Kitchen Drawer
SANITY ON BACKORDER
From Hive Peak Boulevard
By Danu Marche
Humor Columnist
Published: January 11, 2026
Synapse & Spectacle
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This week, my kitchen drawer is running a long con.
Every house has one — the drawer. Mine lives next to the fridge like an uninvited tenant. It closes only when it’s in the mood, which is never when guests are over. If you push it shut, it pushes back, like a bouncer deciding you don’t meet the vibe.
It’s not that it’s overstuffed. I’ve emptied it entirely and it still sits there, two inches ajar, smirking. I’ve checked for obstructions, loose screws, and the possibility of a small, sentient mouse living inside. Nothing. Which leaves only one conclusion: the drawer is possessed.
This is not your cute, Victorian tea-party ghost. This is a “trapped in a rental for 40 years and now it’s mad about it” spirit. Sometimes I swear I hear it sigh when I open it, like I’ve interrupted a very long nap.
At first, I thought it was just a quirk. A lovable imperfection, the kind you tolerate because fixing it would involve finding an Allen wrench you don’t own. But over time, it’s escalated. Lately, the drawer waits until I walk away, then slides open again with a slow, mocking creak — the paranormal equivalent of flipping me off.
And now it’s staging public scenes. Friends will be in the kitchen and the drawer, unprovoked, will just drift. We’ll all stop talking. It pauses mid-glide, as if to confirm it has our attention, then resumes, slowly… like it’s delivering a monologue about betrayal.
I’ve tried reasoning with it, which is not a proud sentence to write. I’ve also tried the “slightly slam it and pretend you meant to” approach. This resulted in the drawer bouncing back open so forcefully it knocked over a plastic bottle of olive oil — which rolled off the counter and, in a show of supernatural precision, landed upright. That’s skill I don’t want to mess with.
Maybe it’s trying to communicate. Maybe it’s warning me about something in the house — a gas leak, an upcoming tax audit, or the fact that my salt shaker collection is “a cry for help.” Or maybe it’s just bored and my suffering is its Netflix.
Either way, I’ve decided to stop fighting it. I now walk by and give it a polite nod, as one does with a neighbor who has dirt on you. I leave it open, mostly out of respect but also because I don’t want to be thrown down my own basement stairs in the night.
Speaking of surveillance — today’s caffeinated snowy fur bean sighting: balanced on the fencepost across the street holding a laminated bus schedule in both paws. Studied it with deep concentration, then glanced up at me like it had just realized we’re on the same route and it’s not happy about it. The skinny muff demon hopped off like I just insulted its mother and ran across the street toward my house. Now I am worried it’s gonna be holding a mini snow shovel, waiting for me to leave.
Anyway, until I can find a priest who specializes in exorcising minor kitchen storage, I’ll just keep living with it. The drawer and I have an understanding now: it stays mostly closed when I’m cooking, and I stopped Googling “How to tell if your furniture is plotting against you.”
“If your household objects have formed a union, please send a copy of the demands — I’m trying to see if the drawer’s contract is up for renegotiation.”
©2026 Danu Marche
