The Public, However, is an Entirely Different Matter

Jesus instructed his followers to love one another. To love my neighbor as myself. And I do. I love humankind and pray continually for our spiritual salvation and uplifting. I love humanity in all its glorious struggling and achieving and failing.

The Public, however, is an entirely different matter. I've known that the Public were unpleasant, filthy, and disgusting, since 'way back in high school, when I worked cleaning up after them in a public park, and in the teen night club I helped found and run when I was (duh) a teen. The Public means filthy urinals, cigaret butts, and used condoms - often in the urinals. The Public is ill-mannered, smelly, and diseased.

I've always known this, but my tolerance for enduring the Public over the decades has been increasingly abraided, especially as my awareness has increased regarding what dealings with the Public portends.

Which is why I don't go out much, if I can help it.

As it happens, lately, we've had an epidemic of appliance failures. The vacuum cleaner is in the shop; the dishwasher has been down for a while; we've been avoiding getting the dryer repaired by hanging stuff to dry; but then, two days ago, right in the middle of a load, the washing machine stopped working.

Thus, we were thrust into one of the more repulsive Public venues, the laundromat. On Saturday evening.

Now, the laundromat was clean. The washers and dryers were in good shape and not reeking of other people's cleaning materials. And we went at dinnertime, when the patrons were few and many machines were available, so we could get in and out as quickly as possible.

We started the laundry, I read a chapter in my book, Milady read something on her cell. We switched to the dryers. We re-stationed ourselves by a couple of folding tables near the dryer as I read some more.

As Milady got up to pull out some dry clothes, that's when That Guy came over, took the chair where she'd been sitting, and threw his big tub on the folding table, even though he never did any folding!

"Where'd you get your hat?" he asked me. "It was a gift!" I replied, hoping my irritation wasn't too obvious. Some discussion followed of how he wanted a hat, Milady suggesting places to buy one, and him replying about his impoverished state and other drivel.

Despite my terrible Opinionated Tourette's Syndrome, I said nothing more. Fortunately, it's the age of the Internet, so I have other venues in which to vent, and did not verbally assault the fellow then and there, but it was a terrible struggle. Bit my tongue until it bled.

Soon enough, he threw his dry clothes into his big tub, bade us goodbye, and dragged his fat ass and his tub of wrinkly clothes out of there.

So I didn't say...

"Hey, fellah! I can see that you're morbidly, even obscenely obese, that you could make three or four of me out of you. That's okay, I'm sure it's because you're somehow 'handicapped' - I am too, just in ways that aren't as obvious.

"I can tell by looking at you and listening to you that your problems are mental as well as physical, but you're plainly functional enough to do your own laundry and hold a marginally intelligent conversation.

"So, what I want to ask you is, Did you have a mother? And if you did have a mother, did she ever tell you to cover when you cough and sneeze? Because, you're sitting here in public coughing up a lung and sneezing your filthy sputum into the air that everybody else has to breathe!

"Did you ever hear of a handkerchief?? Do you want to give everybody else your cold or tuberculosis or whatever the hell you've got?"

Now I feel like I'm coming down with something. I need to drink some orange juice - with a strong, double-shot of medicinal purpose.

I love humanity; I can't stand the Public.