I couldn’t believe she didn’t even have a lawnmower too, so I was forced to hunker down and begin snapping at the blades of grass with the blunt shears, all the while cursing and grunting to myself.
“Make sure you get every corner,” she called out from the comfort of her lounger. “Get right in there. Right up against the bricks. I don’t want to see any mess or bits of unkempt grass left over. If you’re going to do this in leu of your fine, then you better do a good job.”
I grit my teeth and ignored her, my lower back already hurting as I scraped the shears up against the bricks in my attempt to get every blade of grass puffing out. My blouse was already sticking to my skin from the sweat of effort, and my boots were caked in mud, but apparently, that meant nothing to Carol.
“Did you hear me?” she called out.
“Yes,” I said back in a rather short manner. “I heard you.”
“Is that how you’re speaking to me now, is it? When I give you an opportunity to work your way out of your penalty.” She blew a petulant raspberry with her lips. “I’ve never allowed anyone else to do this. They all accept they were in the wrong and pay their fines immediately. You should be a bit more appreciate of the chance I’ve given you.” She shook her head and continued reading her book.
I stopped mid-cut with the shears as her ludicrous musings grated at me. I should be grateful for being allowed to clear up her yard? Her arrogance and entitlement were ridiculous, but I guess it wasn’t unexpected with her self-importance. I mean, she felt like she had the right to interfere in everyone’s homes and choices, and now she felt like she had the right to order me around. Still, her words just had a way of twisting things, almost like she was an expert at gaslighting and making me feel bad. I knew she was full of shit too, since my neighbour had told me all about the tyre incident. But I just wanted to get the work done, clear the fine, and get the hell out of there. Mostly, I just didn’t want to hear her annoying voice anymore. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, hoping to put an end to her exhausting monologue. “I heard you, ma’am.” The sarcasm was obvious within my own head.
“Good,” she said while turning the page; her toes wiggling at the end of the lounger as she stretched them out and gripped at the material. “Now, stop bothering me and do your work. The garden isn’t going to take care of itself.”
I turned back to her, astonished once more that I was being made out to be the bother, but this time, I bit my tongue, instead feeling a warm flush flow through me at being spoken to in such a belittling way. It cut straight through to my pride, and it angered me immensely that I wasn’t able to retort or defend myself. I felt trapped, and unable to adequately defend myself, fearing that any witty riposte would only worsen my plight. Instead, something inside me made me respond to such arrogance with deference. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and immediately I was overcome by a warm and fuzzy sensation that made me involuntarily flinch in a shudder. It felt so wrong to address someone you disliked with that level of respect, but I felt like I had no choice. I felt like I’d been backed into a corner.
Her behaviour was deathly offensive to me, and pretty much represented the arrogant selfishness and belief of every Karen I’d ever seen on the internet and all those I’d encountered first hand. At work, I’d go along with their complaints, because I was being paid. Yet, now I was suffering one where I lived and I was no longer reacting in the way I’d expect. Instead of recording her while she embarrassed herself with her immature, petulant demands, and sharing it for the world to laugh at, here I was praising her for it and following her demanding instructions. Despite it killing me inside, I was still crouched down and tending to her lawn while replying to her with respect. The more I thought about it, and how I had no choice, the more unfair it felt, and the warmer and more anxious I became. “Yes, ma’am,” I said again without even thinking, as if to test the waters of my body’s reaction; a feeling of shame immediately ripping through my pride. I saw in my periphery vision that Carol had glanced up from her book, her eyes squinting at my inconvenience of bothering her read instead of doing my apparent new job.
“Much better attitude,” she said, “but be quiet now, and do your work in silence. I don’t want you interrupting me again.”
I gulped as my face reddened at being overheard, and I dropped my head at being castigated as if I was a naughty child. Instead of reacting, as I knew I should have, I remained quiet, following her instructions to a tee while using my frustrations to energise myself into working my way through the grass. In the baking sun, the heat became quite unbearable, and the longer I worked, the more I found my clothes becoming sweaty and my boots scraped and dirty.
Meanwhile, Carol was relaxing carefree, enjoying the sun as it lightly-tanned her skin. However, she too began to notice that we were experiencing a hotter day than expected, and while I was lumping a bag of shorn grass passed her, I heard her sigh and whine, “It’s too hot.” She covered her eyes with her hand, before arrogantly snapping her fingers at me. “Are you busy?”
I blinked while clutching the bag, before glancing down at what I was doing at that moment. My forehead had a sheen of sweat and my hair had become matted to my skin. I couldn’t even process whether she was asking a serious question or just mocking me; obviously I was freakin’ busy as hell, doing her grunt work while she lazed around in the sun. “Yes?” I asked, while looking back at the cut and now neatly levelled lawn. “I’ve been working for over an hour, you’ve seen, right?”
Rather than being impressed, Carol rolled her eyes impatiently, then snapped her fingers once more, before pointing to a parasol a few feet away. “Come here and move this for me so I can sit in the shade while I monitor your work. I’m starting to burn, but I can’t go inside because the first instant I stop supervising you, I know you’ll go all workshy.”
“I won’t…” I felt mildly offended at the connotation of being lazy, and my first instinct had been to defend myself. However, I’d trailed off while Carol’s attention had gone fully back to her book. She’d snapped her fingers and summoned me like I was her trained lackey, before ordering me to perform another task while dishing out an insult to my work ethic. Now, she’d simply returned to her book and expected me to accept her disdain and perform her instruction without question. Inside, I was fuming at the way she was treating me, showing no gratitude at all for the work I’d already done. Yet, there was something else growing inside me, and the way she was treating me without regard was bringing butterflies to my tummy for a reason I didn’t understand. I’d had people be rude to me in the past, but none had belittled me in such a way, and shown no concern for my own feelings. It was as if the more she realised I wasn’t opposing her, the more of a Karen she became. She could have easily got up and moved the damn parasol umbrella herself; I was busy and exhausted enough as it was.
Will there a part 2?