Minnesota Passive-Aggressive: Nordic Hamburger Patty in the Laundry Room

9:00 AM 

And so I am in the laundry room of the large apartment building where I live.  There are three washers.  There are three dryers.  I am loading my clothes into two of the washers, when this Nordic Hamburger Patty of a human wreck comes in.  She a woman, of very large stature.

"Oh gosh you can use all three if you want I'll just come back. Oh no its okay its okay I'll just come back just use all three."

She says this politely, but she speaks so nervously, with so much pent-up frustration, that when I say to her, "I'm only using two."

"Oh no, it's okay goshdarn I'll just come back."

She manages to pick up all of her laundry and walk out the door.  I finish loading my laundry into the washers.  Lights with lights.  Darks with darks.  (I'd insert a joke about the neighborhoods back in Chicago being so segregated, but that wouldn't be so "nice" now would it?)

Anyway, flash-forward to 34 minutes later, when I walk back into the laundry room because I know that my two loads will be done, when I find that the fine Minnesotan who left their two loads in the dryer 34 minutes before (finished, mind you), still hasn't come back to get them.

One who can adapt to anything, I do what any prudent person would do, and take one load out, and put it into the only open dryer.  As I am doing this, this Nordic Hamburger Patty, all nervous and oh-so-polite, comes in with her things and says, "oh gosh, are ya done with tha three washing machines yet?"

"I am done with the one, the other two are open.  I'm waiting for the dryer."

No reply.  She nervously rummages through her Nordic Hamburger Patty panties, and I go through my colored load to get something out that I don't want to shrink.  I take said item out and walk out the door. 

I am gone all of five minutes, when I return to find my wet colored load in my basket, courtesy of NHP. At this point, I'm irrate and of course, there's only one suspect, that Thing. 

Now, if I were Minnesota Nice, I would have bit my lip, but I'm from Chicago, and unless you're some sort of crazed criminal with a penchant for others wet laundry, you have violated my space.  Politeness being the better part of valor, or something like that, I calmly asked this woman "did you take my laundry out of the washer?" 

She wouldn't acknowledge me.  Nothing but nervous rummaging.

A little louder, with a little more heart.  "Mam, did you take my laundry out of the washer?" 

She quickly turns, nervous as hell "I need all three and you weren't here."

"I was gone five minutes."

"I need all three and I need all three gosh darn I do."

At this point, I can't tell you what I said.  Well, I'll tell you what I said, and it's this:  "what the fuck are you doing touching my shit?  Fucking play all nice, with your nice bullshit?  You don't touch my shit!"

At this point, she's pulling all of her stuff from the machines, wanting to say something, anything, but all that she could muster up were phony pleasantries.  It was like I opened up the robot, exposed all its wires, doused it in water and short-circuited the thing.

Pulling all of my clothes from the washer is very passive aggressive.  And say what you will about my response, but her self-centered, cowardly move is the real Minnesota Nice.