Nervous American Broad
I've posted about my dry cleaners experiences before, they're some kind of Asian couple. They speak broken English to me and the other customers, but when I first walk in, before the door has a chance to chime announcing my presence I hear them speaking in their native tongue. Chinese, Japanese, Korean, I don't know it's all Greek to me. He is usually yelling something from the back while working the big shirt press. He's a scary little dude. Not because he's Asian, but because he reminds me of a Vietnamese military prison camp guard. That's not racist, is it?
I just have a vivid imagination and war movies are on the TV a lot with three boys and a husband. I'm outnumbered. He does look like he's been in a Chuck Norris movie though.
She usually gets my shirts, takes my money and tells me to have a nice day. Last week I heard her in a little room but he approached the counter.
'Oh God please don't let me say anything stupid. Say nothing, just shut your mouth, no eye contact.'
I'm my own best friend when it comes to advice.
I made it to my car with clean shirts and all my fingers. I leaned over to file away my receipt and put my purse down when I heard a gentle tapping on my window. After totally freaking myself out it was inevitable that when I turned and saw him peering in my car window that I would jump out of my seat with a "Don't Kill Me" look on my face. I think I scared the poor guy. He held up four fingers and said, "Four shirt, four?"
Words escaped me, I nodded yes and he went back into the dry cleaning facility probably muttering to himself, "Nervous American broad."
I just have a vivid imagination and war movies are on the TV a lot with three boys and a husband. I'm outnumbered. He does look like he's been in a Chuck Norris movie though.
She usually gets my shirts, takes my money and tells me to have a nice day. Last week I heard her in a little room but he approached the counter.
'Oh God please don't let me say anything stupid. Say nothing, just shut your mouth, no eye contact.'
I'm my own best friend when it comes to advice.
I made it to my car with clean shirts and all my fingers. I leaned over to file away my receipt and put my purse down when I heard a gentle tapping on my window. After totally freaking myself out it was inevitable that when I turned and saw him peering in my car window that I would jump out of my seat with a "Don't Kill Me" look on my face. I think I scared the poor guy. He held up four fingers and said, "Four shirt, four?"
Words escaped me, I nodded yes and he went back into the dry cleaning facility probably muttering to himself, "Nervous American broad."
