Hello Fresh or Death

Introduction: Sunday afternoon, in the kitchen

Brad is in the kitchen scrolling through his Hello Fresh App on his phone. He is planning to cancel his and his wife’s subscription.

Brad: Wait…What?!

Brad: Rebecca! Look at this!

(Twelve seconds go by)

Brad: Rebecca! Come here!

Rebecca: What dude? I’m watching Dr. Phil and they have that “Catch me outside” girl back on.

Brad: Really? Why would they give her more publicity like that? See this is why I can’t watch that daytime TV all they do is romanticize materialistic shitheads and……

Rebecca: Did you really call me in here to talk shit about what I watch?

Brad: No, Sorry! I’m cancelling our Hello Fresh and they want us to send our recipe cards back in.

Rebecca: Why would they do that?

Brad: It says, “We at Hello Fresh take our recipes very seriously. These dishes are exclusive to our customers ONLY and are not to be shared with NON MEMBERS or CANCELLED subscribers. Photo copies will not be tolerated nor will the distribution of our recipes. Anyone who refuses to follow these rules will be punished.”

Rebecca: Punished? Did we just get threatened by a meal prepping service?

Brad: For not sending back a turkey burger recipe? I think we’ll take our chances, I paid 90 bucks a week for this and i’ll be damned if I send back the recipes.

Rebecca: Yeah because lemon pepper seasoning on some crinkle cut fries is so fucking exclusive.

Brad: Haha, damn straight. They are acting like their recipes are that fuckin’ good anyway. Goodness.

(Brad goes ahead and cancels the subscription)

Thursday evening, storming outside.

Four days later Rebecca was pulling into the driveway. She stopped to grab the mail; It’s pouring down rain, she rushes to and from the mailbox. She noticed the envelope arrived from Hello Fresh for Brad and her to send the recipes back in. “DISREGARD AT YOUR OWN RISK!” was written across the top of the envelope. Rebecca immediately goes inside to call Brad.

Brad: Hello?

Rebecca: Babe, You are not going to believe this..

Brad: What’s the scoop?

Rebecca: Hello Fresh sent the envelope and it says; “DISREGARD AT YOUR OWN RISK!” in all caps on the front of the envelope. This is becoming quite entertaining.

Brad: Wow, what a waste of their time. I’m almost home from work I can’t wait to see…..

(Phone call loses signal)

Rebecca: Brad? Hello? What the hell. Must be the damn storm.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK* At the front door.

Rebecca peeps through the blinds to see a tall middle aged man who resembles Arthur Slugworth almost to a T. Top hat, trench coat, fancy glasses, a briefcase, and a cane. The only difference is he is wearing a blue apron over his trench coat and Rebecca thinks to herself how odd that makes him look. Rebecca tries to call Brad but there is no service. Rebecca walks up to the door.

Rebecca: Hello, can I help you?

Mr. Apron: Yes my dear. My name is Blue. Blue Apron. But you can just call me Mr. Apron. I would like to make you and your husband an offer you cannot refuse, now why don’t you let me in?

Rebecca: Mr. Blue Apron who wears a blue apron? I don’t know man that seems kind of weird.

What do you want? My husband will be home any minute if you are trying to be a creep.

Mr. Apron: My dear, I am no creep. I am not here to harm you, I am here to make you and your husband very rich. Very rich indeed. I just need a moment of your time, now please let me in before they know I am here.

Rebecca: “They”? who are they?

Mr. Apron: I think you know very well who “they” are. We are wasting valuable time here. Just answer me this Rebecca, do you still have the recipes?

Rebecca’s heart dropped into her stomach.

Rebecca: Wha….What did you just say?

Mr. Apron: Ah, yes. Now I have your attention. The recipes, Rebecca. I want them, and I will pay top dollar for them. Now let me in so we can talk.

Rebecca hesitantly unlocked the door, saying to herself “what the fuck is happening right now.”

Mr. Apron walks in and leans his cane up against the couch left of the front door. He politely sits his briefcase on the floor.

Mr Apron: Is this a fine spot for my briefcase?

Rebecca: Yeah…. that’s fine whatever. Now what are you doing here?

Mr. Apron: Where should I hang my coat?

Rebecca: I don’t care dude? Now what the fuck is going on? How do you even know about the recipes or my name?

Mr. Apron smirked. Not in an arrogant manner but with the sort of expression that said “In good time”. He took off his apron, followed by his trenchcoat placing it on the arm of the couch and then proceeded to put his apron back on over his suit.

Rebecca: WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING! Rebecca screamed.

The front door opens and Brad walks in. The first thing that he notices is that Rebecca seems flustered. The second thing he notices is a strange man standing in the middle of the living room with an apron on over his suit. Brad is startled by this, he stops midway through the doorway and just kind of stares back and forth between the guy in the apron and Rebecca.

Brad: Yo!! What the fuck is going on?

Mr. Apron: Good evening to you Bradley, my name is Blue. Blue Apron but you can just call me…

Rebecca: Cut the shit apron boy and tell us what in the actual fuck is going on.

Brad: Wait, your name is Blue Apron and you are wearing a blue Apron? What did I just come home to Rebecca?

Mr. Apron: (chuckles) You have a real spit fire on your hands here Bradley. Could I trouble you for a cup of hot tea Rebecca? I have traveled far for this meeting and I hate to say it but I do not feel very welcome here.

Rebecca heavily sighs with frustration.

Rebecca: Get out, just get out I’m not doing this weird back and forth shit with you.

Mr. Apron: I will do no such thing, we must discuss what I came here for.

Rebecca: Brad…grab the gun.

Brad walks over to the credenza and pulls open the top drawer. He reaches in and pulls out a 9 mm handgun.

Brad: You should probably listen to the lady bud. I don’t know who you are or why you are here but you need to leave.

Mr. Apron: Okay, okay, okay…. Let’s get down to business shall we? I do not want to come off rude but neither of you are very good hosts.

Rebecca begins to open her mouth to argue. Mr. Apron places one finger over her lips.

Mr. Apron: Shhhhhhh dear, I will explain everything right now.

Brad: Don’t do that.

Mr. Apron takes a seat on the couch while Rebecca stands with her arms crossed and Brad stands with the gun pointed at the ground and his finger off the trigger.

Mr. Apron: I know so much about both of you, it doesn’t feel right that neither of you know anything about me. It’s a shame. But you don’t want to discuss that, you want answers. I get it. Okay…. I work for powerful people. They want your recipes and I was sent here to buy them from you. That’s the gist of it. I don’t feel like either of you deserve much more of an explanation at this point. I also have a hunch that once you hear how much we are offering you will change how you feel about me completely.

Brad and Rebecca just looked at each other. Both of them confused; just trying to process everything that has happened in the last five minutes.

Brad: What!? He’s here for the recipe cards? What in the hell did I miss? Why don’t you just subscribe to Hello Fresh and get your own recipe cards?

Mr. Apron: Well it’s not that simple. Trust me we wouldn’t waste our time here with you if we could. Certain recipe cards hold higher value than others is the best way I can put it without getting into trouble.

Rebecca: I think we need a little bit more from you than that. So you work for Blue Apron, your name is blue apron, and you wear a blue apron? Am I fucking high right now?

Brad: And you want your competitors recipe cards… This is insane.

Mr. Apron: If I must be honest, I am simply here for the Chicken Parmesan.

Rebecca: One recipe card? Specifically? Why? Actually, you know what I don’t care. How much are you offering?

Mr. Apron gave his infamous half smile, he then put a hand on each knee and pushed himself to his feet. Mr. Apron walks over to his briefcase, picks it up and returns back to the couch placing it on the coffee table. He takes one last look up at Rebecca and Brad before opening the briefcase and turning it around to show the couple what is inside.

Mr. Apron: My boss is willing to offer you and your husband 250,000 dollars.

Rebecca’s mouth dropped to the floor.

Brad: Is this some sort of dumb joke man? Why would you pay 250,000 dollars for a chicken parm recipe card?

Rebecca slapped brad on the arm.

Rebecca: Babe there is a briefcase on our coffee table with 250,000 dollars in it and all he wants is the stupid card, just give it to him. I’m sure we are way better off not knowing what this is all about.

Mr. Apron: I would listen to your wife, Bradley.

Brad: Rebecca if this crazy asshole is walking into our house offering us a quarter of a million dollars for a fucking recipe, which wasn’t even that good by the way. There has to be a catch. Maybe not on his end but when I cancelled that membership Hello Fresh warned us that there would be a “punishment” for selling the recipes. Then the envelope said, “disregard at your own risk”. We need to think about this.

Rebecca: You sound crazier than Mr. Apron.

Brad: Please don’t call him Mr. Apron.

Mr. Apron: But that is my name.

Rebecca and Brad: SHUT UP DUDE!

Rebecca: Brad, come on now, think about it. What is the worst that could happen? We could sell our house and finally go start our family wherever we wanted. Think about it! We could be gone before anyone even knew we sold it to him.

Brad: Fuck, you’re right.

Mr. Apron: Great choice you too, great choice. Now if you wouldn’t mind fetching that card I’ll be on my way.

Brad: Right, yeah the recipe card. Give me a minute.

Brad puts the gun away and starts to walk into the kitchen, he pokes his head out from around the corner peeping back into the living room.

Brad: And here I thought the highlight of my night was going to be watching Nicholas Cage on Dancing With The Stars. (Laughing)

Rebecca: Please just hurry up so Mr. Apron can go track down the enchilada recipe from the neighbors.

Mr. Apron: Good one my dear, good one.

Brad returns from the kitchen

Brad: Here man, now thank you very much but we have some celebrating to do.

Mr. Apron stands up and takes off his apron. Puts on his trench coat and then puts his apron back on over his trench coat.

Rebecca: There is something fucking wrong with you isn’t there?

Mr. Apron: (chuckles) Isn’t there a little something off with all of us?

Rebecca: You’re seriously not going to at least explain the apron?

Mr. Apron: It was a pleasure to meet both of you and truly good luck for the trials ahead.

Brad: Can I have the apron?

Mr. Apron awkwardly smiled at both of them for an extended period of time before finally picking up his cane.

Mr. Apron: Goodbye new friends and remember….be careful.

Mr. Apron shuts the door behind him. Brad and Rebecca both run to the window next to the front door to watch him leave. He is standing at the edge of the porch talking on the phone. He uses his free hand to pull out a cigarette and light it. Moments later Mr. Apron hangs up the phone and starts to walk down the few porch steps leading to the side walk. At that moment Rebecca notices two different cars turn on their headlights. They were a little over a block down the road. The two cars accelerate aggressively heading towards their house. The cars appear to be two old school Lincoln continentals with tinted windows and a chrome black paint job. Brad thinks to himself, “ We should have sent back the recipes.”

Brad: What the fuck is this!!!

At that moment Mr. Apron pulled out two semi automatic pistols from his trench coat terminator style and unloaded both clips into the vehicles. Brad swears he heard Mr. Apron yell, “Yippee Ki Yay Motherfuckers!” as he was shot multiple times from both vehicles. Mr. Apron folded to the ground, lifeless. The cars stop in front of their house. Between the two vehicles four people got out while the drivers stayed put. They were all dressed in black and carrying a variety of large weapons.

Rebecca: Hurry the gun!!!!

Brad didn’t move for a few seconds. He felt like he was covered in cement, no matter how hard he tried to run he was trapped.

Rebecca: Goddammit!

Rebecca runs over to the credenza and grabs the gun. Brad finally snaps out of it, runs to the couch, flips it over and they both hide behind it.

Rebecca: We’re really going to die and not know what the fuck that Apron was about.

Fin.