15 mins

Series: Personal series. Personal are short one off stories done by events inspired first by my own life, and then slightly taking a different turn that I WANT to happen. Obviously names and locations have been changed. 

 Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire 

Sora AI Video: 1 

 

 

 

The phone slammed into its cradle harder than I meant, but at this point I didn’t care. Honestly at this point, I didn't give a crap about anything. If management wanted to scold me about things like tone, manners and being approachable they could shove it. Shove it hard with sandpaper. You see, I just spent ten minutes explaining to a woman why an expired coupon from 2017 was not valid anymore, and you fu- freaking think I just told her I keyed her car in the parking lot. Worse part was, this was the easiest thing of the day. 

Customer service. Retail. What a Gods damn joke. I swear every person who comes through this line thinks I’m the king of the universe with powers to bend reality. What am I Thanos? 

• Can I honor their expired coupons?

• Can I adjust prices to whatever fantasy number they dreamed up last night?

• Can I be personally responsible for shipping delays caused by a blizzard in another state?

Sure. Let me just wave my magic wand.

The worst part? Well one of the worst parts (yes with a s), it's the attitude. No one’s happy, like ever. Nobody walks up smiling, nobody says thank you. Or please. Nope, what I get are sighs so dramatic you think I just ruined Broadway for them. Oh did I mention the eyes rolling so hard I would wonder how they are still attached? Geez, one guy earlier looked at me like I just kicked his puppy because I asked him to swipe his card again. Heaven forbid someone be mildly inconvenienced. And Gods help you if you tell them no. People look me dead in the eye, like I’ve personally betrayed them, like refusing that crusty, crumpled two-dollar coupon is the same as murdering their firstborn.

Screw it, ill say it. Just fuck me.  

So yeah. When my fifteen-minute break finally comes around, that’s my time. Me, me and only me. No fake smiles, no “how can I help you today?”, no playing referee between people who want to fight over the last half price piece of shit blender. Just me, silence, and whatever cheap caffeine I can scrape out of the break room. Really anything will do, just as long as it makes the hurting stop for a few minutes. I want to sit down, stare at the wall, and feel nothing. That’s the dream, baby. Not a beach in Cancun, not winning the lottery, just fifteen uninterrupted minutes where no one looks at me like I ruined their lives by doing my job. Yeah that's me right now. I am one more sigh, one more eye-roll, one more “but the customer is always right” away from snapping.

Workplace Violence

Series: Shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time. 

 Socials/Tip Jar: linktr.ee/TheCelticFire  

Sora AI Video: 1 

 

 

Ben stood quietly in the back stockroom, the dim overhead bulbs casting long, flickering shadows across the stacked rows of cardboard boxes lining the shelves. It was always cooler back here, nice, still, quiet, a pocket of order tucked away from the day’s noise. He liked that. He’d always liked the calm predictability of it. Everything had its place. Everything made sense. Anyone who ever worked retail would understand.

But today… the air was off.

There was a tension in the room, not loud (yet), not obvious (yet), but definitively present. Subtle and steady, like the low hum of a wire stretched too tight. Ben shifted his stance, arms crossed over his broad chest. He wasn’t bulky in the way of gym rats or athletes, there was no carved six-pack or veiny biceps on display either, but his frame was solid, sturdy. Built like someone who could carry more than his share without complaint.... which he often did. He was above average in size, the kind of man who moved with quiet purpose rather than flash. He wore a dark blue button-down today. Crisp but casual, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows. His beard was trimmed close, every line clean. A little older than most guys his age would try to look, but Ben had always carried himself like that. More mature. More put-together. But even with all that discipline, he couldn’t shake the feeling coiling in his gut. Something wasn’t right. And whatever it was, it had followed him back here, into his quiet place, and settled in the shadows between the shelves.

That something, came a moment later from around the corner.

Around the corner came James, strutting more than walking of course. That was him after all, young, inexperienced, walked around like he owned the place, even though everyone knew he barely had his foot in the door. James was the kind of guy who always talked too loud, flirted with anyone breathing, and pushed every boundary HR ever laid down. Men, women, it really didn’t matter. He hit on everyone with the same sloppy charm and wink that somehow kept him just on the barely tolerable side of trouble. His shirt was untucked as usual, not to mention the shirt itself looked like it was making a failing effort to look clean, and his hair was a tousled mess that might have been intentional. His beard, patchy and just shy of unkempt, gave him that "I-don’t-care" edge he wore like a badge of honor. He spotted Ben and lit up like a kid who just found someone to pester.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Always-in-Control!”