Ice Tray.

"You didn't empty the tray! You didn't empty the tray of all the ice cubes before filling it back up!"

I shrug at the shrieking man, and say: "so what", before putting the plastic tray back in the fridge. He falls down on the ground and starts convulsing. I'd call an ambulance, but I think he is faking.

"You are faking," I inform him. He repeats, through chokes and gurgles and whimpers, "old ice, old ice, old ice". His eyes are rolled back into his head and are dripping yellow, oily tears that leave slick discolored tracks down his cheeks.

Maybe he isn't faking, but anyway I have to get to my Bikram yoga class, so I take the keys from the bowl and turn off the lights on my way out.