UNDERCOVER on the TITANIC (book 1)

Part 5 - Zat is Spogit Nimbo

Next to the elevators, the laundry room was about the size of a large closet with barely enough space for a washer, a dryer, one sink, a vending machine and the garbage disposal chute. I didn't have the heart to dump my old Sesame Street books down the garbage chute, so I sadly piled them in the corridor near the elevators, hoping someone would give them a good home, and then I loaded the clothes into the washing machine.

I spent the next hour sadly sorting through my few remaining possessions while Grandma dyed her long hair a nauseating shade of gray-pink. She was in the shower when I went back to move the clothes from the washing machine to the drier.  As I approached the laundry room, I heard the sound of running water so I pushed the door open slightly and peeked through the gap. The Charlie Chaplin man from the Chinese mall was taking clothes out of a plastic bag and tossing them into the sink while reading my copy of There's a Monster at the End of this Book. I recognized the silly picture I had drawn on the cover. 

His round black hat was balanced on his ears as if about to slide down over his narrow face. As I watched, he took the hat off - revealing a head shaved bald except for a small tuft of green hair - pulled the shirt over his head and dropped it into the sink. He was left wearing only a lurid green T-shirt, fluorescent pink tights, pea green socks and huge orange sneakers. A trick of the lighting made him seem like a cartoon. 

He started singing a peculiar melody I didn't know. I didn't recognize the language either. 'I'll bopsa-coba you. You'll bopsa-coba me. Eh we'll 'app'ly into eckles be, be, be.'

I figured he was just another typical Toronto weirdo so I pushed the door open. 'Sir, you can have the washer. I've just finished.'

'Spog!' He jerked around so violently that he knocked his hat into the sink and his laundry spilled onto the floor. It seemed to be mostly purple underwear and fluorescent green socks. His pale face turned red and he stammered, 'Yes . . . please . . . I take zese zings out, if you want. I do not wish to offend any religious organization like zis funny old Grover Monster's at a ze end of zis book.' 

'It's okay,' I murmured gently. 'Grover is not religious . . .  I just need the drier. You can wash, while I dry, eh?' 'Zank you so much,' he babbled. 'I appreciate . . . so much. Zank you.' Then he actually bowed to me like I was some kind of royalty.

'You're welcome.' I helped him pick up the green socks. 'Nice colour. The socks, I mean.'

'Zank you,' he whispered nervously. 'You are very so kind.'

'Er, did you see those men who tried to kidnap me yesterday?' I asked as I transferred my wet clothes to the drier. The man fished his hat out of the sink. 'I saw no zing.' He said flatly and grimly shoved his clothes into the washer.

I stared at him, astonished. He had been only a few metres away from me. How could he not have seen them? He avoided my gaze as he filled his hat with water from the sink and emptied it into the washing machine. 

He repeated this action two or three times before I felt compelled to tell him, 'That isn't necessary, you know. The washing machine has its own water supply.'

'Zat is spogit nimbo . . . amazing. 'Ow does it work?'

'You have to put money into it.' I demonstrated by using a two-dollar coin to start the drier.

He fished a pink shirt from the washing machine and extracted a dripping five-dollar-bill from the breast pocket. 'Where I pay?' he asked anxiously. 'Zis is enough?'

'Zat . . . That's too much. You need a toonie or two loonies.'

'What is ? . . . Will you change?' He asked plaintively.

Luckily, I had emptied my piggy bank so I gave him a toonie and three loonies in exchange for his wet plastic, five-dollar bank note. He tossed most of the coins into his hat and slid a loony into the vending machine. A bottle of detergent fell out. He unscrewed the cap and offered the bottle to me. He must have thought it was a soft drink because, before I could respond, he put the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back. I tried not to laugh as his eyes almost popped out of his head. For a moment he stood rigidly to attention, his cheeks bulging, his eyes darting frantically. Abruptly, he spat into the sink, stuck his head under the tap and sucked in water. He repeated this, each time surfacing like a whale. He grinned feebly and blew a large bubble, pretending it was a party trick.

'Spogot bezoz . . .' He sneezed and tiny green bubbles drifted out of his nose. 'Zis stuff tastes 'orreeble. Does anyone drink it?' 

'It's an acquired taste,' I joked.    'But normally we use it to wash clothes.' I showed him how to put it into the washer. 

He said, 'Zank you,' and, 'Amazing,' several times, shoved two loonies into the washing machine and looked astonished when it chugged to life. 

'I call myself Kozak.' He said with a stiff bow. 'And I wish to know about the gospel according to ze Easter Bunny.'

'Hi. Uh, I don't believe in the Easter Bunny,' I joked. 'Oh, my name is Ziff Dion.'

'You are Ziff?' Kozak put his hat back on his head and coins cascaded onto the floor. 'Spogit,' he mumbled in embarrassment like a magician fumbling a trick, 'I forgot zese.' 

I suppressed a giggle and helped to pick them up. There were about ten, brand-new loonies, one-dollar coins. Strange.

The door crashed opened behind me. 'Don't you ever listen?' Grandma snapped. 'You forgot your underwear.   It's disgusting.' 

She filled the doorway like some giant troll, her pink hair wrapped around oversized curling rollers adding to her terrifying appearance. Then, she saw Kozak and her face turned crimson.

'You! I told you to stay away from my grandson.' Kozak cringed at the ferocity of her glare, his blank expression dwindling into to panic. 'Zis is not what you zink,' he gabbled hysterically.

Grandma squeezed around me arms raised in a fighting stance. 'Ziff,' she snapped, 'outside, while I deal with this . . . pervert.'

Kozak whimpered as the door closed behind me. There was a series of bangs, which might have been Kozak's head contacting the washing machine before he hurtled through the doorway and slid across the corridor on his back. Grandma threw his wet clothing at him as he scrambled to his feet. He snatched up most of his clothes and stumbled toward the stairwell as Grandma bombarded him with my Sesame Street books. A trail of green bubbles floated down the corridor.

'I knew those books would come in handy,' she grunted.

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