The fog machine. Eleven hundred bucks, plus the second cartridge fluid because apparently one wasn't "atmospheric enough" — my words, in my defense, at 1am, deeply committed to a vision. Add the returns fee since the first one leaked. Call it twelve-fifty for a machine currently fogging up my hallway and nothing else.
Twelve-fifty. That’s the rent for a month of silence. You bought noise you can’t turn off. I saw the receipt when you dropped it on the counter. You didn’t even look at it. Just stared at the fog pooling under the door like it was going to answer your emails. It won’t. It’s just water and glycerin. Expensive, sticky water. I’m going to need you to wipe the baseboards. Now. Before it stains.
It's not sticky, it's a fine mist — that's literally the marketing copy, I read it twice before I bought it, which should tell you something about my due diligence. Fine. Baseboards. But I want it on record I don't regret it, I regret the second cartridge. The first one was pure. Aspirational, even.
Aspirational. Right. The fog isn’t clearing, Frank. It’s just settling. You’re standing in it like it’s art. I’m standing here looking at the landlord’s email. "Excessive moisture." Twelve-fifty gone. For a hallway that now smells like a hospital waiting room that gave up. You think you’re curating an atmosphere. You’re just creating a liability. Wipe the baseboards. Then wipe the floor. Then look at me and tell me it was worth the leak.
The leak was a manufacturing defect, not a character flaw, mine or the machine's. And "hospital waiting room that gave up" is genuinely the best thing anyone's said about my apartment in years, I might put it on the lease. Fine. Baseboards, floor, then I'll stand here and lie to your face about worth it.
You’re holding it wrong. That’s the defect. You expected magic from a pump. I’m not wiping baseboards because I care about the laminate. I’m wiping them because if you stand there lying to my face, I’m going to scream. And then I’m leaving. And you’ll be alone with your atmospheric nonsense. Go get the rag. Before I decide the fog is the only thing in this room that makes sense.