In Case of Emergency, Use Salt: A Satirical Short Story About First Dates

(III)

Julia woke up from a nap and glanced at the time on her alarm clock—7:00 pm. Pan­ic freck­led over her skin. Her date would arrive in five min­utes. What was his name? Julia checked her phone—Cooper. 

She rushed to the bath­room and freaked out at the mess. She dashed back to her room, grabbed the spray bot­tle from the store, and soaked the bath­room. After­wards she bolt­ed to the kitchen and drenched it with the rest of the bot­tle. 

She threw clothes on and walked back to the kitchen. Then, after look­ing up from tying a pony­tail in her hair, she froze. Her kitchen sparkled. No quilt of stains rest­ed on the kitchen island. No tow­ers of plates took root in the sink. In a snap, the mess had dis­ap­peared. The only rem­nants of soap dwin­dled away in the sink. Before she could process what’d hap­pened, a knock came at the door. 

“Hey,” Julia said. “Are you Coop­er?”

He looked two heads taller than her, but because of a slouch stood only a head taller. His hair, an entan­gle­ment of oak-col­ored curls writhing atop his head and cov­er­ing his eyes, also pos­sessed a skewed hunch. She noticed his choice of a hood­ie and sweat­pants for their first date, which caused her to fight off a grin.

“Yep,” he said. “That’s me.”

“Okay,” she said. “Great.”

She let him in and direct­ed him to the couch.  

“So, this is a ter­ri­ble first intro­duc­tion,” she began. “But I just woke up from a nap, and I need a drink before we head out.” She spun towards the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Grab­bing two beers, she asked, “What do you do for work?”

Coop­er rose from the couch and met her at the kitchen island. 

“I’m a cross­ing guard.”

Julia blanked. “Neat.”

“What about you?” He asked. 

“I’m a sales rep for a children’s toy com­pa­ny.”

“Wow, what the hell is that?”

She scrunched her face, “What’s con­fus­ing about that?”

“No, not you, THAT.” he said, back­ing away and point­ing behind her.

She turned around. “Oh, shit.”

The sink bloomed with brown foam, and a gur­gling sound emerged from the drain. Julia gazed around her kitchen and spot­ted a wood­en ladle. She grabbed it, plunged it into the mass of brown foam, and stirred. The foam sub­merged when the ladle slipped from her hands and dis­ap­peared below. 

The foam rose. 

“Shit!” 

Julia whipped around to find anoth­er weapon. Sud­den­ly, her wrist felt wet. She glanced back and saw a hand made of foam grab­bing her. She blew air at it and sev­ered the arm. A strange hiss ascend­ed from the sink. The mass of foam spilled over the edges and onto the floor. It reached for Julia’s ankle. She kicked at it and flicked on the dis­pos­al. The mass swirled down­wards and van­ished. 

Julia laughed. “Maybe that’s what they meant by ‘use with cau­tion.’”

She shot Coop­er a glance. He, mean­while, looked as pale as the coun­ter­top. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked.

Julia pursed her lips. “You know, I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” He exclaimed. “Well, are you at least con­cerned?”

Julia shrugged, “Not real­ly. Why? You think I should be?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “After all, it’s just your run-of-the-mill dish mon­ster.”

“What’s your prob­lem?”

He couldn’t find the words he want­ed, and chugged his beer to replace them. 

“Noth­ing, noth­ing.” 

He raised his emp­ty glass, “Could I get anoth­er beer?”

She refilled his glass and leaned over the counter. 

“Was that your first dish mon­ster?” She asked. 

“What if it was?” he said and sipped his beer. “You gonna make fun of me?”

Julia gig­gled and bopped his nose.

“No, sil­ly.” 

She stood and made her way to the paper tow­els. 

“Every­one has a first.” She said with a wink. 

Two hours lat­er, they sat togeth­er on the couch, watch­ing a sit­com Julia had nev­er heard of. They end­ed up skip­ping the bar and chose Chi­nese take­out instead. Coop­er cir­cled his thumb over the back of Julia’s hand. She smiled. 

“I’m gonna use the john,” he said. 

After rins­ing his hands in the bath­room, Coop­er splashed his face with water. His fear from ear­li­er had yet to leave. He flipped the faucet off, but the water kept run­ning. He fid­dled with it—nothing. He went to open the door when some­thing splashed him in the face. Look­ing behind him, he saw a foam hand reach­ing out of the drain. 

Coop­er con­tin­ued for the door, but the foam hand sprayed the han­dle, mak­ing it dif­fi­cult for Coop­er to get a grip. Then the show­er flicked on.

“What the hell is going on?” he shout­ed. 

The hand point­ed at Coop­er, and in response, the show­er bent towards him and unloaded. 

“Coop­er?” Julia said from behind the door. 

“Julia!” he said, through mouth­fuls of water. “That soap mon­ster is back!”

“The what? Oh, shit!”

Julia kicked the door. It swung open and rammed Cooper’s fore­head. He slipped and fell to the ground. Water pooled around him and pulled him towards the show­er. 

“Coop­er, are you alright?”

He grum­bled but said lit­tle else. Julia looked at the hand and zipped to the kitchen. But the kitchen sink had turned on too, and the floors flood­ed with water. Julia wad­ed through the shal­low cur­rents and tore open the trash draw­er. She snatched the glass bot­tle and read the warn­ing label.

In case of emer­gency, use salt. 

Julia climbed onto the counter and snagged the salt. She popped open the cap and tossed it into the sink. The water seared. Then, after a few sec­onds, the kitchen explod­ed with suds. 

It took an hour to get every­thing cleaned up—this time with no mag­ic potion. She had wrapped Coop­er in some tow­els, not want­i­ng to take his clothes off, and set him on the couch where he laid uncon­scious while she cleaned. Once she fin­ished, she made her way to the couch and sat next to him. She didn’t know when he’d wake up or the kinds of ques­tions he would have. But until then, she’d watch TV.