Get a load of this.
Look. I understand if it was an accident. You had a load in the dryer when I put mine in the washer. I left my basket in there without its nametag or collar. It's not hard to imagine a situation in which you might have inadvertently mistaken my laundry basket for your own, and used it to bring your freshly dried clothes back to your apartment. It happens. We're human; we err.
I'm going to assume it was a mistake. I'd prefer not to think about the possibility that you might have seen my basket sitting there by itself, noticed its clean lines and sturdy handles and thought to yourself, "Hey! Check out this warp-resistant core! What convenient, ergonomic shaping! What glorious venting!" and made a conscious decision to basket-nap. After all, how intelligent of a crime is that, anyway? We have five people in this building; odds are that you're not the 80-year old woman with a bad hip who lives above me, and you're probably not me, so we're really down to three. And even if you tried to continue living a life of lies with your stolen basket, chances are great that we will run into each other in the laundry room one day and have a very awkward conversation.
You couldn't have known, really, that this particular basket was once an Easter basket—filled with various homey supplies (a gift from my mother when I got my very first apartment) all wrapped up in festive cellophane, far prettier than any laundry basket should be, figuring greatly into nostalgic memories of growing up and moving out and standing on one's own two feet—or that its disappearance would cause so much strife to its owner, because who develops emotional attachments to domestic janitorial supplies anyway? You probably had no idea that this laundry basket was selected especially by its owner's mother because of its beautifully sturdy construction, after said owner had had devastating results with lesser models. To you, it was probably just a laundry basket—your own, even!—$9.99 in the housewares section of your local department store. Easily replaceable. It didn't even have laundry in it.
But it still was not yours to take, and so I would appreciate it if you could return it to me at your earliest convenience. My laundry is heartbreakingly uncontained, and not nearly as mobile as it used to be. I miss my basket. Please.
Best,
Meldraw
4 Comments:
Aw. What kind of depraved person would steal a laundry basket?! Although. It could be worse. It could have been the creepy med student girl (who acts so superior taking your laundry out and spreading it all over the table because she couldn't wait the fifteen seconds it was taking you to walk in with your basket. Said med student could then have smugly informed you that they didn't touch your underwear, clearly implying that they had inspected said underwear.
It really is true: doctors are the natural enemy of lawyers.
Does this mean you have to start using a bike lock to chain your next laundry basket to a table leg? And if you do, please post pictures.
I'm a little confused about the reward. How much are you offering for its return? I'm a little surprised it hasn't been returned yet. I'll have to see if I can find another just like it. Kind of like when you were little and something got lost or broken...
Weirdly, I had a friend in college who used to regularly have his underwear--and ONLY his underwear-- stolen from the washing machines in the dorm. He never found out who it was, or why his underwear in particular attracted the thief--it wasn't very flashy underwear or anything.
Weirder is that my friend had a 30-inch waist, and there weren't any other guys in the dorm who were that thin.
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