LAUNDROMAT GUNMAN SHOOTS SEVEN

Self-representation is risky, I know. I’ve heard. I’ve also heard that I have a fool for a client. Both the public defender and the honorable judge Willoby have enlightened me with that clever maxim. Nonetheless, I am here to enlighten you, the jury, with a perspective that no one else possesses. I was there. I saw and heard everything. Who could better tell the story than myself?

I am convinced that once you have heard me out, you will choose not to convict me. What happened was sudden, violent, and tragic, to be sure. But, please, listen without prejudice. When I’m finished, you’ll understand. You will even sympathize with me, every single one of you.  

All that I wanted was peace and quiet. Some time to think, or maybe not to think. Just time where I wasn’t being hassled, annoyed, pushed. I only wanted some peace. Don’t we all want that?

I work in both the Sales and the Repairs department for a demanding boss who is too cheap to hire help. Maybe you know how that feels. By day’s end, my nerves are frayed, every last one. So, to me, silence is truly golden. The Bubbles & Suds laundromat on Fifth Street on Thursday Nights is the closest thing to a library or a church, neither of which I have enough time to frequent.

I’ve been coming to this place since they opened almost seventeen years ago. I can confidently say that every washer, dryer, and folding table is original. So is the paint, and every sign tacked to the wall. That’s fine, I don’t like change. The Bubbles & Suds is familiar, and it is my sanctuary. So, each week on Thursday evening, I come here to launder my work uniforms and to unwind. It’s not completely silent. There’s background noise, of course. Century City is never ever quiet, you all know that. At Bubbles & Suds you get your own mix tape of dryers humming, washers spinning and agitating, intermittent traffic, and the occasional customer coming and going. I tune it all out. I can tune out anything. Almost anything.

The washers and dryers at the laundromat have a security feature. When you put your change in, you get a four-digit code that you’ll need to input to open the door after it locks. Keeps those delicates and underthings from leaving with anyone other than the rightful owner, as has been known to happen. I see a couple guilty looks here in the courtroom. (Withdrawn!) The point is, I didn’t need to sit and wait on the off-white plastic patio chair. I could have left and come back, but I like it there. I chose to wait; it’s my relaxing time. Now you’re getting the picture.

I was thinking about absolutely nothing when some guy banged open the door loudly. He was trouble looking for trouble. He eyeballed me briefly. All I did was put my hand on the grip of my Ruger LCR. That’s lightweight carry revolver. It’s Exhibit A for the prosecutor’s case; you saw it earlier. I don’t have a permit for the gun, as she mentioned, but I’m not on trial for that. Where I come from, concealed carry is a God-given right, and a necessity. If you’ve ever lived in The Heights, you know what I mean.  Whatever mayhem was on the troublemaker’s mind, he decided to make it elsewhere when he caught a glimpse of the gun. That was exactly the intent, and why I had the Ruger with me to begin with.

After the would-be troublemaker left, I went back to reading the coverless paperback I found in a pile of powdered detergent. It was some pulpy mystery, mindless, but it smelled nice, and it passed the time. I had about fifteen minutes left on my final spin cycle when the calm was shattered.

The real perpetrators were the Monroe High cheerleading squad. Apparently, all seven of them waited until the last minute to launder their uniforms before the Friday night game. It rained last Friday, so into the washers went all the red, gold, and mud-colored uniforms. Now. I have nothing against cheerleaders, high school students, or procrastinators. All the laughing, joking, and gum-cracking didn’t bother me. The girls slammed the washing machine lids carelessly. One of them made a racket checking every coin slot and machine for change. Another girl sang off-key to whatever song she was hearing in her oversized headphones. At one point, two of the cheerleaders went next door to the Kwik Stop and brought back drinks for all of them to slurp as loudly as possible. None of it bothered me. I barely registered their coming and going. They disturbed the peace, to be certain, but not my inner calm. I tuned it all out. Until I couldn’t any longer.

I blame the cheerleaders for my actions. I assure you; they were responsible. How? You wonder. How exactly did they set me off? What could have provoked the terrible shooting at Suds & Bubbles? How can I possibly claim that it was justifiable?

I’d rather demonstrate than tell you. Judge Willoby has graciously given me permission to do so. I brought my own mix tape, so to speak. Just a click and a twist of this dial here. Okay, here we go. I see some of you grimacing already. I apologize, but it isn’t nearly loud enough. This is a little more like it.

You hear thumping inside your head, don’t you? It’s painful – Like a sledgehammer, bouncing between the walls of your skull! Or a jackhammer, pounding, and pounding, and pounding. It’s only been one minute, and everyone one of you, the jury, has your head in your hands!   

Judge Willoby, could you please instruct the jurors to remove their hands from their ears? I am nearly finished, and I want them to hear what I have to say. Thank you.

I apologize for shouting. This will all be over in a minute. What you are hearing is the sound of a pair of Converse All-Stars inside a running clothes dryer. It’s a wretched noise isn’t it? But bear with me as I make a quick adjustment.  

Now! THIS is what three pairs of shoes tumbling in the dryers simultaneously sounds like! Are your teeth rattling? Of course they are! You want it to stop, don’t you? We all do! We’re begging! That’s what three pairs sounds like; now imagine seven! No, you don’t have to! Here we go!

What a terrible noise! Seven pairs – Fourteen pounds of Converse shoes going round, and round, and round! It’s ungodly! It’s torture! Make it stop! You say. Make it stop! You’d do anything to shut it down, wouldn’t you? Anything!

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. It’s over. I stopped it.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I previously explained that the dryers could not be opened without a four-digit code. A code I did not have, a code nobody would give me. I did the only thing I could for the sake of my eardrums and my sanity. Can you honestly say that you would not have been driven to do the same? I apologize for embarrassing the prosecutor, but I saw you reaching for my gun a moment ago, ma’am. I believe my cassette tape deck was nearly another casualty.  

I have not forgotten my victims. Seven not-so-innocent seventeen-year-olds. Noisy and unstoppable, until my bullets stopped each of them, one at a time. Three Whirlpools, a pair of Maytags, and a couple General Electric models. I fully plan to make reparations. As it happens, appliance repair is what I do for a living. And if they can’t be repaired, well, like I said, I work in Sales too.

END