Fun with translators, and curiosities at the laundromat

I put the following message through a translator English-French, then through a French-English translator. Because who does not surprising syntax?

So I went to the laundry room again today. After disasters such as laundry lost money, the loss of yoga pants, a homeless person who yelled at me not to appreciate that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is a kind of up and away, I have not yet decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the low is closest to my apartment and the laundry is very heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. Thus, mad, in fact, I think I'll finally, finally, finding a new one.

Usually, when I do my laundry I expect the end of the operation, without leave, but I got things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and head to do some shopping. I have not found what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I returned to the laundry room, there was a man he had decided to distribute all things on the table and four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in the deal has been a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, waistcoat, a game of cards and a bag of books, which will almost all come into play during the story.

I did not know what to do, and the guy speaks for itself (not a strange thing to see here in Lisieux, by the way) I went outside and took a little walk. Then, when my washing is ready for the dryer, I went back in and transfers. He allowed his things out of one of the seats and it is really very, very cold and I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking about me.

He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I look at hair, who said 20 minutes, then return to him and said: "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I watched his cigarette lit, then the sign of smoke, then back to him and said: "No." He then asked me if I wanted a better quality cigarette. I told him I do not smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either Because of my level English or because he was mad, I'm not sure of. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was here. I said no, and returned to my book. Fortunately, he did not ask for more.

Within 20 minutes, he took my clothes to dry (not by the way, but I sucked him in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) that this man made a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarette on his newspaper and sprinkled ash on the ground. It has setits jacket and waistcoat, which n' would not have been dirty tricks if it n' did not make of him déboucler its belt and its trousers unzip. I thought qu' it was going to start to masturbate. I can probably thank Emari the poem “the day when my grandmother is morte" for this impulse. Fortunately, it n' does not have. It finished its massive beer and started with l' other. And then ila started to pack to the top of its things. It folded its paper, extinguished its cigarette and moved all starting from the principal table. Then it reached in the dustbin and took a towel used outside, qu' it had l' practice d' to wipe the remaining ash of the table, and then l' returned in the waste basket. All this that j' observed with a sharp peripheral vision. With him it seemed that j' was completely written in my book. Then this man went outside. What a happiness! But I was to be disappointed. It n' did not leave; it just went to l' outside trashcan, stuck its manner of arm deeply inside, and withdrew a towel or a fabric used different. It returned to l' interior and cleaned the table again. Except this time, he wanted that the towel was wet. Thus it spit on top, and had l' practice then l' moisture to clean the table. It continued to spit in the towel and to rub the towel above the table runner. It must have done this 11 or 12 times, jusqu' with it that the whole table was clean spit-flutter. I could not do anything but think of how with transform this into poetry and also think of all the times that j' had folded my crusty own laundry on this table even. Then, on the new clean table, this man started with s' to occupy a play of the charts. It lit another cigarette and s' a play for two is occupied. It m' did not ask to play. It s' is just occupied. In conclusion, it desiccator s' is stopped. My clothing was still wet, but j' would have wrinkles qu' rather; to be in this place d' more minute. J' went d' more; to the desiccator and threw all clothing in my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. Because I did this j' heard the familiar noise d' a play called 52 to begin again. L' man had thrown all his charts on the ground. As it gathered them I hurried out moulding a glance outwards there in back jusqu' so that I l' returned to the house. Maintaining my clothing dry on the heater and my preferred sunny yellow towel turned the green because my new jeans bled in him. How j' like the automatic laundry, let count the manners to me.

Wow, I think that got kind of unfollowable in the middle there. Here's the story in original English if you're curious:

So I went to the Laundromat again today. After such laundry disasters as lost money, lost yoga pants, a homeless man who yelled at me for not appreciating that he lost his finger in the war, and the fact that it is kind of uphill and far away, I still have not decided to find a new Laundromat. Despite all the downs, it is the closest one to my apartment, and laundry is heavy. But today was the last straw. Yet another crazy. So crazy, in fact, that I think I'll finally, finally, find a new one.

Usually when I do my laundry I wait for it to finish without leaving, but I had things to do today. So I dropped my clothes in the washer and headed out to do some shopping. I didn't actually find what I was looking for, but that's beside the point. When I got back to the Laundromat, there was a man there who had decided to spread all of his things over the table and the four chairs, leaving no room for me to sit. Included in his things were a giant can of beer, a pack of cigarettes, a newspaper, a jacket, a vest, a deck of cards and a book bag, which will almost all come into play in the course of this story.

I wasn't sure what to do, and the guy was talking to himself (not such a strange thing to witness here in Lisieux, by the way), so I went outside and took a bit of a walk. Then, when my wash was ready for the dryer, I went back in and transferred it. He had cleared his things off of one of the seats and it was really, really cold so I thought, why not, I'll sit down. Then the man started talking to me.

He asked me if I wanted the table to sort my laundry. I looked at the dryer, which said 20 minutes, then back at him and said, "Not yet." Then he offered me a cigarette. I looked at his lit cigarette, then over to the no smoking sign, then back at him and said, "No." He then asked me if I wanted a higher-quality cigarette. I told him I don't smoke. Then he said something incomprehensible, either because of my level of French or because he was crazy, I'm not sure which. I gave him a blank look. Then he asked me if I was from here. I said no, and returned to my book. Luckily, he didn't ask more.

In the 20 minutes it took my laundry to dry (not completely by the way, but I sucked it up in an effort to get out of there as soon as I could) this man did a lot of shenanigans. He put his cigarettes out on his newspaper and dusted the ash onto the floor. He put on his jacket and vest, which wouldn't have been shenanigans if it didn't make him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. I thought he was going to start masturbating. I can probably thank Emari's poem "On the day my grandmother died" for that impulse. Thankfully, he did not. He finished his massive beer and began another. And then he began to pack up his things. He folded his paper, put out his cigarette and moved everything away from the main table. Then he reached into the trash can and took out a used napkin, which he used to wipe the remaining ash from the table, and then returned it to the wastebasket. All of this I observed with a keen peripheral vision. To him it seemed I was totally engrossed in my book.

Then this man went outside. What happiness! But I was to be disappointed. He did not leave; he just went to the trashcan outside, stuck his arm way deep in, and pulled out another used napkin or tissue. He came back inside and cleaned the table once again. Except this time, he wanted the napkin to be wet. So he spit on it, and then used the moisture to clean the table. He continued to spit into the napkin and rub the napkin over the tabletop. He must have done this 11 or 12 times, until the whole table was spit-sparkling clean. I could do nothing but think of how to turn this into a poem and also think about all the times I had folded my crispy clean laundry on this very table.

Then, on the new clean table, this man began to deal a game of cards. He lit another cigarette and dealt a game for two. He did not ask me to play. He just dealt. Finally, the dryer stopped. My clothes were still damp, but I would rather have wrinkles than be in this place one more minute. I walked over to the dryer and threw all the clothes into my bag, which I had placed on the floor instead of the table. As I was doing this I heard the familiar sound of a game called 52 pick up. The man had thrown all of his cards on the ground. As he collected them I hurried out of there without casting a look back until I made it home.

Now my clothes are drying on the heater and my favorite sunny yellow towel has turned green because my new blue jeans bled into it. How I love the Laundromat, let me count the ways.

And what the hell, here's the story translated into French, for my readers who love wacky French syntax too. Who said this blog can't be bilingual?

Je mets le message suivant par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur anglais-français, puis par l'intermédiaire d'un traducteur français-anglais. Parce que qui n'aime pas étonnant de syntaxe?

Je suis donc allée à la buanderie de nouveau aujourd'hui. Après de telles catastrophes comme la lessive a perdu de l'argent, la perte de pantalons de yoga, un sans-abri qui a crié à moi de ne pas apprécier qu'il a perdu son doigt dans la guerre, et le fait qu'il est une sorte de montée et de loin, je n'ai pas encore décidé de trouver un nouveau Laundromat. En dépit de tous les bas, c'est le plus proche de mon appartement, et la lessive est très lourd. Mais, aujourd'hui, a été la dernière paille. Pourtant, un autre fou. Ainsi, fou, en fait, que je crois que je vais enfin, enfin, trouver un nouveau.

Habituellement, lorsque je fais ma lessive je attendre la fin de l'opération, sans quitter, mais j'ai eu des choses à faire aujourd'hui. J'ai donc abandonné mes vêtements dans la laveuse et la tête pour faire quelques achats. Je n'ai pas trouvé ce que je cherchais, mais c'est à côté du point. Lorsque je suis rentré à la buanderie, il y avait un homme, il qui avait décidé de diffuser toutes ses choses sur la table et quatre chaises, ne laissant aucune place pour moi de siéger. Inclus dans son choses ont été un géant de la bière peuvent, d'un paquet de cigarettes, un journal, une veste, un gilet, un jeu de cartes et d'un sac de livres, qui seront presque tous entrent en jeu au cours de cette histoire.

Je ne savais pas quoi faire, et le gars parle de lui-même (pas une chose étrange à voir ici, à Lisieux, par la manière), je suis allé dehors et a pris un peu de marche. Puis, quand mon laver est prête pour la sécheuse, je suis retourné à l'intérieur et la transfère. Il a autorisé son choses hors de l'un des sièges et il est vraiment très, très froid et je me disais, pourquoi pas, je vais m'asseoir. Ensuite, l'homme a commencé à parler de moi.

Il m'a demandé si je voulais le tableau à trier ma lessive. Je regarde les cheveux, qui a dit 20 minutes, puis revenir à lui et lui dit: «Non, pas encore." Puis il m'a offert une cigarette. J'ai regardé sa cigarette allumée, puis sur le signe de fumer, puis de retour à lui et lui dit: "Non" Il m'a alors demandé si je voulais une meilleure qualité cigarette. Je lui ai dit que je ne fume pas. Puis il a dit quelque chose d'incompréhensible, que ce soit à cause de mon niveau de français ou parce qu'il était fou, je ne suis pas sûr de l'. Je lui ai donné un regard vide. Puis il m'a demandé si j'étais d'ici. J'ai dit non, et est retourné à mon livre. Heureusement, il n'a pas demandé plus.

Dans les 20 minutes, il a pris mon linge à sécher (pas par la manière, mais je lui aspiré dans un effort pour sortir de il dès que j'ai pu) de cet homme fait beaucoup de magouilles. Il a mis ses cigarettes sur son journal et saupoudrées de cendres sur le sol. Il a mis sur sa veste et gilet, ce qui n'aurait pas été entourloupettes si elle n'a pas fait de lui déboucler sa ceinture et son pantalon unzip. Je pensais qu'il allait commencer à se masturber. Je peux probablement remercier Emari le poème «Le jour où ma grand-mère est morte" pour cette impulsion. Heureusement, il n'a pas. Il a terminé ses massives de bière et a commencé à l'autre. Et puis ila commencé à emballer vers le haut de ses choses. Il a plié son de papier, éteint sa cigarette et déplacé tout à partir de la table principale. Alors il a atteint dans la poubelle et a pris dehors une serviette utilisée, qu'il avait l'habitude d'essuyer la cendre restante de la table, et alors l'a renvoyée dans la corbeille à papiers. Toute la ceci que j'ai observé avec une vision périphérique vive. À lui elle a semblé que j'ai été totalement rédigé dans mon livre. Alors cet homme est allé dehors. Quel bonheur ! Mais je devais être déçu. Il n'est pas parti ; il est juste allé à l'extérieur trashcan, a collé sa manière de bras profondément dedans, et a retiré une serviette ou un tissu utilisée différente. Il est revenu à l'intérieur et a nettoyé de nouveau la table. Excepté ce temps, il a voulu que la serviette fût humide. Ainsi il crachent là-dessus, et avaient l'habitude alors l'humidité pour nettoyer la table. Il a continué à cracher dans la serviette et à frotter la serviette au-dessus du dessus de table. Il doit avoir fait ceci 11 ou 12 fois, jusqu'à ce que la table entière ait été cracher-scintillement propre. Je pourrais ne faire rien mais penser à comment à transformez ceci en poésie et pensez également à toutes les fois que j'avais plié ma blanchisserie propre croustillante sur cette table même. Puis, sur la nouvelle table propre, cet homme a commencé à s'occuper un jeu des cartes. Il a allumé une autre cigarette et s'est occupé un jeu pour deux. Il ne m'a pas demandé de jouer. Il s'est juste occupé. En conclusion, le dessiccateur s'est arrêté. Mes vêtements étaient encore humides, mais j'aurais plutôt des rides qu'être dans cet endroit d'une plus de minute. J'ai marché plus d'au dessiccateur et ai jeté tous les vêtements dans mon sac, qui I avait placé sur le plancher au lieu de la table. Car je faisais ceci j'ai entendu le bruit familier d'un jeu appelé 52 reprendre. L'homme avait jeté toutes ses cartes au sol. Comme il les a rassemblées je me suis dépêché hors là de mouler en dehors un regard en arrière jusqu'à ce que je l'aie rendu à la maison. Maintenant mes vêtements sèchent sur le réchauffeur et ma serviette jaune ensoleillée préférée a tourné le vert parce que mes nouveaux jeans ont saigné dans lui. Comment j'aime la laverie automatique, laissez-moi compter les manières.