By James Tressler

In these times of heightened security, it’s easy to forget things, the little things. Like laundry, for instance.
The other day, I awoke and surveyed, with a sense of shame and dismay, the pile of dirty clothes strewn across
the floor of my flat. The scene, taken in full with the unemptied ashtray, wrinkled sheets of forgotten lesson plans, empty cigarette packs, even a copy of the trash mag Blesk that I admit to buying for no good reason, would have disgusted every decent woman I’ve ever known. I can only provide a range of excuses, some real and others invented spur of the moment. Rather than run an inventory of them, let us cut to the one we all can agree on. These are dangerous times. At any moment, unseen men with hyphenated, unpronouncable names with a penchant forgrainy videos and visions of destruction could be plotting my violent demise.

After all, if it only took 19 men and two planes to permanently mar the beauty of the New York skyline,
and interupt the president’s reading of a fine children’s story. What's to prevent terror from striking again while the whites are entering the spin cycle?  Unimaginable, you say? Well ...

Vividly, I see Osama, lurking in the caverns near the Pakistan-Afhganistan border, going over the final details:
“So remember – wait until the first cycle is complete,” the lord of Terror says. “These weak, cleanliness-obsessed
Americans know to check their washers for explosives before putting the laundry in. They’ll never expect it after the first cycle.”

“First cycle – check,” the others say.

“And no matter what happens,” the great elusive one continues. “Make sure to check the temperature when attaching the explosive. We want the colors to bleed if possible. Bleeding colors will strike at the heart of every American’s Existence.”You can see the odds I’m up against. How can I, who can never find the initiative to return videos on time, be expected to be so vigilant?I consulted my Czech friends on the matter, thinking it would be good to get an international perspective. “You could
send them to the dry cleaner, I don’t think the terrorists are targeting dry cleaners.” offered Bohous, who works for a Rotterdam-based shipping company.

The “I don’t think” phrase unsettled me a little. He didn’t sound confident enough. My clothes deserve absolute guarantees. So I turned to Martin. He’s a stocky sensible lad who enjoyed a brief career as a mid-fielder for Praha-Sparta. “My girlfriend does my laundry,” he said, looking somewhat apologetic. I could see he wanted to do more for me. Most Czechwomen do the laundry, as well as the cooking, for their men. Unfortunately, I don’t have a Czech girlfriend at the moment.
There is this German girl I went out with a few times. But I don’t think she’s ready to take on that kind of burden.
An idea struck me: I’m still a taxpayer. Why not send them to Washington? Surely, the White House would appreciate my taking precautions. I could send them in a box, addressed to Donald Rumsfeld himself. “Dear Don: Do me a favor? Pop these in the wash, set at 60 deg. Air dry is fine. Let’s Roll! Thanks, a grateful citizen.”

Of course, some would say the Defense Secretary is far too important to be bothered with such trifles as an expat’s laundry.
I wouldn’t even blame Mr. Rumsfeld if he promptly sent the box back, with a curt note: “Let them ungrateful damn ex-Communists in Europe blow themselves up doing your laundry.”  I’d understand. But I hope he’d understand my concern. One has to be careful in these times. Vigilant. The socks can wait until after the war. 

Average user rating

   (0 vote)