My dry cleaner has closed down! I discovered this horror today when I dragged my summer quilt cover and my sister's teddy bear to the venue. (CupCake has now claimed ownership of the bear that once fell into a garage sale pile).
The dry cleaner was actually an agent that worked out of a ridiculously expensive petrol station. I always thought the business was a front, as it was so dishevelled and the dry cleaning so cheap. This too may have been a ruse. Perhaps the owners did nothing more than run a Big W purchased garment steam cleaner over items.
In order to obtain cheap dry cleaning though, I had to endure an element of sexual harassment. This ranged from the son declaring 'I love you like my cousin, I love you like my sister, will you be my girlfriend?' to being told that I am a very pretty lady and where did I live? When I got engaged last decade, the father was furious and told me so. I always hoped the mother was working when I dropped in, even though she had a bad case of alopecia areata. I never looked her in the eyes as I was always staring at her shiny bald head.
Regardless, I managed to get a quilt cover, two long coats and a satin dress dry cleaned for $15 every time.
And it's not the first time I've put up with sexual harassment to save or make myself money. As a youngster, I was subjected to a boss who loved nothing more than to press his sixty-year-old flesh up against mine (as he placed a fifty in my palm). To this day, I look for a random touch on pay day and often find myself riding in peak-hour trains just to try and emulate the experience. And I live seven kilometres from the nearest train station.
So to recap, I am now in the market for a cheap dry cleaner, and quickly. I have the teddy bear in the baby capsule, and I need to use it on Tuesday.
No comments:
Post a Comment