Micro-fiction: Monkey Sea Monkey Do

By Vickie Wippel

          A man in a monocle rushed in carrying a small aquarium. He wore a three-piece suit. Skylar, the vet tech, could tell this was urgent. She hung up the phone, “Do you have an appointment?”
          “It’s my brine shrimp!” The man’s voice shook. “They mean everything to me!” The man slammed the aquarium on the counter. The water made waves but did not splash over. Shrimp floated near the top.
          “Let’s take a…”
          “I’ve done everything for them!” The man interrupted; his voice shriller than a chihuahua’s yap. “Artisanal water! Perfectly pH balanced!” He held his finger in the air like a conductor reaching crescendo.
          For a moment, Skylar considered calling 911, but instead, she reached for the intercom. “I’ll page a doctor.” The lobby looked on. A Labrador retriever awaiting lab results cocked his head in concern.
          “I will pay any price!” Skylar thought he was reaching for a wallet, but he pulled out a pipe; his shaking hands caused the pipe to bobble in the air.
          “There’s no smoking in the lobby, sir.”
           “Apologies, fair lady.” Chastened, his voice fell flat. “It’s just that-- this is my family.” The man adjusted his monocle. “Indeed, they are everything to me.” The retriever whined; the retriever’s owner gave comforting head pats. The shrimp continued to float.
          Skylar looked again at the aquarium before pulling out her phone under the counter. “It will be just a minute, sir. Why don’t you take a seat?” She pointed to the chairs in the lobby. Everyone else in the lobby looked away. A woman placed a cat carrier on the seat beside her. 
          From the back, a parrot squawked, “Night, night! Night, night!”
          He sat down and muttered between light sobs, “I shouldn’t have taken them out for so many kisses.”
          Sea Monkeys! Skylar knew she recognized the aquarium, not from her studies but from her youth! She remembered setting up the aquarium and dumping the contents into water, like the cheese from Kraft macaroni, and waiting impatiently for the dehydrated eggs to hatch—a miracle! Though anyone without a monocle could see these Sea Monkeys had long gone to the toilet bowl in the sky. Skylar felt sympathy for the man. She also saw she could overnight a new packet of Sea Monkey eggs for $5.99 plus tax. “Sir, I think I can help you with your beloved pets.”
          He rushed over, shrieking in relief. “Praise almighty, you benevolent angel!” Then he fell to his knees, offering prayers of gratitude up to the heavens.
          Skylar read the website as he composed himself: Eggs hatch in 4-6 days.
          He rose from the ground.
          The most rapid hatching of the baby Sea-Monkeys® is when the water is at 78°F, she read.
           He brushed dust off his pants and grabbed for the aquarium, rocking himself side to side for comfort. This caused the water to make waves again.
          “Unfortunately, this will be expensive.” Skylar looked at him and the tiny white caps teetering at the top of the tank. Then, she pressed random numbers on the calculator. “Let’s see, four days of board and care, blood work, physical exams, and, of course, we’ll need to aerate the tank water.” She turned the calculator around, displaying the grand total. If this went well, she could pay off her credit card.
          “Of course, of course, “ he said, retrieving a cash wad from a leather pouch hanging from his belt. Skylar noted that the currency was, in fact, Monopoly money. Another man, another monocle. The man’s mustache hung lopsided over is top lip. Skylar stared. The mustache was a sticker.  #