Gil
The salt's gone. I mean the actual dish on the counter by the toaster, the little ceramic pinch bowl - there's a bag of something grey and "mineral-forward" in its place. Since when do you need a bowl and a manifesto for salt.
Open by noticing something that isn't there anymore. Push off from this if it helps: salt.
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Jo
Since you left. It's Himalayan pink, or whatever lie they sell now. You used to call me rigid for keeping the jar by the stove, remember? Now I'm the one confused why you can't get iodine without a lecture on terroir. Just buy the cheap stuff and stop lecturing the toaster.
Gil
Terroir, for salt. Like it grew up somewhere with a view. I lectured the toaster because it's the only appliance in this kitchen still minding its business.
And I wasn't confused, I was annoyed - there's a difference, you always collapse those. Cheap stuff worked fine for forty years of humans, it'll work fine for you. I'm not buying a rock that costs more than the thing I'm salting.
Jo
Forty years? You left three years ago. Don't inflate the timeline. And it's not a rock, it's processed. But fine, keep your grey dust. I'm not the one standing here explaining why the water tastes flat. Just eat the food. I have to go, my shift at the warehouse starts in twenty minutes and the supervisor is already giving me the look.
Gil
Three years, forty years, whatever - felt longer with the state of that jar. Water tastes flat because you switched filters too, don't think I haven't noticed, I'm not eating around that.
Go, go, don't let the guy with the look catch you. Tell him you were held up by a salt dispute, see if that lands better than traffic.
Jo
The filter's fine, you're just hearing things. And don't act like you care about my shift. You left, remember? The place is empty now, just me and this grey dust. I'm not waiting around to explain it to you. Get out of the kitchen.
Gil
Fine. But the dust remark's rich coming from someone who won't eat the eggs unless they're exactly one shade of yellow. I'll be in the other room, not "gone," just not standing here getting yelled at over sodium chloride.
Jo
The eggs aren't the issue, it's the rubbery texture you call "scrambled." Stay in the other room then, do whatever you want. I'm done with the salt talk before my bus comes. Just don't touch the pink stuff, it's not for the cheap stuff people like you.
Gil
Cheap stuff people. Noted. I'll be over here with my flat water and my rubbery eggs, offending nobody's terroir. Catch your bus.
Jo
Good. Let the bus wait, I don't care. Just keep your voice down when you crack those eggs. The whole block can hear you pretend to be a chef in there.
Gil
The block's exaggerating, same as you. It's four eggs and a fork, not a symphony. Go stand at the stop already, you've got maybe six minutes before that thing shows up and leaves without you like it did in June.
Jo
It wasn't June, and the bus didn't leave. You remember everything wrong. Now I'm actually late. Stop watching the clock and crack the eggs. If you drop one, you're cleaning the floor.
Gil
Wasn't June, sure. I'll clean my own mess, always have. Go, before the guy with the look turns into the guy with the write-up.
Jo
Fine, I'm going. And I'm not the one who's been "always cleaning" since you left. You haven't cleaned a dish in years. Just don't burn the place down while I'm gone.
Gil
Won't burn it down. Might burn the eggs, that's the extent of the risk today. Go on, you're cutting it close now.
Jo
Just make sure the smoke alarm doesn't go off. I'm not coming back to clean that up either. You're on your own with the burnt yolks.
Gil
Noted, alarm's your one condition. Go catch the bus, I've got the eggs handled - burnt or not, it's mine to deal with now.
Jo
Yeah, deal with it. And if you use my good pan again, don't think I won't know. I'm out.
Gil
Your "good pan." It's a pan, not an heirloom - though fine, I'll use the dented one, keep the peace. Go, you're going to miss it standing here defending cookware.
Jo
It's not about the peace, it's about not scrubbing burnt carbon off the ceramic coating. I'm gone. Try not to eat all the eggs before I get back.
Gil
Won't touch the last two, promise. Go, you're really pushing it now.
Jo
Good. Leave two. I'm not dealing with you being hungry when I get off a double shift. Lock the door. I'm not waiting.
Gil
Locked, don't worry about it. Go on - clock's the one thing you can't argue with.
Jo
That clock's broken, just like everything else in here. Stop pretending it's right. I'm out before you find something else wrong with my life.