“Hey, great game Dion,” congratulated Pablo, the janitor who cleaned up the locker room after games. “I keep telling my son, if he wants to learn how to do a stepback, all he has to do is watch you.” He was leaning on his mop now, reliving his memories of his son’s basketball exploits.
Dion nodded happily. “Yeah, absolutely. I got it down cold.”
An unknown third voice suddenly entered the conversation. “Andre Roberson’s stepback is way better than yours, Dion.”
Looking around to find the source of the voice, Dion couldn’t see anybody. “Yo Pablo, did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
The same voice spoke again. It seemed to be coming from somewhere near their feet. “Your team would be in much better shape if you had been able to utilize Perkins’ elite passing ability. Instead, you traded him for that Mexican guy, Enes Kanter.”
“Kanter’s not Mexican,” Dion responded.
Pablo looked up in surprise. “He sure as hell ain’t, but what’s that gotta do with anything?”
“You don’t hear that voice?” Dion asked. “Somebody just said that Kanter was Mexican and that Perkins is an elite passer.”
“You gotta get your ears checked, man,” Pablo said, shaking his head.
Dion happened to be glancing at the janitor’s bucket when a pair of lips formed on it. He rubbed his eyes in surprise, but the mouth remained. It was the bucket that was saying these things! As Dion watched, the lips began to move:
“There is no scientific consensus on global warming. LeBron James has never deserved the MVP award. Two plus two equals five. Nickelback is one of the leading innovators of music in this millennium.”
“BUCKETS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO LIE!” Dion wailed, covering his ears with his hands as Pablo looked on in alarm. Still, the voice continued to tell falsehoods, a yammering cacophony that blocked out all rational thoughts.
“I gotta get going,” Pablo said warily, putting away his mop and pushing his bucket away from the locker room. “See ya.” The bucket’s voice got softer and softer, until finally, it dissipated completely.
Dion slumped onto the floor, head in his hands. He knew that men lied, and that women lied. Buckets, however, were not supposed to lie. If they did, what was real in the world anymore?