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This is a show about a time-traveling, dimension-spanning diner that appears somewhere new in the cosmos every day. When Gloria takes a waitressing job at a diner outside Phoenix, she has no idea she just joined the staff of Midnight Burger, a place that serves coffee, conversation, and the occasional existential reckoning.
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If you love the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy, doctor who, the good place, or everything everywhere all at once, this show will be right up your alley. Midnight Burger has been called a must-listen indie podcast by the Guardian, and has over eight million downloads. It was nominated for a 2024 Ambio Ward, and season four is happening right now.
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The Shopify today. Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com/nothingmuch. Get a Shopify.com/nothingmuch that's Shopify.com/nothingmuch. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothingmuch happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Katherine Nikolai, I write and read all the stories you hear on nothingmuch happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Woodersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to frosted faces foundation. They deliver the promise of family and comprehensive veterinary care for senior pets, whose
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We can help you regulate your nervous system, and make doing so a reliable part of your
wine down each night. All you need to do is listen. The rest will happen automatically.
“I'll tell them the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.”
If you wake later in the night, just press play again. Our story tonight is called soap bubbles and sidewalks, and it's a story about some spring cleaning, done in fresh air.
It's also about a curtain, shifting near and open window, a hose and a bucket, old CDs
and the glove box, clean that goes all the way into the corners, and the energy that returns when spring does. I'm very selective about skin care, especially anything that promises big results. I want it to feel good on my skin, fit in easily with my routine, and actually be backed by real science.
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Push off your light, put down anything you've been looking at or working on. You have looked at a screen for the last time today. Let it sink in that you are in bed, and that there is nothing left to do, but rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice, one more time in and out.
Good. So bubbles and sidewalks. When I was a kid, and spring cleaning came around, I'm sure I'd moaned and grown, dragged my feet on my way to clean out the lost toys and stuffed animals from under my bed. The urgency to deep clean, to get all the way into the corners, and reset the house to
zero. Wasn't mine, it was my parents. As a kid, cleaning served only to take me away from something else I wanted to do, and besides, seemed pointless. The clutter would return anyway.
Now that I am the grown-up in the equation, I understand the urgency. The way a house can become noisy, with its need to be tended to. How satisfying, clearing out the old, and resetting a space can be. How eager one can become after a few months without being able to really do the job properly.
The winter had been long and cold, and to me, a house never feels clean until it is flooded
With fresh air, and if at all possible, sunshine.
This weekend had already proven to be immensely rewarding and productive.
“The snow had melted away completely, and the days were warm enough to open the doors”
and windows, at least for a few hours. I cleaned out drawers and washed all the bedding, which had dried on the line and come in smelling a fresh spring air. The fridge had been wiped down and cleared out of expired condiments. The shelves reorganized and tidy.
Windows were washed, floors mopped, book shelves dusted.
I'd even, finally, driven over to the charity shop, and dropped off the bags of
clothes and household bits. I'd been meaning to donate for months.
“They'd been rolling around in my back seat.”
Since a snowstorm had shut us indoors for a few days just after the new year. Every weekend I'd meant to drop them off, but forgotten.
And now I finally had, when I pulled back into the driveway, the house barcult in the sunlight.
All those clean windows, almost winking at me in the bright light. I'd opened all of them on the second floor, and I could see the thin cotton curtains of my bedroom, twisting and floating in the breeze. I took deep breaths, knowing that the whole house would feel reinvigorated by the time I closed them up tonight.
Now that my inside work was done, and the fresh air so sweet, I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon outdoors. And with my back seat empty, I knew which chore to turn to next. I clicked the button on my visor, and watched as the garage door rolled slowly up into place.
I would connect the hose, fill a bucket with soapy water, and give the car its first bath
of the spring. I might even get out the vacuum, and properly clean the mats and foot wells, suddenly excited by the plan, in a way my childhood self would have been flabbergasted by. I rooted through the garage, looking for everything I would need. I found one of those giant sponges that are so fun to squeeze out, a half-full bottle of
dish soap, and some clean rags to dry with. When I hooked up the hose, twisted on the nozzle, I got lost for a few minutes, rinsing the front walkway, watching the rivulettes of water, cutting paths through the dust, and dirt left behind when the snow melted. The scent of hose water, that minerally rubber-smell made me smile, remembering playing
with the hose on hot days when we were little.
“Wet sidewalks and wearing your swimsuit at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday, because why not?”
Squeeze a good bit of soap into my bucket, and fill it with water from the hose, and before I plunged the sponge in for the first time, decided to be smart and tug off my sweatshirt. Even in early spring, the air, which had felt cool at first, was warming up.
One would probably have me sweating, after a few minutes of work.
Then lather, rinse, repeat for a while.
“I leaned in close to admire the shimmering colors in the soap bubbles.”
I knew it had something to do with the way the light hit the outer film of a bubble. But it overlapped with the light bouncing off its inside wall, creating interference. Then as the film slid and wobbled, the bubble became thicker in some spots, and thinner
in others, and all of that created a tiny polychromatic lather on the passenger door that
appeared and disappeared, depending on the direction I swept my sponge.
“Layers of dirt and street salt came away, and I laughed thinking that I'd nearly forgotten”
what color my car was under all of that. I pulled out the floor mats and laid them in the driveway to hose them off. When the water ran clear, I draped them over the porch railings to let them drip dry. In the glove box, I found a couple CDs, which I'd been moving from car to car for the last 20 years. This car didn't even have a CD player, but it didn't feel right to drive
“around without them. They were mixes made by an old friend, and I sat in the passenger”
seat for a few minutes, reading through the songs, thinking about the summer we'd driven up north for a few hours, then back again just to have something to do. These had played the whole way. In the seat pockets, I found a pair of mittens, or rather two mittens that weren't the pair, but could team up in a moment of need. Common law mittens, I suppose. Under the driver's seat, I found a hair clip I'd been looking
for for ages, and from what I could tell, every lip balm I'd ever owned. I cleaned out receipts and coffee sleeves, dusted and wiped the dash, and even remembered
to put the first aid kit, my uncle had sent all of us cousins for Christmas into the trunk.
Across the street, my neighbors were raking dead leaves out from under their headrow. A lawnmower started in a backyard. Kids yelled the rules of a game from the end of the lock. After months of nearly everything being slowed down, are made just a little more difficult by the short days, and the continuous cold. The ease of warm weather was returning, and tonight I would sleep in a clean house on fresh sheets. So bubbles and sidewalks.
When I was a kid, and spring cleaning came around, I'm sure I'd moaned and grown, dragged my feet on my way to clean out the lost toys and stuffed animals from under my bed. After all the urgency to deep clean, to get all the way into the corners, and reset the house
To zero, wasn't mine.
from something else I wanted to do, and besides, seemed pointless. The clutter would return
“anyway. Now that I am the grown-up in the situation, I understand the urgency.”
The way a house can become noisy, with its need to be tended to. How satisfying, clearing out the old, and resetting a space can be, and how eager one can become. After a few months without being able to really do the job properly, the winter had been long and cold,
“and to me, a house never feels clean, until it is flooded with fresh air, and if at”
all possible, sunshine. This weekend had already proven to be immensely rewarding, and productive. The snow had melted completely, and the days were warm enough to open the doors, and windows, at least for a few hours. My cleaned out drawers, and washed all the
“bedding, which had dried on the line, and come in smelling of spring air.”
The fridge had been wiped down, and cleared out of expired condiments. The shelves reorganized,
tidy. Windows were washed, floors mopped, book shelves dusted, and even finally, driven
over to the charity shop, and dropped off the bags of clothes, and household bits. I'd been meaning to donate for months. They'd been ruling around in my backseat, since a snowstorm had shut us indoors for a few days just after the new year. Every weekend, I'd meant
to drop them off, but forgotten. And now, I'd finally done it.
When I pulled back into the driveway, the house parkled in the sunlight, all those clean windows, almost winking at me in the bright light. I'd opened all of them on the second floor, and I could see the thin cotton curtains of my bedroom, twisting and floating in the breeze. I took deep breaths, knowing that the whole house would feel reinvigorated. By the time
I closed them up tonight.
I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon outdoors, and now with my backseat empty.
“I knew just which chore to turn to next. I clicked the button on my visor, and watched,”
as the garage door, slowly rolled up into place. I would connect the hose, fill a bucket with
soapy water, and give the car its first bath of the spring. I might even get the vacuum out,
and properly clean the mats, and foot wells. Suddenly, excited by the plan, in a way my
“childhood self would have been flabbergasted by. I rooted through the garage, looking for everything”
I would need. I found one of those giant sponges that are so fun to squeeze out. I have full bottle of dish soap, and some clean rags to dry with. When I hooked up the hose, and twisted the nozzle on. I got lost for a few minutes, rinsing the front walkway,
“and there's the feeling of water, cutting paths through the dust, and dirt left behind when the snow melted.”
Of hose water, that minerally rubber smell made me smile, remembering playing with the hose on hot days when we were little wet sidewalks, and wearing your swimsuit at 9 a.m. on the Tuesday, because why not? I squeezed a good bit of soap into my bucket,
and filled it with water from the hose. And before I plunged the sponge in for the first time,
decided to be smart, and tug off my sweatshirt, even in early spring air, which had felt cool at first. The sun was warming me up, and would probably have me sweating after a few minutes of work. Then, lather, rins, repeat for a while. I leaned in close to admire the shimmering colors and the soap bubbles. I knew it had something to do with the way the light hit the outer film of a bubble that it overlapped with the light bouncing off the inside wall, creating interference.
Then, as the film slid and wobbled, it became thicker in some spots and thinn...
And all of that created a tiny polychromatic lather on the passenger door
“that appeared and disappeared, depending on the direction I swept my sponge.”
Layers of dirt and street salts came away, and I laughed, thinking that I'd nearly forgotten
what color my car was under all of that. I pulled out the floor mats and laid them in the
driveway to hose them off. When the water ran clear, my draped them over the porch railings
“and let them drip dry in the glove box. I found a couple old CDs, which I'd been moving from”
car to car for the last 20 years. This car didn't even have a CD player, but it didn't feel right to drive around without them. They were mixes made by a friend, and I sat in the passenger seat for a few minutes, reading through the songs, thinking about the summer,
“we'd driven up north for a few hours, and then back again, just to have something to do,”
these had played the whole way. In the seat pockets, I found a pair of mittens, or rather two mittens that weren't a pair, but could team up in a moment of need common law mittens, my supposed. Under the driver's seat, I found a hair clip, I'd been looking for ages, and from what I could tell, every lip balm, I'd ever owned. I cleaned out receipts, and coffee sleeves, dusted, and wiped the dash.
And even remembered to put the first aid kit, my uncle had sent to all of us cousins for Christmas
into the trunk. Across the street, my neighbors were raking dead leaves out from under their headrow. Along more, started in a backyard. Kids yell to the rules of a game from the end of the block. After months of nearly everything, being slowed down, or made just a little more difficult by the short days, and the constant cold. The ease of warm weather was returning, and tonight, I would sleep in a clean house on fresh sheets, sweet dreams.
