The Great Apartment 3B Incident

If you ask anyone in Apartment 3D what happened on Saturday morning you will get three very different answers, one apology, a firm denial, and a story involving a rubber chicken.

But as in most stories the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

It all started, as most questionable choices do with a text message.

8:02 am

Lena: “I think that I broke the washer.”

Marcus: “Define broke.”

Lena: “It’s making a kazoo sound, a broken kazoo sound kind of.”

Marcus stared at his phone and blinked twice as he rolled over in bed. He had two choices. Ignore the message and risk getting up to a flooded apartment or get up and deal with the problem.

He chose wrong.

By 8:17 am Marcus stood in the doorway of the laundry room, arms crossed and watching the machine violently shaking like it was trying to escape.

“Why?” He asked as calmly as he could. “Is this happening?” He continued.

“It started making noise after I added the detergent.”

“What kind of detergent did you use?”

Lena held up the bottle with a bright red label that said “Ultra Foam Industrial Strength.”

Marcus closed his eyes. “That is not detergent for washing clothes.”

“The bottle said that it cleans everything.”

“It also says that it is not for internal use or for appliances.

“Well, technically this was external.” She said gesturing to the bottle.

The washer made another noise louder than the first.

Before Marcus could answer the washer lurched forward, bumping the wall with a loud thud and bubbles began coming from the lid spreading across the floor like a slow determined cloud.

“Oh no!” Lena shouted.

“Get some towels and mop.” Marcus shouted back.

“I think that we are beyond a mop and towels.” Lena said.

They were.

At 8:28 am foam bubbles had breached the hallway.

At 8:29 am Mrs. Delgado from apartment 3A opened her front door and took one look at the white tide rolling towards her slippers and said, "Absolutely not.” And slammed the door shut.

At 8:30 am Marcus slipped, grabbed the wall and accidentally turned on the vacuum cleaner which ironically was still plugged in. The vacuum cleaner immediately sucked up some of the foam and made a noise like it was choking and died quickly. Death by foam bubbles.

“Unplug it.” Lena yelled.

“I can’t find the cord.” Marcus yelled back.

“It’s right there. Oh no! That’s the blender.” Lena said.

“Why would the blender be out here in the living room?”

“Because I was going to make a smoothie.”

“In the middle of the night and in the living room?” Marcus asked.

“What can I say? I could not sleep and was in the mood for a strawberry and banana smoothie.”

Marcus finally pulled the plug and the vacuum tipped over.

By 8:35 the foam had invaded more of the living room and that is when Carl showed up. Carl was the upstairs neighbor in 4B, a man who always showed up in the middle of chaos. He knocked once and then opened the door and froze.

“Is this a bad time?” He laughed.

“No, why would you say that? Just because the living room looks like a bunch of angry clouds threw up on the floor?”

Carl nodded. He stepped inside and immediately slipped, windmilled his arms but somehow managed to remain on his feet.

“I have a question.” He said.

“So do we.” Marcus replied.

Carl surveyed the situation like a general entering the battlefield.

“Alright. We need a plan.”

“We have a plan.” Lena said. “It’s called wait it out.” She continued.

“That’s not a plan.” Marcus said.

“You got something better?” Lena quipped.

Carl knelt down and picked up a handful of foam. He sniffed it carefully.

“It smells like strawberries and poor choices.”

“Industrial soap.” Marcus mumbled.

Carl stood up. “Okay. Step one. Contain the spread. Step two. Stop the source.”

“The source is possessed.” Lena said, pointing at the washing machine.

And at that moment the washer chose to hit the wall again and spit out another round of bubbles.

Carl nodded. “First, we need to unplug it.”

Getting to the washer was like crossing quicksand made of bubbles. Marcus led the way. He slipped twice and apologized to the chair that he bumped into. Lena followed, holding on to Marcus’s shirt like a human chain. Carl brought up the rear, narrating their progress like he was narrating a made for TV documentary about the hazards of soap.

“Carl!” Marcus shouted. “Please shut up.”

With limited coordination and determination they reached the laundry room. The washer shook ominously.

“Okay.” Marcus said. “On three.”

“Wait.” Lena yelled. “What if it explodes?” She continued.

“It’s not going to explode.” Marcus said.

The washer made a high-pitched whine.

“Okay, maybe there is a slight chance it might explode.” Marcus said.

Carol rolled up his sleeves. “I’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to…” Lena started to say.

Carl lunged forward, grabbed the plug and yanked it out of the wall. The machine sighed. The foam did not.

At 8:50 am the apartment looked like 100 angry clouds had exploded indoors. Foam was everywhere. It clung to the wall and the couch and inexplicably the ceiling fan.

“Why is it on the ceiling?” Lena asked.

“Science has left the chat.” Marcus said.

Carl poked at a bubble. “Now what?”

“We clean it up.” Marcus said.

“With what?” Lena asked.

They all looked around the room. Carl snapped his fingers.

“Shower.”

“What?”

“We can use the shower head. It’s like a mini fire hose.”

“That is the worst idea ever.” Marcus said.

“Thank you, I have plenty more.” Carl said.

By 9:05 am they had dragged the detachable shower head in the living room.

“Careful.” Marcus said. “Don’t spray the outlets.”

“I know how water works.” Lena said, immediately after she accidentally sprayed the TV.

“Not the TV.” Marcus lunged and slipped and crashed into the coffee table.

Carl adjusted the spray.

“We need a system. You rinse. I sweep the foam.” He said to Lena. “And Marcus he can supervise.” He continued.

“I am not supervising anything.” Marcus said.

“Fine, then just direct us.” Carl said. “But first you need to get off the floor.”

“I fell strategically.”

The plan almost worked.

Almost.

At 9:12 am Lena turned the water pressure too high and a minute later the hose whipped around like a rebellious snake, spraying water everywhere.

At 9:14 am. Carl shouted. “Holy crap!”

At 9:16 am Marcus grabbed the hose and wrestled it like he was in the WWE. Finally he got it under control but not before everyone accidentally got soaked from head to toe. They stood there dripped wet surrounded by foam bubbles.

“This is your fault.” Lena said to Marcus.

“Nope. It was your fault because it was your soap.”

Carl raised his finger and pointed to both of them. “In all fairness this was a team effort.”

At 9:25 am there was a knock on the door.

All three of them froze.

“Don’t answer it.” Lena whispered. “Maybe if we stay quiet they will just go away.”

“Marcus.” A voice came from behind the other side of the door. “I know that you are in there. The ceiling is dripping on my head.”

“That’s Mrs. Patel from downstairs.” Marcus said.

Carl nodded. “Maybe we should open the door.”

“No. We should move.” Lena said.

They opened the door.

Mrs. Patel stood there, arms crossed. Her expression was in between angry and confused.

“I see.” She said slowly. “That it is raining indoors at my place and snowing at yours.”

Marcus opened his mouth to speak and closed it again and opened it again.

He shrugged and said, “How about this weather?”

Lena elbowed him in the ribs.

Carl stepped forward. “Ma’am, we are currently dealing with a foam incident.”

Mrs. Patel raised her eyebrows. “A what?”

“Foam.” Lena said.

Mrs. Patel looked past them into the apartment again. She took another look at the soaked carpet and the bubbles and the dead vacuum in the middle of it all and she said, “I am calling maintenance.”

“That’s a good idea.” Marcus said.

Maintenance arrived at 9:45 am. His name was Greg. Greg had seen a lot of things since he began working there ten years ago but this was something new. He stepped inside of the apartment and shook his head.

“Soap?” He asked.

“Yes.” Marcus asked.

“Wrong kind I assume?”

“Yes.”

Greg signed. “Happens more than you think.”

“Really?” Lena asked.

“No, not really. I just like to make people feel better about bad choices.”

He surveyed the scene and then he got to work with the efficiency of a man who had no time to waste on nonsense.

Within twenty minutes the was was off, the washer was properly unplugged and the foam was less.

“Give it a few hours and it should settle.” Greg said.

“Settle where?” Carl asked.

Greg shrugged. “That’s between you and the foam. I’m out!”

By noon the apartment was almost back to normal.

Mostly.

There were still bubbles and the couch was still wet and made a squishing sound if you sat on it. The ceiling fan would drop an occasional blob of soap on the floor. Marcus collapsed on the kitchen chair. “We survived.” He said.

Lena flopped on the chair next to him. “Barely.” She said.

Carl stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips.

“I think we handled that well.”

They both looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“We flooded the whole apartment. Pissed off at least three neighbors and completely destroyed the shower head I just brought two weeks ago.” Marcus said.

“Okay. All those things happened. But, at least we adapted. Team work makes the dream work.”

Then from somewhere in the apartment a faint squeak. They all turned in the direction of squeaking.

The rubber chicken sat on the kitchen counter slowly floating.

“Is that supposed to be moving like that?” Lena asked.

“Nope.” Marcus replied.

“I don’t like that.” Lena said.

“Me either.” Marcus agreed.

Carl folded his arms. “We’ve entered phase two.”

“What are you talking about? Phase two?” Marcus asked.

Carl smiled.

The chicken squeaked again.

“Phase two. The possessed rubber chicken.” Carl said, laughing.

And then the washer gurgled again.

Marcus stood up. “No, no, no! I am definitely moving.”

“Me too.” Lena agreed.

Carl picked up the chicken. It squeaked again.

“I'll keep this.” He said.

And that according to Carl is how the Great Apartment 3B Incident ended. But, according to Lena it never ended.

Marcus wrote apology letters to all of the neighbors and he still checks the washer before he goes to sleep each night, several times.

And Carl still has the rubber chicken in a permanent place on his kitchen counter.