Stories From the Laundromat

I'm feeling inspired tonight, with lots of stories from the day. I feel that I can't put my head down until I get some of them out!

I just returned home from the laundromat at about 11:15. My roommate and I discovered a flea infestation in our apartment, most likely from the rat that stole into our place two weeks ago, so our bedding needed a good washing after setting off a couple of foggers earlier today. I've been to the laundromat just a few times, and I seem to learn something new every time, mostly by observing the other customers. Usually I take my iPod or a book to read to pass the time, and I generally keep to myself, feeling tired in the evening after work. Tonight was one of those nights where I was pretty tired and in a rush to get back to work, so I sat down to close my eyes and rest while I waited. I noticed the manager kept checking out my machines, and then he went into a closet on the far side of the room. He came back with a bucket and some water and proceeded to pour it into the detergent cartridge in my washing machines. Thinking to myself, What in the world is this guy doing to my laundry?, I got up to ask him if I had done something wrong.


He replied, "Your detergent is really bad. The only thing they put in it is color. Did you get it from the 99-Cent Store?"

We proceeded to have a short conversation about how it might turn my laundry green and that the more expensive detergents are better.

Arten, whose name I learned a little later, went off to do more work elsewhere. Just a few minutes later, another man walked up to me, and I can't even remember how he began our conversation (or I couldn't understand him between the noise of the washers and his European accent) and asked me if I went to church. He then asked me if I knew that Christianity had been in Armenia or Iran (I can't remember which... or maybe it's both) since the year 300. I can't even remember most of our conversation since my thoughts from the moment he spoke to me evolved as: Did I look like I wanted to be talked to? then, Why is it that every person I talk to with an accent is Armenian? then, Is he an Armenian Christian trying to evangelize me? Or is he a psycho trying to real me in, meaning I should try to get myself out of this conversation right now?

I finally got to ask him why he approached me. He said I just looked approachable. He told me to call him Abe. It isn't his real Armenian name, which he told me but it's too different for someone as American as me to remember. Which is why he tells people to call him Abe. He even gave himself an acronym for his name: "A" stands for Armenian (duh), "E" stands for expert (because he's an expert mechanic, perhaps?), and I can't remember what "B" was for. But once I discovered that he was a mechanic, of course he wanted to give me his business card. He also told me that he knew of a great way to make money and that even though I already had a job, maybe some of my friends would be interested in learning about it... so he gladly gave me all the information about where and when the informational meeting takes place...

"And I can take you to my Armenian church in Glendale sometime! I know you go to church, but it would be good to learn Armenian church."

How did he know that's exactly the invitation I was waiting for?! Just kidding :) It was pleasant coming from this old man with his cute Armenian accent, though. And exciting to think of all the Christian brothers and sisters I have all over the world. For that is what we are!

Later, Arten asked me if I was Austrian. I almost asked him, "Do I sound Austrian?" But then I remembered that I am, in fact, German in ancestry, so I very well could be mistaken for being Austrian. I'm European! I've known it all my life, but this thought hit me in a totally fresh way tonight. I suppose, though, that I'm European only in ethnicity, not in culture, because American culture is definitely very different from European culture. Funny how we Americans think we're so different from those who immigrate here from other parts of the world, when really the only people who are truly American are Native Americans. I have lots more I could say on that, but it's getting quite late...

On a more serious note, Door of Hope Glendale celebrated tonight with one of our families who just completed the program. This particular mom and two children were with us for only a few months. I didn't get to know them all that well, but the mom shared with us tonight that she had the best Christmas with her kids that she's ever had with them... and how touched I was to hear her say that! It had always been a little difficult for me to tell how she was doing and if she enjoyed her home here at Door of Hope, but she said over and over how thankful she was for bringing her here after being at two other shelters and having no idea where to turn for help. As our program director told me later, "It shows you can't ever judge a book by its cover." It's easy sometimes to put people into a box that I create based upon the limited interactions I have with them, even though I have such little knowledge of their whole person. But I will never know the full picture.

One more thought tonight: I love my little boys. Granted, the girls are great, but I feel some special connection with our boys. Perhaps it's because I never had brothers to play with, and they intrigue me the way they play. Or perhaps I'm trying to vicariously re-live my childhood without being so girly (I was a very girly-girl as a kid. Still am!) I love watching them run around chasing each other, and then when they come up and tag me and say, "You got the cootie touch!" When they jump on me and try to tackle me to the ground and tickle me, I pretend that they're strong enough to take me down. I love it how my eight-year-old (who used to give me major attitude problems) hugs me at least twice a day now. With every hug and tackle, I get more attached to them all. But they're not going to be here forever. Moving on is a good thing - the goal is to get them to move on to a more stable life - but it's going to be so hard to let these ones go. I can't help but selfishly hope it won't be too soon.

Almost 3 a.m. Can't think anymore. Definitely started writing this at 11:45 and got super sidetracked when my roommate, Tiffany, came home. She's crazy. And awesome. Crazily awesome. We're getting another roommate this weekend, who I'm sure will be awesome, too. Change is coming, but change is good!