I live in San Diego County, near the coast. The particular neighborhood is fairly affluent – mostly homes, but some apartments here and there. I went to the closest laundry– there aren’t many in this area, given that most of the area is homes, not apartments – to wash some blankets and other bulky items on Sunday. You’ll find a mix of people in the laundry – white, Asian, and of Hispanic background, the latter group being the most common.
An older caucasion fellow came in and set up next to a group, apparently a family, which was clearly of Central or South American descent. He asked them, “Do you speak English?”
It was an honest enough of a question, and inoffensively stated, but the manner in which it was toned and delivered gave me the distinct impression he thought it likely they did not speak English. They indicated that they did, with mild, curious smiles on their faces, as if to say “of course.” He began asking questions about how the washers work – how many coins, where the detergent goes, where the bleach goes, when to add it, what does the “operating” light mean, and such.
I found it very amusing, since I hardly consider washers complex, and furthermore, the instructions are clearly printed on the washers – in English, mind you. I was going to ask the gentleman, “Do you read English?” but decided to focus on my folding.
Of course, it didn’t end there. This instance of intellectual laziness would soon be promoted from minor to major with a fine twist of irony.
After receiving the advice, and while piling his laundry in, he mentioned to the group helping him that about 30 years ago, he owned several laundries.
I’m not making this up, folks. I didn’t know washing machine technology changed so much since the 1980’s that you were forced to resort to getting help from persons who you suspected didn’t even speak English…
