My name is Theodore Crumbsworth the Third, but under the dishwasher I am known simply as Ted. Or “Hey!” followed by screaming. Depends on the day.

Beneath the dishwasher in your kitchen is, objectively speaking, a premium location. Climate-controlled on one side, dropped crumbs on the other, occasional mystery puddle I do not ask questions about. Rent is steep, meaning constant existential dread, but the amenities are unmatched.

Until The Incident.

It happened on a Tuesday. Tuesdays are usually quiet. The dishwasher hums, the floor stays warm, and I take my children to admire the dust bunnies like they are modern art.

Then suddenly, light. Not metaphorical light. Actual light. Blinding, soul-exposing light.

The dishwasher moved.

Do you know what it is like to be a mouse who believes in privacy and suddenly realizes the universe has eyeballs?

I froze. My wife froze. The twins froze. Even little Beatrice, who never freezes and once tried to fight a paper towel roll, went stiff as a breadcrumb statue. That is when I made eye contact with you.

We locked gazes. Two species, one scream away from disaster. You gasped. I gasped, though mine came out more like a squeak mixed with regret.

I wanted to explain. I really did.

“I have a family,” I would have said.

“It is the coldest winter in decades,” I would have added, dramatically gesturing with my tiny paw.

“We are not freeloaders, we are climate refugees.”

But mice do not get monologues.

We ran.

We scattered like unpaid interns at the end of a fiscal quarter.

Back under the dishwasher we huddled, the wind howling outside, frost creeping along the windows like a villain in a fairy tale. This winter is brutal. The kind of cold that makes a mouse question his life choices. The kind that freezes cheese solid, which frankly feels personal.

My wife whispered, “Ted, do you think they know we have a family?”

I shook my head. Humans never consider the family unit. They see one mouse and assume bachelor. No mortgage. No responsibilities. No three children who all refuse to eat the same crumbs.

The twins argue constantly.

“Why does he get the bigger crumb?”

“Because he found it.”

“That’s capitalism.”

Little Beatrice licks outlets, so we watch her closely.

Every night I venture out on reconnaissance missions. I wear my bravest face. I dodge the broom like it is a medieval weapon, because it is. I whisper encouragement to myself.

“For warmth. For family. For slightly stale cereal.”

Sometimes I hear you walking in at night, padding softly, checking corners. I hold my breath. You hold yours. It is a strange standoff, built on mutual suspicion and socks.

But listen. We mean no harm.

We clean up what falls. We appreciate your cooking. We admire your dishwasher. We tell stories about you under there, you know. Big stories. Heroic stories. The Giant Who Moves Mountains (and dishwashers).

We just need to survive this winter.

Spring will come. The snow will melt. The dishwasher will move back. We will retire to the walls like ghosts of crumbs past.

Until then, if you hear tiny footsteps at midnight, please understand.

That is not chaos.

That is just a father doing his best in the harshest winter in decades, living under a dishwasher, hoping the cheese drawer overflows again soon.

Respectfully,

Ted
Mouse. Family man. Survivor.

The Struggle is Real was originally published in New Writers Welcome on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I write satire about work, ambition, and staying human in the AI economy. My fiction lives where the org chart meets the absurd. Ensemble casts, sharp humor, warm center. This page is the map.

The book

Six Feet Apart: Love in Quarantine is a satirical novella I wrote at the start of the pandemic, part social commentary, part surreal adventure, with original songs now streaming on Spotify. I wrote it with a wink, though an unsettling amount of it turned out to echo real events. Find it under the Books tab or at any book retailer.

Fiction

The Unkindness of Strangers. The story of Edward Livingston, a man with every credential except the one he suddenly needs. A later version of this story, retitled “Above It All,” was named a Flash Fiction finalist in the New Millennium Writing Awards 60.

The Struggle is Real. Modern life, quiet survival, and something happening under the dishwasher. Published in New Writers Welcome.

Essays

How Jane Austen Predicted the Age of Influencers. Influence, attention, and belonging shaped us then and shape us now. Published in ILLUMINATION.

How Smart Phones Are Changing Our Brains Forever. What the device in your pocket is doing to the attention you used to own.

Screaming at Streaming. What are we actually paying for?

Closing:

New fiction set inside the AI economy is in progress. Follow along here, or find everything at elenagreyrock.com.

Isn’t it about time we went on strike against the Streaming platforms?

Fire Netflix!

There has been no new content in months, and even after the actors’ strike ends, it will take months for Hollywood to get back on track, producing our favorite shows and movies!

Will Reality TV be the future?

What happens when the actor’s strike is finally over? Will streaming networks continue to avoid paying actors? Survivor is now 90 minutes long, and the latest Bachelor is in his golden years. I am running out of Love Island episodes to binge on, and they date back to 1999!

Ads Everywhere

And what about the ads all over streaming? It’s like paying for cable all over again! Streaming platforms such as HBO Max, Netflix, Amazon Prime Video, Hulu, Peacock, and Discovery Plus all now feature ads. These ads appear between 3 to 4 minutes into the broadcast. The category even has an acronym: FAST (Free Ad-Supported Streaming TV).

The ads appear at the most inopportune time; you are transfixed watching an intense scene, and suddenly, the screen switches to a diaper commercial without warning.

Streaming Subscribers Are Paying the Price

Tired of limited options on streaming services due to the actor's strike? Why settle for less when we’re paying a premium? Consider going on strike and refusing to pay until we receive a fair discount on our subscriptions.

The demand for better content and no ads is what we deserve. But if you want to save a little money and can tolerate the ads here is a list of the top ad-supported streaming plan options and the number of ads they run per hour:

The Most Affordable Ad-Supported Streaming Plans

Netflix with Ads

Price: $6.99 a month
Number of ads per hour: Between four to five minutes
Free trial: No

Disney Plus with Ads

Price: $7.99 a month or $79.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: Around 5 minutes
Free trial: No

Paramount Plus with Ads

Price: $5.99 a month or $49.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: Around 5 minutes
Free trial: 7 days

Hulu with Ads

Price: $7.99 a month or $79.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: Between 12 to 14 minutes
Free trial: 30 days

HBO Max with Ads

Price: $9.99 a month or $99.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: Between 3 to 4 minutes
Free trial: No

Peacock with Ads

Price: $6.99 a month or $59.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: About 5 minutes
Free trial: 7 days

Discovery Plus with Ads

Price: $4.99 a month or $49.99 a year
Number of ads per hour: Around 3 minutes per hour
Free trial: 7 days

Til next time,
~Elena

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Screaming at Streaming! was originally published in ILLUMINATION on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.