Member-only story
Yes, Man I’m Visiting, I Know Where All Your Pans Go.
You’re a guest at a married couple’s house. You’re staying in the spare bedroom for a few nights—It’s a beautiful home, with a Roomba constantly spinning around.
The Roomba has a name. The kids shout the name of the Roomba and the dog from time to time. “Sparky!” “Swifty!” You’re unsure which is which.
The wife helps the kids with their homework. You help troubleshoot the printer. She looks too flustered to figure out the wireless setting, which has stopped working yet again. They print out the documents that were emailed to their mother. What a weird time to be in school, you think.
She cooks dinner. You help by doing things that won’t get in her way…setting the table, rinsing bowls she’s done using, loading the dishwasher—Her husband watches TV. Fox. Newsmax. You catch glimpses because the open plan allows you to see the TV from the kitchen.
He yells when they tell him to yell. It feels, mildly, like an episode of Dora the Explorer for adult American men. There’s a call and response feel; he’s rewarded for expressing rage at the right time.
Dinner is fantastic. The wife is tired. She asks her husband to do the dishes. He says “no problem.” Your opinion of him begins to shift. Maybe he just had a long day at work. He picks up all the dishes, rinses…
