| After an hour I see some old joker gaping around, no hands on his bucket. Looking for soap or just dreaming, I don't know. I just lifted his bucket and made off with it.
So now there's a bucket, but no place to sit down. And to wash standing-what kind of washing is that? That's the only trouble.
All right. So I'm standing. I'm holding the bucket in my hand and I'm washing myself.
But all around me everyone's scrubbing clothes like mad. One is washing his trousers, another's rubbing his drawers, a third's wringing something out. You no sooner get yourself all washed up than you've dirty again. They're splattering me, the bastards. And such a noise from all the scrubbing-it takes all the joy out of washing. You can't even hear where the soap squeaks. That's the only trouble.
"To hell with them," I think. "I'll finish washing at home."
I go back to the locker room. I give them one ticket, they give me my linen. I look. Everything's mine, but the trousers aren't mine.
"Citizens," I say, "mine didn't have a hole here. Mine had a hole over here."
But the attendant says: "We aren't here," he says, "Just to watch for your holes. You're not in a theater," he says.
All right. I put these pants on, and I'm about to go get my coat. They won't give me my coat. They want the ticket. I'd forgotten the ticket on my leg. I had to undress. I took off my pans. I look for the ticket. No ticket. There's the string tied around my leg, but no ticket. The ticket had been washed away.
I give the attendant the string. He doesn't want it.
"You don't get anything for a string," he says. "Anybody can cut off a bit of string," he says. "Wouldn't be enough coats to go around. Wait," he says, "till everyone leaves. We'll give you what's left over."
I say: "Look here, brother, suppose there's nothing left but crud? This isn't a theater," I say. "I'll identify it for you. One pocket," I say, "is torn, and there's no other. As for the buttons," I say, "the top one's there, the rest are not to be seen."
Anyhow, he gave it to me. But he wouldn't take the string.
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The Bathhouse