Where's MY Sign?

Don't ask me how it happened, but when our washing machine broke I was the one who got stuck making the boring, time-wasting trip to the friendly neighborhood laundromat. Who knew that when I volunteered for the task, my wife would take me up on it?
     "You can always stay at home and watch your dad," my wife told me when I grumbled.
     Hmm... two or three hours of taking care of my father versus two or three hours in the quiet humidity of a Laundromat?
     I chose the laundromat.
     To tell you the truth, I didn't even know there were such things as laundromats anymore. I thought they went the way of the dodo, the phone booth... my youth. I figured I'd probably have to drive to the Democratic voter part of town to find one, but, no, there was actually one in the strip mall closest to our house. How had I never seen it before?
     You live, you learn.
     So, with an armful of dirty clothes, I walked into the establishment and quickly got to work separating everything into different washing machines. The whites with the whites, the jeans with the jeans, the Simons with the Garfunkles.
     Hmm... I forgot the laundry detergent, so I headed to my car where I knew I left it.
     On one of the two glass entrance/exit doors, I noticed hand-painted instructions that said "STEP ON," with some of the letters mistakenly printed backward.
     "Who was the dummy who did THAT?" I thought to myself.
     I couldn't wait to get home so I could tell my father about the latest example of how stupid people are. He likes stories like that.
     Blue Collar comedian Bill Engvall has a bit, like Jeff Foxworthy's "You Might Be A Redneck," where he recommends that "I'm Stupid" signs be given to people who say or do stupid things.
     Can't figure out who's buried in The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier?
     Here's your sign.
     My father would like to be the one in charge of handing out those signs.
     Turning to a woman sitting close by, I motioned to the sign in a "Can you believe this?" way.
     "Doesn't anybody proofread anything anymore?" I grumbled.
     She looked at me as if she didn't know what the heck I was talking about. Yeah, well, here's your sign, lady.
    So I followed the sign's direction and stepped on the rubber mat in front of the glass door.
     Nothing happened.
     I stepped on it again.
     Nothing happened.
     Third time's the charm.
     I stepped on the mat yet again.
     Nothing happened.
     I couldn't see her, but I could feel the lady looking at me, so I pushed the door open and walked out. Coming back with the detergent, I read the words from a different perspective.
    "NO PETS," it said.
    Hmm...
    Okay, dad... where's my sign?
 
 

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