Would Marion Crane have survived that deadly shower if she had been in the 21st century?
With barely a bar of soap, poor Marion never had a chance…
Marion stepped into the shower and twisted the sleek Moen tap. A spritz of water began raining down on her. Marion adjusted the waterproof radio to an oldies station. Even though she was a modern gal, she had a strange love for an era long gone…Soon, the shower curtain was blurry, and she was in her own world.
Little did she know, her attacker was coming
From her bath bag, which contained a loofah, shampoo, conditioner, pumice stone, bladeless razor and other bath essentials, Marion took out a depilatory. Even though it promised a wonderful new Tahitian Breeze scent, it still had a rank, sulphurous odour. Oh well, at least it worked.
Norman stepped into the bathroom in his 'Mother' costume. The room was hot and humid, and Norman was already calculating how much money in hot water this girl was using. He better kill her quick.
Getting to the shower was not an easy task. His granny slippers were not gripping the slippery floor, and his wig was dropping into his face from the heat. He grabbed the sink and took a minute to put himself together.
Meanwhile, Marion was shaving the cream off her legs with a pink, bladeless razor. Even the dull edge of the plastic irritated her skin, but she was determined to make the most of it. Satisfied, she threw the razor into the general direction of the sink. She'd clean it later. Besides, she'd had enough of that smell.
Norman had just hitched up his dress and steadied the knife when an unidentified pink object came hurtling toward him. Before he could duck, it hit him in the face.
Norman dropped the knife and cried out in pain as the chemical cream seeped into his eyes. How he wished his mother had worn glasses! He turned on the sink and frantically washed his eyes.
Marion was disturbed. First her radio was malfunctioning, and had switched from an oldies station to some sort of death metal, screeching music. And now, someone was using up the cold water, and her shower was unbearably hot. She'd take it up with the creepy motel guy later. Maybe if he spent less time stuffing birds, he could manage a functioning motel. Angrily, she yanked the tap to cold.
Norman sighed with relief. The cool water had gently washed out the cream, and though his eyes were very pink, he could see well enough.
Well enough to ki—
Aagh! Searing hot water on his wounded eyes! Norman sank to the floor, gasping with pain.
Marion had just finished her second shampoo cycle of apply-rinse-repeat and now applied her conditioner. She slid it down the hair shaft, flattening the cuticles. That made it shiny.
Norman was seething with rage. No longer did his male side feel attraction to this girl, but his desire to kill was stronger than ever. He grabbed the knife and got up.
Marion's shower was finished. All that was left was to blow-dry her hair. Even in the 21st century, it's dangerous to blow-dry one's hair near water. Still, Marion was light-headed from the shaving cream fumes, and there was a very tempting outlet right next to the shower…
Norman expertly wiped the condensation off the knife. He reached for the shower curtain.
Marion half-pulled the curtain aside and plugged in the dryer.
Norman whisked the rest of the curtain aside.
Marion turned the dryer on.
The radio station went dun dun DUN DUN dun dun DUN DUN….
Water and electricity go zap. A conductor such as, oh, let's say, stainless steel also goes zap.
The blow-dryer and knife went zap.
Marion and Norman went zap.
The loofah lay on the floor.