Magic Bubbles

story by Ozone

There is an ancient Norse proverb, “unde yunta gnuta voohdes,” which loosely translated means: Crazy things will always happen at the laundromat.

This is an almost universal truth; proven time and again each time I have been forced to launder my clothes in public. Most recently, I have taken to performing this act at an establishment called “Magic Bubbles” on 436 in Casselberry, Florida. It is slightly more expensive than the laundry room at my complex ($2 a load compared to $1.25) but the machines are industrial strength, hastening the process considerably. Also, the name sounds like a cross between a massage parlor and a hot tub. (Note to B-Lehn: we should probably get started on marketing that idea)

My first visit to Magic Bubbles was a great experience, flawless in fact. I was in and out quickly and the sheer size of some of the machines was staggering. Seventy-five pounds of dirty clothes in one machine?! More astoundingly, I saw people actually using this landmark of laundry ingenuity. I was also able to get a great deal of reading done in the process, so all in all I considered it a great success.

Today, however, this tide of good fortune abruptly reversed. First, I was about 5 minutes too late take advantage of the daily half-price special running from 6 to 3. (Before I forget, has there ever been a fucking futon that didn’t slide off of the frame in “couch mode?” Every time I sit on this S.O.B. the whole thing starts to slide off like the meat in the last bite of a hamburger.) I dealt with it though. I mean a buck is just a buck, after all.

Then an odd situation played out in front of me. Two guys and a girl that looked like they had come from South Carolina and looked like they had drank every Busch Light they could find on the way were walking about the place with a small posse of African American kids in their wake. I look up from the new Bob Woodward (review coming) and realize that the kids are getting autographs from this trio. Not only that, but the Busch connoisseurs are signing MOTORCYCLE RACING 8X10 glossy photos.

It was instantly apparent that these kids were not big-time MOTORCYCLE RACING fans that just happened to be carrying their 8X10 glossies to Magic Bubbles on the off chance that their favorite MOTORCYCLE RACER shows up. I didn’t know which was worse: these black kids feigning excitement over these hillbillies, or Jethro & Co. pawning off their bullshit glossy photos on the kids. Quickly, I decided they were both equally to blame. That is, until I saw what the main MOTORCYCLE RACER had signed on the photos: “Ride Hard. Ride Safe.”

I can’t decide if this is good advice or not. Without question this man is a douche bag, but does his message hold some merit, especially for these young, impressionable black kids? I leave you all to ponder…