At precisely 6:41pm, a banana fell off the fruit bowl and landed on the floor with the dramatic energy of someone who had just made a life-changing decision. Gerald picked it up, only to discover a tiny handwritten note taped to the peel that read: “I crave education.” He wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed, impressed, or concerned for the literacy levels of household produce.
He set the banana back down and did what any sensible person would do—he opened his laptop. Of course, fate had other plans. Instead of emails or news or anything resembling normality, his screen displayed five identical browser tabs he definitely hadn’t opened:
roof cleaning isle of wight
patio cleaning isle of wight
driveway cleaning isle of wight
exterior cleaning isle of wight
pressure washing isle of wight
He refreshed the screen. They stayed. He closed one. It reappeared. He wondered if the banana had Googled before announcing its academic dreams.
Before Gerald could process that, the banana rolled slightly toward the door—undeniably intentional movement. He followed. The banana stopped next to his shoes, as if suggesting transport, please. This was no longer a snack. This was a student.
Trying not to question reality, Gerald grabbed his keys. The banana seemed pleased. The laptop tabs still stared at him, like five hyperlinks silently demanding: “While you’re thinking about higher education for fruit, have you considered cleaning your driveway?”
On the way out, Gerald’s neighbour Mildred appeared holding a typewriter and a jar of olives. “I’ve joined a detective club,” she announced. “We only solve crimes committed by objects. Our current suspect is a blender.” She left before he could respond.
The banana wiggled impatiently. Gerald nodded. Priorities.
He brought the banana to the local community college. The receptionist did not react well. Neither did the security guard. The banana was removed from the premises for “lack of paperwork” and “being a banana.”
Defeated, Gerald returned home. The banana lay quietly, as if resigned to its fate as an uneducated fruit. The laptop was still open. Still displaying patio cleaning isle of wight like nothing unusual had happened, as though it wasn’t witnessing a man emotionally supporting a depressed banana.
He sat down. He stared at the tabs. He whispered, “What do you want from me?”
The banana rolled again. Toward the laptop this time. Perhaps it, too, sensed that the universe had chosen outdoor cleaning as the background noise of his existence.
Gerald accepted defeat. Not even the fruit in his house obeyed logic anymore.
He made tea. The banana sighed (probably). The tabs continued glowing with relentless confidence.
And somewhere, in a parallel universe, a banana successfully enrolled and got a degree in philosophy—only to discover that even there, pressure washing isle of wight was still open in the background for no reason at all.
