It’s Good for the Environment

How does a couple get away with murder? Find out by clicking below!

Warning: Some foul language

It’s Good for the Environment (Satire)

 

 

 

If Karen wasn’t such a cheap ass, Maria would still be alive. But instead, she saw that fixing the chandelier would be costly and requested that Michael, her fiancé, utilize his mediocre skills to make sure the heavy chandelier would stay in place. Michael ended up forgetting, of course, since Karen had insisted on this while he played Call of Duty. So poor Maria walks right under the deadly housekeeper trap and looks up to see the chandelier fall, Dios mío barely escaping her lips. If only Michael and Karen weren’t participating in YouTube Zumba, the chandelier wouldn’t have fallen on Maria, but Karen, being the cheap ass that she is, didn’t want to spend money on a gym membership.

Once Karen and Michael get down stairs, they see their housekeeper, dead, with a pool of blood crawling from beneath her. Karen screams and then starts blubbering about the broken chandelier and how expensive it is while Michael grabs his phone. Too bad Karen doesn’t want the police involved. She’s certain King Soopers has her on camera stealing glazed donuts and blueberry muffins from the bakery from time to time. Dumb shit Michael agrees since he doesn’t want his fiancé in prison. They decide to take a trip to the store to clean up the mess. Michael reasons that no one cares about Maria except her three kids and doting husband. They’ll fend for themselves and get back on their feet like the rest of us hard working Americans, he says.

Let’s fast-forward to the grocery store, where the lovely young couple…gets even more annoying.

“Just keep calm,” Michael says, rubbing Karen’s shoulder. “We need to get something to clean it all up and then everything will go back to normal.”

“Sounds expensive,” Karen mumbles, her teeth practically chattering from fear. I mean, why you two would pick the place Karen likes to steal from is beyond me. Way to keep a low profile….Carry on.

“You act like we don’t have money,” Michael huffs, unbuckling his seatbelt like an angry little boy who just became an accomplice to a crime that could’ve been resolved if they had just called the police.

Karen gets out of the car and smiles tightly at the old woman walking from her car. “I should’ve brought a wig,” she whispers, almost tippy-toeing to Michael.

“You don’t need a wig,” Michael replies as they walk to the King Soopers entrance.

They head to the cleaning supplies aisle and begin to peruse different sides. One has all the planet-friendly products and the other, at least twenty brand name products.

“Karen, what’re you doing?” Michael demands, seeing his wife pick up a bottle of bleach.

“What do you mean?” Karen cries. “Bleach disinfects everything.”

“What about Green Clean?” Michael asks, picking up a large green bottle. “I get their stuff all the time.”

“Michael, don’t you see the price?” Karen hisses. “It’s two dollars more than the bleach!”

Michael tries to consider Karen’s upbringing as the cause of her extreme frugality. A middle-class family who could only eat asparagus on the weekends.

“Karen…you don’t have to worry about it, I’ve got it,” Michael assures her. “How are we gonna enjoy our marriage if the earth is rotting away? We have to take care of it, okay?”

Karen frowns like someone who just swept their dead housekeeper under the kitchen table. “Michael. We can’t spend money like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Babe, I understand that,” Michael agrees, though not really, “but there won’t be a tomorrow if we keep getting things like Clairox Bleach.”

“So, let’s forget about the fact that bleach cleans everything like a charm. Fine, Green Clean,” Karen snaps, grabbing the green jug and dropping it into the cart.

The jug has never been so abused in its life and cracks under the pressure. Clear goop begins to ooze from the bottle and onto the ground.

“Shit,” Karen gasps. She looks around to see if anyone has seen what she’s done. “Oh my gahd, I need a donut.”

“Wha…” Michael quickly picks up the broken jug and grabs a package of recycled napkins. He splays some of the napkins on the floor and places the leaking jug there because that’s what accomplices do. They compromise shit. When he looks up, he can’t find Karen, so he grabs a new bottle of Clean Green Wood Cleaner & Shine and puts it in the cart. As a man and his squirming toddler walk by, Michael begins to whistle and walk off.

“Daddy, what’s that on the floor?” the little boy asks.

“I don’t know, Devon, let’s go tell someone,” the man answers with one of those cheesy voices adults use for children.

“Oh! Kayyy!” the boy shouts.

Karen—because she feels donuts shouldn’t cost sixty cents—grabs a donut and downs it while teenagers, probably from a nearby high school, grab a few and drop it into a bag. Let’s be honest, they have eight donuts, but they’re probably only gonna pay for two. Hence the rising donut prices. Karen gets angry at this, but says nothing.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Michael asks, breaking Karen from her judgmental observation of the teens. “We need to hurry up.”

Karen follows Michael back to the cleaning supplies area, a yellow hazard sign now sitting near the Clean Green products.

“We also need gloves,” Karen states, grabbing the reusable gloves near the mop. She pauses and then puts them down to pick up the cloudy white disposable ones, a lot cheaper.

Michael purses his lips. “Why not the ones we can keep reusing?”

Karen steps closer to him. “Why the hell,” she whispers murderously, “would you want to get reusable gloves to clean up a body?”

Michael considers. “Oh…true. We should try and find recycled ones.”

“Ugh, I don’t have time,” Karen growls, grabbing a black bucket. “We need trash bags.”

The couple strolls over to the section with trash bags and Karen reaches for the cheapest one, store brand.

“No, stop,” Michael says, pushing Karen’s hand away from the shelf. “We need heavy duty ones, Karen. Those’ll rip.”

Michael and Karen make awkward eye contact with the woman grabbing the cheap trash bags. She quickly looks away and hurries off, wondering why this couple is staring at her.

“I think we have everything except the broom,” Michael says, grabbing a broom.

“Wait, how much is it?” Karen asks.

Michael scoffs. “I’m paying for it, don’t worry.”

Karen sighs, frustration lining her forehead. “I hate consumerism. I miss the old days where you could make your own shit. It was so simple.”

“Don’t stress out about it,” Michael replies. He’s probably looking for a bucket made of recycled materials, but with no luck. “Okay, this is it.”

“I haven’t cleaned anything in so long,” Karen murmured. “Stopped getting chores after moving out.”

“Everything’ll be fine,” Michael assures her.

But he says it with an unnoticeable stutter. At least she’s cleaned before. Michael didn’t have to clean anything his whole life, relying on women in uniforms to do it for him as long as they were paid to stay afloat.

The couple head to the counter to pay for everything, avoiding the accumulating line at Self-Checkout.

“Is this all f’you today, sir?” asks the clerk, his smile revealing braces and four neon green rubber bands, two on either side. He has black freckles peppering his face and a head full of thick, black hair.

“Ahm, yes,” Michael answers, shifting slightly.

“Find ever’thing alright?” the clerk continues, the beep of the scanner almost drowning the question out.

“Ahm, yes,” Michael responds, shifting his feet again.

“I’s a beautiful day, ain’ it? Afte’ all the col’ weather,” the clerk remarks innocently.

“Hey, dude, I’m in a rush,” Michael grumbles.

The smile on the employee’s face melts, only the braces remaining. “S-sorry,” he utters.

“No, it’s…okay. I’m…just running late,” Michael says, clearing his throat.

“He’s having a bad day,” Karen adds, managing a half smile.

The clerk hardly looks away from the screen. “Um, yeah, one o’ those days, I un’erstan’.”

“I’m sorry, he shouldn’t treat you that way,” Karen says, giving Michael the side eye.

“He’ll get over it. These kids deal with people like us every day,” Michael declares. “We pay their salaries. We’re the hardworking people that keep America running.”

“What an asshole,” a woman behind them snickers to the tall guy standing to her right. If only she knew the guy beyond the assholery. I mean, at least he cares for the environment.

“He’s being honest,” Karen responds before walking over to help the boy put everything in the cart.

“Right,” the woman comments, rolling her eyes. “Honey, ignore them, you don’t deserve that,” she says to the boy, who returns a miserable smile.

Michael throws everything into the cart. “Thanks, buddy,” he tells the clerk.

On the road, Michael makes sure to drive two miles below the speed limit, a smart move so that they don’t give the police a reason to stop them. Karen is brooding.

“We should’ve got actual bleach,” she grumbles, watching the trees and bushes trickle backwards. “Green Clean isn’t going to clean anything.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Michael replies, sighing. “It’s good for the environment.”

“Whatever,” Karen huffs. “I wish everything was free. Or at least more stuff for less money. Besides, why should saving the environment cost so much? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Karen, I’m the one who paid for it. Don’t worry about it.”

“WE HAVE A DEAD BODY IN OUR HOUSE AND YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT SAVING THE ENVIRONMENT,” Karen shouts. “It’s nonsense, Michael!”

Michael growls slightly and puts on his turning signal. “We’re going back for the bleach.”

Karen grabs the arm of the chair. “You can’t make a U-tu—”

The car tires make a screeching cacophony, barely missing the sidewalk as the car whirls around, hitting the back of my tire. I make a yelping sound before leaping onto the sidewalk. Well, shit. Didn’t see that coming.

“Stop the car, Michael!” Karen cries. Michael begrudgingly backs up, right into my bike, crumpling it like the old piece of metal it is.

Karen swings the door open, almost dislocating her hip to get out of the passenger side before realizing she has her seatbelt on.

“Oh my goodness, sir!” Karen whimpers, putting her hands on the top of her brown curls.

“Karen, he’s just a homeless guy,” Michael says as he puts on his emergency lights.

Karen is hyperventilating. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Do you need under the bridge? Whatdoyouneedwhatwhatwhat?”

I stare at her blankly for a second.

“Oh my gahhd, he’s brain dead!” Karen screams.

I shake my head. “No, Karen. I’m not dead.”

“HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?” Karen demands, grabbing my tattered beige jacket.

I stand to my feet and see the scrapes on my knees and arms. “Erm. Your husband said it. Can you help me pick up my cans?”

“We don’t have time,” Michael says dismissively. “I’ll get you three 12-packs of coke. Get in the car.”

“I could use some drugs,” I say as I walk over to the shiny Volkswagen Passat. Karen picks up my annihilated bike and throws it near the tall wooden fence.

“Michael, stop being so rude,” Karen retorts as she sits in the passenger seat. “Gawhd. He’s injured because of you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe his lazy ass should get a job so that he can afford his own car and not get hit by mine!” Michael argues.

“Um. You made an illegal U-Turn,” I remind him.

Michael clicks off the emergency lights and waits for a black SUV to pass. He then puts on his signal and makes his way to the middle lane.

“So. What’ve you guys been up to?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Karen answers tensely.

“Hm. Lots of cleaning stuff back here,” I remark.

Karen shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah. Spring cleaning.”

“…It’s almost fall,” I tell her.

“Never too late,” she replies, laughing nervously.

I nod slowly. “True.”

Michael sighs. “Sorry I hit you with my car,” he says, looking at the rearview mirror.

“Eh, it’s not a problem,” I say.

“How’d you end up around here?” Karen asks.

“Uh. Just. Going for a ride,” I answer with a nonchalant shrug.

“Nice.” Karen purses her lips. “Hey, just stop here at Safeway. He deserves the best coke.”

“Hell yeah,” I smile. “I meet my drug dealer here all the time.”

Karen looks back at me. “What? We’re getting you coke so that you’re set for cans.”

I pause, then recover with a chuckle. “Right. I was just messing with you.”

Karen fakes a laugh. “Oh.”

“I’ll be back,” Michael says, pulling up to the parking space by the carts. “Three 12-packs of cola coming up.”

“Sprite will do just fine,” I say.

“Okay, Sprite.” Michael gets out of the car and closes the door, silence lingering behind. His stupidity didn’t hesitate to follow him though. I know I’m not the only one wondering why Michael would leave his wife in the car with a homeless stranger.

“Man,” I say, yawning, “I could really use a donut.”

Karen stays quiet, rolling the windows down and taking the keys out of commission.

“You know. I have a secret,” I continue. “I feel like I can trust you, Karen. You look very trusty.”

Karen shifts slightly.

“I mean. I keep secrets too,” I say. “I won’t go to the police about this. And it’s because I know you’re a good person. I feel it.”

Karen turns her head to me. “Can you stop?”

“Why? You don’t wanna hear my secret?” I ask. I must be coming off as a creep. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to an actual person.

“No.” Karen crosses her arms and straightens in her seat. “Some secrets are better kept to yourself.”

“That’s why I can trust you,” I reply. “So. My secret is…I steal donuts from King Soopers.”

I hold back a laugh between my clamped mouth.

Karen turns half her body toward me, grinning. “Really? I mean, those donuts should be free. I don’t understand. We work so hard and we have to pay for donuts? It’s stupid!“

I pretend to agree with her. “Yeah! It’s nonsense! Donuts were meant to be taken! We’re entitled to it!”

I hope she can’t sense my sarcasm.

Karen smiling dissolves slowly. “I don’t know. I have secrets, but I can’t just tell anyone. You’re a homeless man for goodness sakes. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”

“Well. Your husband hit me with his car,” I say, my eyebrows arching in amusement.

Karen’s eyes dash side to side as she briefly accesses her memory. “Oh yeah.”

“But I won’t tell a soul,” I promise.

“Well, that’s good. We have to get back to cleaning soon,” Karen says. “Don’t wanna have to put in a police report, talk to insurance, and blah blah blah.”

“I’ve never met anyone who liked cleaning,” I laugh.

“Maria loved cleaning. That’s why we hired her. I mean, I wish she was a lot cheaper, but…”

“Oh, so Maria’s your housekeeper?” I question.

“Yeah,” Karen answers, her voice slightly drifting off.

“How’s she doing?” I ask.

Pause. She’s thinking to herself. I was really hoping she’d freely give me information. Goes to show that sometimes humans actually think. I wish it happened more often.

“I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” I reassure her.

“Our chandelier fell on her,” Karen responds, not much louder than a whisper.

“Oh man. Did you call the cops?” I ask. When she doesn’t answer, I say, “I mean, it’s not like you did it. It was the chandelier’s fault. So the police would help with the body. I mean…I’m guessing that’s what happened? Her family must’ve been devastated.”

Michael scurries over with three cases of Sprite.

“Cool! Cans for me!” I comment jovially.

Michael opens the door and hands the three bags to me. “If you could, I’d like to recycle the boxes,” he says.

“Um, sure,” I reply. I open each case and dump the cans into the paper bags. “I have a cart under the bridge downtown. A guy named Caleb watches it for me.”

“A friend of yours?” Karen wonders out loud.

“Yeah. No one sees Caleb like I do. But he’s cool.” I smile at her and then at the cans. “He likes to recycle.”

“Okay,” Michael remarks, the word being drawn out slowly. “Downtown next?”

I nod. “Yep.”