An Effect

As I walked to the Foam Cabinet, I noticed something new. There was a small dent in the top; almost enough to penetrate the strange material, but not quite. I opened the Foam Cabinet to fix the dent from the inside. Nothing seemed to be in the Foam Cabinet at the time, so I considered it safe.

Pushing on the ceiling of the Foam Cabinet, I noticed that I could probably fit myself inside and close the door. I was curious to find out what made the Foam Cabinet tick. I stepped in and sat on the half-shelf. My head touched the top of the Foam Cabinet, cranning my neck ever so slightly. I reached to close the door, only to find the edge of it about a centimeter out of my reach.

Still curious, I half-stood and grasped the edge of the door. My back was arched in that akward position no one can stand in for too long. I pulled the door back.

It wouldn't close.

Why?

Because my feet were just a little too big to put on the floor while the door is shut, and the shelf I was sitting on isn't deep enough to sit back. There I was, hunched in a most uncomfortable position. Plus, the Foam Cabinet was causing static electricity. My hair was sticking to the still-dented ceiling.

Determined not to let the Foam Cabinet defeat me, I tried to squish myself into any remaining space, so the door would close. The result was simple: the shelf of the Foam Cabinet broke.

I thought that this was my solution, but I still couldn't close the door. The shelf was now on the floor, in the way. I attepted to move it, then tried closing the door again.

In vain.

Little peices of styrofoam started to get into my clothes. I got itchy. I stepped out of the Foam Cabinet to fix the shelf, but the shelf had managed to misplace itself. I looked around a little franticly, then realized that it was stuck to the back of my shirt somehow.

I tried to get the shelf off my back, but every time I moved my shoulders, it would move just out of reach. And I was itchy. And my hair was still staticy. And there was still a dent in the top of the Foam Cabinet.

I threw a short temper tantrum and shook my body so the shelf would come off. It flew a few feet away, so I had to walk over to it and bend down to pick it up.

I took the shelf back to the Foam Cabinet and tried to fix it.

In vain.

You just can't put styrofoam onto styrofoam and expect it to stick automatically. It turns out that it sticks when you don't want it to. Which is what happened... I gave up, and attepted to close the door again, this time with me on the outside and the shelf on the inside.

The door wouldn't close, because the shelf was stuck to the door.

I flew into a rage and kicked the Foam Cabinet. Instead of my foot going through the wall satifyingly, the Foam Cabinet simply half-floated, half-scootched back. I turned away, yelling. It took me a while to calm down.

Lo and behold, once I looked back at the Foam Cabinet, the door was closed. The dent was gone. It was as if nothing had been done wrong to the Foam Cabinet.

I opened the door.

The shelf was there, fixed. And on the shelf was a little slip of paper, unsymmetrically torn. On it was one word.

"Irritation".

I walked away for the day, changed. Because behind me, the Foam Cabinet was no different from the first time I saw it. As for me, I could either laugh it off, or remain as the slip of paper said.