Half Empty
A couple weeks ago, the viscous necessities of all sorts in my apartment began to run out.
I first noticed this when I was doing the dishes. My dish soap formerly featured an omnipotent blue luster, as if to say “I dare you to use me all.” Each day I squirted a small bit onto my sponge—taking the “ultra-concentrated” label to heart—and watched as the rest of the soap confidently oozed back into place until it appeared I had used none at all. Now, what’s left of the dish soap cowers at the bottom of its clear plastic container stained with faint traces dirty dishwater and dried suds.
There are other things too; laundry detergent, tooth paste, shampoo… all of a sudden items I formally dosed with abandon I am now rationing out in impossibly small quantities with the hopes of recreating my own personal Chanukah-style miracle.
Of course, this was bound to happen. With enough loads of dishes, trips to the laundromat, hair washings, teeth brushings, window scrubbings — eventually these things run out. The strange part is how they are all giving out at the same time, almost as if they were designed with my particular patterns in mind. But how could they know that the guy who uses a little dish soap and a lot of shaving cream, a tiny amount of laundry detergent and a copius amount of windex would have arrived at “empty” with so many products at the same time?
For lack of another credible explanation, I’m tentatively blaming Google. They know everything.