By: Nikhil Bamarajpet and Loren Banks
I hate the way their eyes sneer at the holes on my half-washed K-mart jeans all because I couldn’t fix the wires of my washing machine from shorting out every twenty minutes. All because, as my wife likes to point-out to me, it wasn’t the Luxor washing machine she saw in the Richardsons’s house. All because the Luxor washing machine was $1234.56 while the one we have was only $1034.56, and we really needed that $200 difference to (1) pay the taxes on the washing machine we were going to buy and (2) to assemble at-least a semi-surprising birthday party for Miley’s sweet sixteen. All because my job demoted me to the copy-machine room since I fell back on my deadlines. All because I spent too much time perusing the Internet looking for a Luxor washing machine that costs less than $1234.56, which does not exist.
Now I think my wife will serve me divorce papers since she hasn’t really been happy with our marriage in who know how many years, the tipping point being an incident with a stray cat and an overstuffed garbage can in our kitchen. Though I think it’s mostly all because I couldn’t get a Luxor which means she has to hang up clothing in our backyard to dry since our washing machine doesn’t do a proper job of it; since it isn’t a Luxor.
My heart aches every time I see my wife run for clothes blown away by the wind, like when the clips on Miley’s red bathing suit were crooked and eventually gave out under the pressure of the wind one day. My wife ran outside chasing the thing till it caught onto a tree branch twenty ft from the ground; the red of the suit catching the eye of a nearby squirrel who gave up his acorn for a bite of the suit instead. Miley was extremely upset that day as she had planned to wear the thing to a pool party at some footballer’s house but instead spent the day locked in her room making hissing noises every time I tired to come in. Not even a recent news development that a wild monkey had escaped the local zoo, going bananas, could cheer her up that day. I tried to apologize about the clips, tried to apologize about not having the Luxor but nothing could mend Miley’s heart after the squirrel had its way with it.
Now I think she’s set on running away either next Tuesday or Thursday; depending on which day it doesn’t rain. But the forecast can’t be trusted, they said Monday had a 98.7% chance of rain, which had prompted my wife to not hang-up clothes to dry that day, which was upsetting because I had put all my pants in the wash, and when Monday had no rain and I was forced to wear something to cover my lower-half, I choose my hole-ridden K-mart jeans and stood out in the sun to help them dry faster, which prompted the Richardsons across the street to sneer at my K-Mart jeans because I didn’t have a Luxor so I couldn’t properly wash my clothes and they had a Luxor and had properly washed clothes. Either way Miley won’t get far. Especially with that footballer kid who is supposedly helping her because he says she deserves more than her clothes being eaten by stupid and hungry squirrels. I agree but he should buy her a Luxor instead, that would solve everyone’s problems.
On the bright side, my demotion to the copy-machine room seemed to be a blessing as the scientists from my company have their laboratory testing room only fourteen steps from the copy-machine. Sometimes amid the sound of paper printing I can hear them speak of a new drug they have created that rewires neuronal activities in the brain overnight, forging a new and improved human with sharper skills, more intelligent and capable of producing inexplicable joy.
I wondered if a new and improved me could change everything. I could finally figure out how to fix the wires behind the washing machine or prevent those damn clips from being blown out by the wind or, even better, figure out exactly what the weather forecast will be tomorrow so my wife will know the perfect time to put out the clothes to dry or even how to sew clothes eaten by stupid and hungry squirrels so that footballers can’t say Miley deserves more, or even buy a washing machine more expensive than a Luxor so that I can sneer at the Richardsons for their use of an inferior washing machine.
Yes.
So for months I cowered near the copy-machine watching those scientists every step and breath, slowly rendering the pass-code to the storeroom. One by one I got every number: 112211. Eventually under the drone of paper printing on both sides, I stepped into the laboratory storeroom and nabbed one of the miracle pills, quickly running out as the copy-machine started to make a beeping noise that indicated it had run out of toner.
As I take this pill tonight, no longer will my wife look at me with those sad eyes in her half-washed clothes, no longer will Miley seek refuge in footballers and no longer will the Richardsons sneer down on me. I looked at the washing machine next to me, illuminated by the light from the Richardsons’s house, and took the pill, immediately falling into a deep sleep.
I woke up the next morning and immediately turned toward the washing machine next to me and I smiled. I then suddenly felt an irresistible sensation to itch my back and as I went to satisfy my needs I looked down at my body and noticed my hands covered in thick, bushy, orange hair that got browner towards my feet. I immediately sprang up feeling limber, more flexible and slightly happier than before, all until a bushy orange tail come into my view. At the sight of it I could no longer control myself and I burst into an uncontrollable seizure of laughter, I jumped out the window of the washing machine room and onto a tree nearby. I sprawled up and down the tree frantically for an amount of time beyond me. Such joy poured through me that my body began to make loud screeching noises. I eventually came to rest, hanging upside down by my tail on a tree branch.
However, the quiet delirium of my own pleasure was suddenly interrupted by the sound of sloshing clothes from across the street. As I peered over to the Richardsons, I saw their entire family sitting together on their porch hand washing their clothes. There they were all laughing and drinking red wine as they manually rubbed through their shirts and jeans in a solution of soap and water. Immediately, I averted my gaze to the Luxor room in their house where so many times I had seen the smooth whirling of their washing machine, which I now saw utterly stagnant. Could it be that such an expensive washing machine such as the Luxor shorted out, just like mine? I averted my gaze back to the family who no longer seemed happy but rather frigthened, one of them was holding a cell phone and looking directly at me, speaking very intently into it. My heart began to race as I tried to think of what to do. I tried to speak, to explain but only high pitched shrieks came out.
Suddenly, I saw the arrival of a policeman across the street. The Richardsons came up to meet this policeman and pointed toward my direction at which I shrieked again and began to run up the tree frantically. As the policeman began to walk toward me, from behind him came a strange van with the words Zoo Catcher sprawled across it, and from within it a man who pulled out a long gun and shot something toward me. It hit my thigh and I fell onto the ground weak and dazed. The policeman came over and dragged me into the van. I lost all feeling from my arms and legs except for a strong stinging sensation from my right upper thigh. As the van began to pull away, I slowly got up and saw from the back window Miley and my Wife outside our doorway looking very concerned. I tried to reach my hand out to them but as the van turned right, I lost sight of my family and only saw the stagnant image of the broken down Luxor washing machine of the Richardsons.
