All For You [New Girl]

11. Rock Candy

Winston was, in fact, working on his rock candy and that did, in fact, mean staring at it intently for a long period of time. Even better, he was staring at the side of the opaque pot as if it were a fish tank.

"Staring at it isn't going to make it go any faster," Claire said. Winston looked up.

"You're here! You're out!"

"Indeed, I am. How is that supposed to work?"

"Well, I put water in the pot. And I put sugar in the water. And I put string in the water," he said, and Claire was certain he was going to say something else, but that turned out to be the end of that thought. Luckily for them, or maybe unluckily, the silence didn't last long. Soon it became the sound of emergency sirens, swelling and waning. It wasn't an unusual sound in L.A., especially not where they lived. But every crest was louder than the last and soon it triggered the obvious in Claire.

"Oh, crap! The firefighters!" she remembered, "What do I say to them?"

"Ask them if they can get the raccoon out of your apartment."

"There's a raccoon in her apartment?" Winston asked.

"There's a raccoon in my apartment?" she echoed loudly.

"I didn't want to stress you out more."

"How could- Nevermind. I'm going to go to the coffee shop and get my muffin. Can you deal with them? Pretty please?"

"Sure."

And she was gone. Winston took this opportunity to talk about his project.

"I've been reading candy making blogs online-"

"You gotta get a hobby, man," Nick said.

"This is my hobby."

"Then get a better one. I'm going to talk to the fire people."

"L.A.'s bravest," Winston called.

"L.A.'s latest," Nick corrected. Nonchalantly, he went to talk to the men in red. He explained the situation and asked them to deal with the wild animal in Claires room that was probably raiding her friend with its tiny human hands. They said the LAFD didn't deal with pest control. Nick told them this was their chance to try something new. They said they'd rather not. Nick, increasingly angry, told them that they had just left a woman abandoned in an elevator for six hours despite repeated promises to come to her aid, and the least they could do for her was basic raccoon removal. He may have also indicated that he had no qualms about taking to the local news for a human interest story that would reflect rather poorly on the fire department. That last part worked. It turned out "damsel in distress" wasn't the only card to be played.

When he returned, Winston was in the exact same position.

"Seriously, man? Still? You have got to let it go. Either it'll happen or it won't."

"You can't just wait for things to happen, Nick. You know what they say, 'A watched pot boils way faster than a not-watched pot.'"

"Nobody says that."

"Can you put the pot on the balcony? I want the water to evaporate sooner."

"Why don't you do it?" Winston scoffed.

"Because it's bad luck to carry the pot before the tasting," he said, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say.

"Okay, I'll do it so that you stop staring at an inanimate object, but if you make up one more expression I'm drug testing you."

Then there was peace. That peace lasted all of two minutes. Just enough time for Nick to put two pieces of bread in the toaster and push the spring-loaded lever down. Just enough time for Winston to walk out on the balcony to continue staring at his experiment.

In a day full of sounds, there was another. It was a deep metallic thunk, like the chime of the   Liberty Bell. Like someone had run full force into a gong. Like a pot had fallen off a balcony. Winston looked at Nick. Nick looked at Winston. They both looked at the rock candy experiment. It was gone.

Nick's toasted popped up.

"What the hell!" came a cry. None other than Claire conveyed sincerely her disgust and confusion from below. The pot hadn't hit her, but it's contents had. And even without a direct impact, a stainless steel pot falling from the sky was pretty disorienting.

"Why'd you put it on the railing?" Winston whisper-shouted.

"So it would be closer to the sun!"

"Schmidt's going to kill us. That was his Argentinian stewing pot."

"Us? There is no us. This is all you."

"You put a pot. On the railing of a balcony."

"And?"

"Nobody fear, Schmidt is here," the man himself announced, unaware he was interrupting anything. His suit was sharp as a tack and he stood like a menswear model, attempting to command their attention.

"I've figured out the theme for this year's Thanksgiving. Chillgrim's Day. A low-key but stylish gathering of close friends. The dress code is business casual. The color scheme is Autumn Foliage." He sounded like he was pitching a tv show.

"Chillgrim's Day?" Nick echoed distantly.

"Like Pilgrim's Day. 4D only! Plus Claire. I've already sent out the e-vites."

"Why are you sending e-vites? We all live in this building."

"What's business casual, again?" Winston asked, "Is that, like, khakis?"

"Winston, I'm begging you, read a fashion magazine."

"Canadian suits?" Winston tried again, "Is that business casual?" Schmidt looked at the ceiling like he was having an exasperated discussion with God.

"I've always wanted a Canadian suit," Winston said. In the background, the front door swung open. It was so quiet that Nick almost didn't notice it. But when he did, his eyes went wide. He had the momentary urge to make a run for it. But it was too late. She was already there, eyes stone cold like Medusa. There was no escape.