A Living Magazine - Day 308 - Homecoming - Elkton: Whiskers and Tails

I had planned to get up at 6:00 p.m. from my nap the night before, but ended up waking at 9:00 p.m. I pulled myself together and worked until 3:00 a.m. then went back to sleep. I'd wanted to do laundry that day before, but it was all just too much. 

I got another donation for a second night and decided to buy it on this morning. It would allow me to get my laundry done and hopefully publish another couple of posts. 

The coin op was four miles away. That meant three hours of walking (there and back), and another hour and a half for the laundry. I reluctantly got used to the idea that the day would be spent mostly walking. I dumped all the other stuff out of my pack and left just the clothes and my laptop, So, I could work while doing laundry, something I would forget.

Before heading to the mall area I received a message from Juli saying that I might want to check out the cat colony next to the motel. I did, and took the first half of a video shown at the end of this post. Then, it was a four mile walk to the coin op...

The Spark is the only leader.

The trek went well, though it seemed long. It is really odd; the pack sometimes feels heavier when there is less in it! I guess this might be due to it not being puffed out; fitting more loosely and living up to its name: Saggy.

Anyway, I reached this other side of town and found the coin op. Despite its good reviews (unless I was reading about the wrong place, which is possible), I found it kind of rough. The machines looked fairy new, but there was only space between them for one person to walk by at a time. It happened to be crowded (being a Sunday).

I went into the bathroom and changed into my swim trunks (commando, so I could wash my underwear), and put on my Boston t-shirt, which I had been avoiding wearing, because it was all faded and grungy looking even though it was clean. But turning it inside out, I realized that I had a dark blue shirt again, thus I wasn't as ashamed of wearing it! I threw my socks away and put on my last pair of new ones, then returned to load all of my dirty clothes along with the sleeping bag in a 30 pound machine. Getting $5 in quarters, I bought the Tide and got the wash going. It was expensive--$3.50 for a load.

I couldn't deal with the ten or so adults milling around, with their eight kids dumping toys on the floor and sitting down right in the aisle, so I went out into the parking lot and just walked around. It was mostly Hispanic folks in the laundromat, with a few blacks and whites. I thought about how I perceive the behaviors of parents and kids.

I have to say that Hispanic people seem (very subjectively) to be the most lenient of parents. Their kids are happy though, running and playing no matter where they find themselves, apparently without the fear of displeasing mom and dad. And, the parents are very kind to them, laughing, telling jokes, being genuinely loving--even if the kids are driving everyone else bananas. I've never seen a Spanish speaking parent yell at or otherwise dress down their kid in public. Although, in my opinion, sometimes the kids really could use a firmer hand.

While I'm putting myself out on a limb with this generalization, I will add (again, only from my limited observations across the country) that black (African American) and blanco (European Americans) parents are the most strict with their kids.

Black parents get physical, pulling their kids around, pushing them down into chairs, or picking them up and bringing them where they told them to go. I'm usually quite happy to see them take control--or, ah, think they are taking control. Black kids seem to be the most likely to rebel by screaming, fake crying, or yelling back.

Blanco parents don't do the physical thing. Instead, they yell and threaten. Of course the problem with these threats is that usually they are never followed through with, which the kids learn to exploit early on. "No iPad for a week!" Then, mom has to relent and hands the kid the tablet five minutes later, just to shut him up, or in order to avoid him trying to open a running washing machine, or climb into a drier.

Asian parents speak very quietly to their children. I never see their kids continuously disobey the way the blanco and black kids do. If fact, I hardly ever see them misbehave at all. I get the sneaking suspicion that Asian parents must conduct psychological warfare, whispering potentially devastating things to keep their kids in check. Maybe, "If you run around this laundromat, you will not only be shaming our family, but all of your ancestors back twelve generations. How will you be able to live with yourself? We won't pay for you to attend Harvard and you will end up in this crappy part of town, running your own laundromat someday?" And the kids look into their parents eyes and realize (or temporarily think) that mom is serious.

White kids will do the fake crying thing for a minute or so, but get bored or distracted. You can hear it in their voices--while mom ignores them, "Aaaa, waaaa, no....no......." (looks around for his brother) "Ah, ah...hey Jimmy let's see if we can reach all the way up into candy machine! Ha!"

East Indian kids are literally touchy-feely with each other. They have no repellant sense of personal space. They'll play in the corner, climbing all over each other, not exactly wrestling, more like squirmy hugging. Their parents could care less where they are and what they're doing, as long as when that one mystical Hindi word is spoken (and I don't know what it is), the kids immediately grab each other's hands and follow. Otherwise, mom or dad will open fire with blasts of semiautomatic word-fire, that I think sounds like a tabla drum in the middle of a demon possessed raga.

Middle Eastern kids are just not seen. Perhaps they are happily locked in the bathroom at home and then recovered when the rents return. Honestly, I often see the kids running their parents convenience stores while dad gabs incessantly on the phone. And the kids are good at it too.

Now that I've probably insulted or complemented most of the ethnic groups who are reading my blog around the world, let me just conclude with a truthfully admission about myself. Unless they are my sister's, family's or friends kids, I really can't stand the little critters out in public. And, I LOVE kids too! But, this Journey has given me the opportunity to see kids at their worst, and rarely at their best. Kids are most embarassing to their poor parents while the parents have to do really intricate and complicated tasks. I used to be very sensitive toward the way children might feel about it when a parent would discipline him or her. But, no more! Kids know they can get away with more, while dad is arguing with the cashier about a refund at the Customer Service counter in Walmart, or mom is discussing paint colors for the bathroom at Lowes.

Some of the funniest things I've witnessed (and folks, these aren't serious things, they are just amusing to see and hear) happen at restaurants. For example, at Asian buffets. The waitstaff are masters (or, think they are) at pigeonholing the different ethnicities who eat there. Usually, they'll speak in Mandarin or Japanese openly about the people eating. They do this at great risk, because every now and they will typecast incorrectly, and someone will storm out, threaten to sue, or leave a scathing review on Google, Yelp or Tripadvisor; all of which I use regularly before going to most places. Basically, the sense one gets from the behavior of servers at these buffets is: Black people eat too much and waste food, Hispanics don't tip, Whites clean out single items (spare ribs, for example).

Who knows if I'm "correct" or not about any of this, but I've been to a hell of a lot of cheap buffets and those are the impressions I get.

After returning to put my stuff in the drier, and waiting for that to be done--only takes a half hour, I piled my clean dry clothes on the counter and folded and stowed everything except my shorts and underwear in Saggy. In the bathroom I changed back into my regular street clothes, and left for the four mile walk back to the Motel 6.

The distance seemed shorter on the way back, as it always does after I know a route. Sitting down on the bed, I rested for a while, but became curious about the cat colony again. So, I grabbed my camera and headed out to the path behind the dumpsters to check it out, finishing my video...

Psychologically, I wasn't ready to leave the next day, but I was out of funds as usual. What would I expect having already spent my savings and the donation that had just come in on this morning? It was what it was.

Since Motel 6 has a noon check out, I decide to wait on my pack up until the morning. Usually housekeeping at most places comes a-knockin at 10:30 a.m. to make damn sure you are fully comprehending that 11:00 is coming around soon and you better get your act together.

I worked for a while processing pictures and videos, but couldn't seem to get even one more post up. I just didn't have it in me, and accepted falling behind even more before quitting altogether and climbing onto the bed. Something about that bed was just right for me--quite comfortable.

I'd seen advertisements the day before for the premiere of the sixth season of Game of Thrones, and realized I'd missed the first showing earlier that evening. So, I was psyched when I saw that it would be repeated later. I was tired, but really looking forward to watching it. I'd seen the end of the fifth season last year.

Switching over to HBO, the show began. The next thing I knew it was 2:00 a.m. and some other show was on. Damn!

Another item was added to my "must watch someday" list. I shut off the TV, turned over and went to sleep.