruce, the owner, who was at his usual perch at the end of the bar. His only reply after my five minute diatribe was, “Well, I guess that old saying that you shouldn’t air dirty laundry in front of strangers came true for you tonight.” That was one way of looking at it. I took a long pull from my High Life.
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