Bubbles Over Troubles (short story)
SUSPENSE | INTERNAL CONFLICT | SATIRE | LIGHT HUMOR
Writing challenge:
Random word generator (n,v,adj)
Pick a number— (12)
Write a story using all 12words in the order they populate:
12 RANDOM WORDS TO USE:
sense, broad, aquatic, participate, impinge, pout, yawn, recast, approve, cellar, excited, idolized
BUBBLES OVER TROUBLES
A SHORT STORY—
I pull into the lot, avoiding the sea of potholes lining the curb. My windshield wipers are working overtime as the rain comes down in sheets, and of course, not a soul in sight—just how I like it.
I hate to admit it, but the place always looks a bit ridiculous in this wet weather, like some sad, soggy amusement park.
April showers bring May flowers has never been truer.
As I step out, I plunge my foot directly into a puddle, immediately soaking my shoe, because why wouldn’t it?
“Oh great!” I mutter, sleep still present in my tone. I shake out my foot in front of myself, as if doing this could have actually been helpful, “just perfect.” I add with a heavy sigh.
I’ve heard that the use of positive words, even when expressing negative feelings, can have an incredible impact on keeping one’s mental health in tip-top shape. I’m not expecting much, but I decided I’d give it a shot anyway. I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take before it starts working, but I could really use some mental support today. Because, whenever there’s rain, there is sure to be a busy workday to follow.
I’ve never quite understood why rain makes the masses rush to the car wash. It’s bizarre. Why waste precious time driving through heavy traffic, navigating the chaos of rain-slicked streets, just to come here for a wash? Do they think the rain makes it the perfect time, imagining they’ve got it all figured out, that fewer people will be here? Or maybe it’s simply the sight of rainwater that triggers this sudden burst of genius—"I'll wash it now, while no one else is thinking about it!" Like they’re convinced rainwater just isn’t enough—isn’t up to par with the level of quality they prefer, that it lacks the magic that the car wash’s water has. They must feel like they've cracked some secret life hack, as if this abundance of free water falling from the sky isn’t enough to do the job.
It doesn’t make any SENSE, but it doesn’t surprise me. Not anymore. I’ve become well-accustomed to planning accordingly when it comes to scheduling if rain is expected. I always ensure enough labor is scheduled in order to support the anticipated influx of the most sharp-minded customers; to combat the flood. Which is why I was wary when the call came in first thing in the morning.
I’m halfway to the door when I hear it: the phone, ringing inside the office, again. It’s like the damn thing knows when I’m about to clock in.
“Great.” I think to myself, making sure to practice using positive connotations. “Someone’s already got a problem at seven in the morning, and I haven’t even had my coffee, yet.”
I need to work on expanding my vocabulary to include a larger variety of more favorable words. My positive word bucket isn’t quite as BROAD as some of my other, more frequently used word buckets.
I swipe my badge, let the door click open, and the obnoxious ring is even louder. I tread through the empty hall with extreme caution and mindfulness to the dangers of these slick floors. My steps alternate between a soppy, wet, sucking sound and a screeching, rubbery, squawk.
“Guess today’s off to a fantastic start.”
The place looks like an AQUATIC theme park threw up all over it. Bright blue waves painted on the walls, neon fish hanging from the ceiling, and for some reason, the sounds of whale calls echoing through the speakers—because apparently, people want to feel like they’re getting their car washed in the middle of the ocean. As if the soap suds, made to look like sea foam, weren’t enough to bring their imaginations to life.
Don’t get me wrong, it pulls in the cash. The customers eat it up, snapping pictures like they’re at some underwater zoo. I just smile, nod like I care, and make sure no one breaks the damn dolphin statues out front.
In the office, the smell of leftover pizza and the faint proof of something sugary sweet hit my nose like a bag of bricks. I feel irritation crawling up my spine, my face getting hot. I reach for the phone, dripping water on the clutter strewn across my usually spotless desk—junk from the employee pizza party last night. The one I gladly did not PARTICIPATE in.
“Lovely,” I say as I pick up the phone, “Good morning! You’ve reached the shine-line. How can we polish up your day?”
“Uhh hey,” the voice on the line mumbles, “it’s, uh, Mikey.”
“Oh, hey there, uh, Mikey.” I say, gradually increasing charm in my tone, not allowing negativity to IMPINGE on my attitude. “What’s going on?”
“Uh, well, it’s just—I’m not going to be able to come into work today.” Then there is silence. I wait for him to offer an explanation. “My—my car won’t start, and uh, I can’t get it looked at today.” A POUT follows.
“Mikey,” I begin, keeping my voice steady. “I’m really counting on you to be here today.”
“I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Summers,” he says through a YAWN, then hangs up the call without another word.
“Unbelievable!” I shout, covering my mouth as quickly as I’d blurted it. This is a RECAST of the last time Mikey was scheduled on a rainy day. I make a mental note: I will address this issue with Mikey at a later time today.
I take a deep breath, wondering if “unbelievable” is considered positive or negative. Unsure I whisper “incredible.” Just as I do, I hear the door click open from down the hall, and my heart skips a beat. No one is scheduled to be here this early. I hear wet footsteps coming towards my office. I holler, “Hello, who’s there?” but no one answers.
I swivel my chair around and take a seat, waiting for whoever it is to appear in my doorway, but no one ever does.
“Hello?” I sing this time, "Anybody there?” But still, I’m met with only silence.
I abruptly rise from my chair with a subtle toss of my hands, shaking my head, but telling myself, “This should be a pleasant encounter.”
Just as I start for the door leading to the hallway, the phone rings again, cutting through the quiet air like a blade. I squeal simultaneously as my reflexes knock me off balance atop the slippery floor. I feel like I’m running backwards in place, my arms pinwheeling. I lean my weight, reaching for the sturdy doorframe. By the skin of my teeth, I manage to steady myself without causing myself any injuries.
Once I catch my breath, without having to remind myself to look on the bright side, I let out a long stream of laughter that makes tears well up in my eyes. The muscles in my stomach ached from many years of neglecting them.
Holding my stomach, wiping happy tears from my eyes, I pick up the phone.
“We’re having a spic-and-span-tastic day here at Bubbles Over Troubles. How can I make your day sparkle?”
“Hey, good morning, Mr. Summers,” the caller begins, “it’s me, Mandy.”
“Oh, hey, Mandy! What’s going on?”
“Listen... about my shift for today,” she says it long and drawn out, articulating every syllable, pronouncing every letter. I impatiently drum my fingers on the desk, then snatch my hand away in a hurry when my fingers splash in a pool of water that had formed from dripping off my clothes when I had my las phone call.
“Mandy,” I say softly, “if you’re calling out, I do not APPROVE.” More stern, I add, “You absolutely must be here today.”
“Mr. Summers, you don’t understand. I have to prioritize my safety over—”
“—I don’t want to hear excuses! You have no choice, Mandy! You have to work your scheduled shift today!”
Mandy doesn’t say anything. I probably should have waited a little longer for her response, but my patience has been worn thin from the constant call-outs. They know better than to try making adjustments to their schedule on the same day.
I hear Mandy breathe into the phone, but still, she doesn’t speak.
“I’ll take your silence as your acclimation to your obligations as an employee under this establishment. Good bye.”
I slam the phone down before giving Mandy a fair chance to respond.
“That might have been a little harsh,” I tell myself, “I didn’t have to say it like that.” I roll my eyes, take a moment to clear the negativity. “I owe her an apology.”
I remind myself: positive words, optimism—don’t forget it!
I pick up the phone to call her back, but before I press redial, I freeze. I’d almost forgotten about the spook from earlier—hearing the front door open and the footsteps that followed. I whip my head around, scanning the room.
“I’m sorry, but we’re closed. We open at 9 a.m.” I croak, despite my jittery nerves causing my voice to shake. When I still don’t hear a response, I am overcome by something like adrenaline. I breathe out a dramatic huff, then clench my fists tight, but I stop myself, relaxing my posture and forcing a friendly smile.
Now composed, I swiftly search the halls, the entryway, and the guest seating areas, but they’re all empty.
Still driven with a determination to find and to remove the intruder, I don’t give up quite yet. I knock on both the bathroom doors, opening each one after knocking to ensure no one had snuck in. But when I do, I find nothing more than two empty bathrooms.
As strange as this is, I don’t have the time to waste. Besides, I’ve already looked everywhere there is to look. If someone did come in, then clearly they must have realized themselves that we weren’t open, and let themselves back outside—it’s not like we have an underground CELLAR or safe room for someone to hide in.
I shrug, and head back to the office to complete the opening procedure.
“Looking for something, Mr. Summers?” A voice scratches at my ears. Immediately, my legs quit working; I stiffen mid-stride. Standing motionless just outside the office, I feared the worst.
The mysterious voice was unrecognizable but undoubtedly real. I channeled all the courage I could muster, got a grip of myself and glanced around at the same empty halls as before. I was ready to confront whatever—or whoever—was behind all of this.
But just as I was about to take a step forward, a chorus of cheerful voices burst through the front door.
“Surprise!” they shouted, and I nearly fainted, my mind spinning as I realized what had happened. My employees poured into the building waving streamers and holding a giant banner that read, “Happy April Fools’ Day!”
“What is this?” I managed to ask, bewildered as they flooded in with plates piled high with pancakes, fresh fruit, and a huge cake that had a ridiculous figure of me on it.
“We thought you might feel left out after last night’s pizza party,” Mandy explained, stepping forward with a plate of food. “So we planned this little surprise. Sorry about the prank calls and the footsteps; we wanted to keep it festive!”
I looked around at all their bright, cheerful, smiling faces, how EXCITED they all looked that their planning had paid off. My initial frustration quickly melted away.
“You all got me good,” I chuckled, shaking my head in disbelief. “I was ready to confront a ghost!” Laughter erupting from deep within my belly, dissolving the tension that had wrapped around me all morning.
It hit me then that, despite the chaos and the pranks, my team had come together to show their appreciation. I couldn’t help but feel IDOLIZED.
I could really get used to this happy environment—and my wonderful staff. Maybe that bit I’d heard about positive speech wasn’t such a fluke after all.
“Alright, let’s dig in,” I said, feeling a genuine smile spread across my face. “But just so you know, if anyone’s car breaks down today, I’m definitely not picking up the phone!”
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