I let out a big sigh, wiping sweat off my eyebrows. It’s 94 degrees outside, feeling like 150 degrees inside EZ Laundromat. They have 4 huge ceiling fans, but that is the full extent of their cooling system. 

Going home to my air-conditioned apartment was on my mind as I put my faith in this 20 dollar bill. I feed it to the quarter machine for the fourth time, and with a sad swoosh it spits the bill back at me. Now, I have to ask Lydia the laundry attendant for help.  

“Hey, your machine isn’t working… could I get quarters from you instead?” I ask. Lydia looks up from folding clothes with a confused look on her face. This laundromat has seen its share of mishaps, but Lydia and the owners do what they can to fix it despite their language barriers.  

She walks toward me, apologizing for the coin machine.  “Sorry, I will give you some change now. One minute.”  

Lydia returns with two bank rolls of quarters.  

“Thank you” I say.  

I get started with my clothes as she puts a handwritten sign on the machine. Out Of Order. 

I watch her as she goes through her little rituals—taping the sign to the machine, organizing the bills, and mumbling to herself while sorting through dirty clothes. Lydia has a gentle spirit, and I often feel sorry when I think of how many people, incapable of showing kindness, drop snarky comments about her accent or mistake her quiet nature for ignorance. As someone who has been bullied throughout life, I get triggered when anyone is mistreated or ridiculed in front of me.  

  Today, though, I try not to dwell on that. My intention is to get through this without a heat rash.  

I glance around the laundromat just in time to catch the eye of a regular pain in the butt—a big man who talks too much and has an attitude that screams impatience. He is pacing near the folding tables, a bold-faced sign of someone who thrives on discord.  I have no idea what is about to happen next, but my body braces.   

  “Hey, lady!” he yells across the room, his voice grating like nails on a chalkboard. Lydia looks up, her brow furrowing. “Why is this machine down?  Do you expect me to sit here and wait for you to fix it?” he asks.  

My stomach drops as I watch Lydia’s expression transform from cheerful to agitated. She opens her mouth to respond, but the words seem to get stuck somewhere inside her.  

  “Where’s your boss? Where do I get quarters for the machine?” he yells again, as he leans on the table waiting for an answer. He looks around, hoping for an ally. I know he sees me but I’m not even looking in his direction. With his thumb pointed in Lydia’s direction he huffs “this is so ridiculous.” The big guy pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket peeling a 20 dollar bill off the off the top. He slaps it on the table- expecting her to know what to do next.  

Now I’m heated. Not because of the summer swelter, rage is rising up within me. There are only three of us here; no one else is around to quell this fire.   

  “Why don’t you take it easy?” I find myself saying, surprising even myself at the sudden outburst. I hadn’t planned on stepping in, but seeing Lydia struggle to respond ignites something deep within me—a protective instinct, something I usually bury under layers of politeness. 

  The man turns to me, his expression shifting from annoyance to fury. He looks me up and down. I am only 5 feet tall. Compared to him, I must look like a child.  “Who the hell are you? You want to defend her? Look at her. She doesn’t even speak English,” he says.  

He pushes out a sharp laugh that makes my skin crawl.  And I can feel my blood begin to simmer. I can’t predict what’s about to happen next. I only know that for every man who’s treated a woman this way, this one guy is about be see an example of how fast my politeness can shift to wrath.  

  “That doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk,” I say. “Nobody deserves to be talked to like that.” I couldn’t tell you why I suddenly feel so emboldened. I hardly defend myself let alone other people in situations like this, but I feel unstoppable now. I feel invincible.  

 “Oh please,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. “You’re just as pathetic as she is.”  

  That’s when something inside me snaps. I smell revenge over the smells of fabric softener and bleach.  It’s bizarre, because I know retaliation like this is beyond what’s needed or logical. But it’s like some primal force has taken over.  

  I drop my shoulders and start to move toward him, feeling my body shift and expand—a swell of something unnatural coursing through me.  I’m aware of Lydia’s shocked expression. As I get closer to him, I am compelled by an insatiable need to silence his disrespect.  

  My environment starts to blur, and I visualize a world where I can simply absorb the negativity, turn it into something puny, insignificant. I rushed forward.  

  “What are you—?” he starts, fear in his eyes as I close the distance between us, and in one surreal motion, my mouth hangs open, ten times larger than normal and I envelop him. I swallow him whole!  

I stand there in shock with my hand to my mouth. What did I just do? I let out burp and my body starts to cool down. It’s all over in a flash; It feels bizarre, but somehow right.  

The washing machine buzzes baaaamp, signaling the end of the cycle.  

The sound brings me back to reality, but I feel like I’m in a different realm. I turn back to Lydia, who is still blinking, wide eyed- processing what just happened. 

  “He could have asked nicely” I say, trying to break the silence. 

She gives me a slow, stunned nod before she responds. “Well, I think he’s done asking for anything else” she laughs. We both laugh and I go back to washing my clothes.  

I know then that the balance is once again restored, even if my method of doing so was a bit unconventional.