Commality smells like Bounce sheets.

Since I moved to Saskatoon I have always lived in apartments. I'm very antisocial so I don't ever really get to know my neighbors. I don't care to have people popping in on me to borrow a cup of sugar or a condom or, God forbid, just to visit. I enjoy my privacy and, while I will offer a greeting if I see someone in the hall, it's always non-committal and I quickly hightail it out of there before it becomes more. This tactic has a high success rate unless you are in the one place that is a majour problem with apartments: the laundry room.

There are a few places in an apartment building that are shared by the tenants but most of the time it's just a place for a nod-and-run if you see someone. The hallways and exits are prime examples, as is the mailbox area. You're always coming and going through these places, not lingering. No, the lingerers always make their way downstairs. The laundry room is an antisocial person's worst nightmare for a few simple reasons.

1) No matter what, there's always at least one weirdo in the building who you try your hardest to avoid. These people are generally the lingerers and the law of averages dictates that you'll see them in the laundry room.

2) It's an enclosed area and you need to be down there so it's not like you can just make a quick getaway with a shitty excuse.

3) People seem to feel the need to talk in the laundry room. Just because it's a common area doesn't mean we have anything in common as people. This doesn't mean that I am completely against chit chat. Far from it. I like interesting conversations but if you open with, "Doing some laundry, hey?" I can't be held responsible for whatever sarcastic reply comes out of my mouth.

I'll leave off with a story about one of the weirder laundry related things to happen to me. It occurred in my old apartment. I went downstairs to put my stuff in the dryer and in the room was one of the ladies who lived in my apartment. She was creepy. I had thought so even before this day. I'd peg her to be in her late 40's to early 50's. She looked like the kind of lady who'd put on fake leather pants, a leopard print top and lots of blue eye shadow, head out to get shit-faced, do dirty things with dirty people, then top off the evening with a 5 am breakfast at the Olympia to get the taste of cigarettes, vomit, and dirty people out of her mouth.

Did I mention that she was sitting on the dryer? Yep, just sitting there on a running dryer, all by herself. I came in, did a hello nod then quickly broke eye contact. While I proceeded to transfer my socks and undies from the washer to the dryer she proceeded to stare at me. Hard. It was a stare that was straddling the Darwinian brink before becoming a straight up leer. Needless to say I got my stuff going then quickly exited the room, leaving her to do whatever it was she was doing on that dryer. When I came back down later she was gone but I noticed something strange with my clothes: I was missing a pair of underwear! I had been given a two-set of undies. One pair was black with little white skulls and the other pair was the negative image of those. Well the white-with-black-skulls pair was gone. Both pairs had been in that washer and had gone in the dryer. One pair came out. Creepy dryer riding lady stole my underwear.