DO UNTO OTHERS by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

At first, Benton paid no attention to the ads in the tabloid. Those found at the checkout station of a grocery store held little interest for him. He looked at the front of the paper, known for its shock value and marveled that it showed a woman who supposedly had fifteen babies within the space of twelve hours.

A spaceship sat in someone’s yard on the second page. The headline stated: I play golf with aliens! On the back page were the usual requests for pen pals from prisons around the country. Benton grimaced. No, thank you, he said to himself.  Anyone who wrote those bozos would be asking for trouble.

His wife, Irma, had returned from grocery shopping less than an hour before, spending most of his paycheck for her purchases. This trashy paper was another one of her ways to waste money. She had piled her cart high with snacks, especially the chocolates she gobbled by the box.

Benton and Irma had not gotten along with each other for years. Lately, they were at each others’ throats almost daily. Benton was afraid they would physically fight or at least give each other a resounding slap. So far, he had restrained himself, but knew one day his temper might snap. 

Benton was stuck at a dead-end job at a donut factory, and Irma never let him forget it. He left his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor just to irritate her. He filled his ashtray with cigarette butts and then dumped them on the floor when he needed a clean ashtray. He piled dishes on the coffee table instead of taking them to the kitchen when he was finished eating.

Irma did her part by only washing dishes when it was time to make another meal. She favored take-out meals. She loved to sit on the sofa and eat chocolates while watching soap operas.

Benton was so disgusted he found a waitress to flirt with. He hoped it would lead to a wild romance to relieve his impossibly dull life. He glanced at the tabloid again. This time he saw an ad almost at the bottom of the page. Are you having a problem with your significant other? Is someone you know driving you crazy? Have you often thought there was no way out, that you are doomed to be stuck with this person for life? We have a foolproof way for you to get rid of your nuisance. Please email us at h&penterprises.com.

Hmm, Benton thought. Maybe he would give it a try.

He glanced at Irma, sitting on the sofa, her eyes glued to the television screen. A chocolate bonbon was halfway to her open mouth. If things didn’t change soon, he might email that company and see if they could help them.

Irma and Benton had no children, for which he was thankful. Irma had stopped mentioning children after being stuck for three weeks babysitting a squally two-year-old niece whose nose ran all the time. The niece’s mother had been in a car accident, and it took a while for her to heal and take possession of her child again. Benton could escape by going to work part of the time, but Irma bore the brunt of taking care of the child. She did her part, but she was glad when the mother came for the brat.

Benton was especially glad there were no children to worry about, three days later when he decided to act. One of Irma’s friends had seen Benton kissing that luscious waitress over the counter at her workplace. Of course, the dirty spy wasted no time getting to a phone to blab on Benton.

Irma was waiting for him at home. She threw a pan of hot water at him when he came through the door. Fortunately, it missed him, but Irma was on such a tear, she threw everything at him she could get her hands on. He ended up with a mound of butter stuck to his forehead. He was glad she did not throw the computer at him in her rage.

That night after she had gone to bed, Benton typed in the email address he had seen in the paper. He was able to set up a date and time to meet a Mr. Shipley. 

Shipley was a cadaverous man, over six-feet tall. He had greasy, gray hair that likely hadn’t seen a barber in six months. He had a large hump on his back that made Benton think of a turtle. He looked at Benton as they sat across each other at the Dixie Land Café, about thirty miles from where Benton lived. 

Shipley had a black case with him that he put on the table. Undoing the latches, he withdrew a contract.

“You must understand that although this program is funded by the US Government, if state or federal law finds us to be kidnappers, we could be in jail for many years. You must promise not to tell a soul anything about H&P Enterprises.”

“I won’t,” Benton promised, picking at his chef salad.

“Very well then,” replied Mr. Shipley. “Who are we talking about that you want to get rid of?” 

“It’s my wife, Irma. She’s driving me crazy.” 

“That’s usually the case,” Mr. Shipley agreed. “Your wife will be living in a space capsule that will orbit the earth for thirty years. How old is your wife?”

“She's thirty-one,” Benton told him

“That’s a good age,” Shipley replied. “If she survives her ordeal, she will still be young enough to enjoy life when she is set free. Meanwhile, you can go about your own life, even have her declared dead after seven years.  There will be very little for her to do once she is imprisoned. However, each day she must type something on a computer that is hooked up to the Government Studies System. It is a program to enable the government to find out how humans react to very little sensory stimulation. Of course, she does not have to record her thoughts every day, but if she does not, her food supply will stop.  Her meals will be fortified with vitamins and minerals. About once-a-week real food will be added to her supply. It will be on board when she is catapulted into space. Oxygen tablets will be provided. They will be automatically fed into a processor to keep fresh air flowing for the duration of her stay.”

Shipley withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket. He showed Benton where to write his wife’s name, which was Irma Zipp. Benton signed on the dotted line and agreed to pay H&P enterprises a small sum of two hundred dollars for processing,

After being told that food would be forthcoming on the capsule by punching in a menu on an apparatus that resembled a microwave oven, Benton handed over the money in cash. Shipley wrote a receipt for services rendered. The men shook hands and left the restaurant.

Shipley had given Benton drugs to put into Irma’s drink, and a date and time had been set for her abduction. It was suggested that a door be left unlocked on the fateful night. Benton touched the vial in his pocket. At last, he would be free.

On the night Irma Was to meet her fate, she and Benton ignored each other as they sat in the living room watching television. Irma had poured herself a glass of tea, but Benton had to get his own. Irma had not spoken to him for days, but that was fine with him. He could barely contain himself at the thought that Irma would be leaving soon.

He saw his chance when Irma went to the bathroom, leaving her drink on the coffee table. He swiftly emptied the vial of powder into her tea, swished it around with his finger and returned to the sofa where he had been sitting.

Strangely, when she returned, Irma seemed to be avoiding her tea. He watched her furtively for a while but soon relaxed a little and closed his eyes. He slept, then stirred himself and took a big swallow of his tea. Irma was gone, but her glass was empty. Benton smiled. The deed was done. 

Thinking how wonderful life was going to be, Benton drifted back to sleep. Sometime later, he jerked awake from a deep slumber. He was groggy and disoriented. Where was he? Things did not feel right, and he heard a low, humming sound coming from somewhere.

He was lying on a hard surface on his side. A shoe with a foot in it was almost against his right eye. Slowly he sat up, rubbing his head. He raised his eyes and looked directly into the face of Irma.

“What the…?” he started to say when a wave of dizziness hit him. 

“You’ve been drugged,” Irma said. “We drugged each other. I put drugs in your tea while you were sleeping.” The awful truth began to dawn on Benton.

“Where are we?” he croaked. 

“We are in a capsule going around the earth. I was told by a message left here on paper that it would be in orbit for about thirty years, plenty of time for us to lose our sanity.”

“So, you had me put here the same way I did you, without knowing you would be trapped here too?” he accused.

“Yep, that was the way it happened.”

“I could kill you,” he threatened. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” she advised. “You wouldn’t want to be stuck here with a dead body for thirty years.”