All characters depicted are aged 18+. Feedback welcome. Let me know if it does the trick.
~4100 words, action begins around the halfway mark.
Primary content tags: msub to mdom, fdom to fsub, older female, younger male, "Karen" archetype, rough sex, reluctance, hate fuck
~
Michael set his cash tray in the register and punched into the terminal. His manager on duty, Becky, had been running her mouth since he clocked in a few moments ago.
"I guess what I'm saying is he's not a bad guy, he's just not what I'm looking for right now, you know? I need a man that can take charge."
It had been a few weeks since Michael started working at the dollar store. By now he learned to tune out most of what Becky blathered on about.
Becky was only a few years older, somewhere in her mid-twenties. She wasn't awful or anything, and pretty cute. She had that whole "girl next door" thing going for her - flowing brown hair, nice eyes, slim figure. But this job was tedious enough without having to listen to the specifics of Becky's failed relationships.
Yesterday she went on and on about how what's-his-name had been "too nice." Michael rolled his eyes. He'd heard that excuse before about himself. Well, maybe not those words exactly, but a guy can take a hint.
"Yeah," Michael sighed, still not really listening. "That's crazy, Becky."
Michael never understood what the issue was with being easygoing. Life was complicated enough on its own, why make it worse? Turned out this was a terrible hill to die on. Especially when it ended relationships.
Before Michael could escape Becky's eternal filibuster, she clutched his arm. "Oh, shit," she whispered. "She's back."
Michael looked to the entryway and spotted the threat. His heart sank, and a sickening sourness filled his stomach.
Karen Miller always strutted into the store like she owned the place. That morning was no different. As always, she wore her oversized sunglasses and a look of utter contempt for all life. A store bag was slung under her arm. Unsurprisingly, she was headed directly for Michael and Becky at the register, like a drama-seeking torpedo.
The woman was a walking caricature. She must've been in her early or mid-forties. She even had that "Karen haircut," light brown with blonde highlights, bumped up in the back. Sharp. Lethal. Why anyone would find that attractive was beyond Michael.
For fuck sake, her name WAS Karen. For all he knew, she was Karen patient zero.
"Not again," Michael sighed. He turned when Becky didn't answer, seeing her fumbling to take off the Manager pin on her black work shirt.
"I'm not doing this today," she said. "You're the manager for the next thirty minutes. Have fun." She slapped the pin into his hand.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute-" Michael sputtered.
"It's fine," Becky said, gathering the scan gun and pager. "If you need a minute from her, just tell her you need to check the backroom. Works every time. I'll cover the other register if someone else comes along." She turned back again, smiling. "If it gets really bad, just tell her to fucking blow you. I'm sure that will work out well!"
Before Michael could argue, Becky practically jumped the counter and jogged out of sight to an aisle.
Son of a bitch.
Before he could run himself, Karen set both the bag and what appeared to be a new purse on the counter. Expecting her to speak first, which she usually did, Michael waited. Instead she seemed to glare at him. While he couldn't exactly see her eyes behind the giant sunglasses, he could feel the heat from across the counter, threatening to melt his face.
"Good morning, ma'am. Can I he-?"
"I would certainly hope so," Karen spat, opening the store bag to reveal a four pack of lightbulbs. She pulled a bulb from the box and set it between them. "This is the third time this has happened, it's unacceptable."
Michael eyed the bulb as it rolled slightly on the countertop.
"What seems to be the pr-?"
Karen picked up the bulb. "I'll tell you exactly what the problem is," she shook it. "Hear that?" Michael didn't hear anything. When he shrugged, Karen went on. "Lasted no more than an hour before it blew. What sort of defected crap are you pushing in this shack?"
This sort of thing is precisely what Michael prided himself on avoiding. Unnecessary complication. Maybe if he wasn't a "nice guy" he'd tell this obnoxious woman exactly where she could stick that lightbulb. But he wasn't that guy, and he needed this job.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Please let me call my..." he broke off. The Manager pin was in his hand. Shit.
It was time to bite the bullet and get through this. Michael put on his best, most painful customer service smile. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Oh, you're not sorry yet. But you will be if I don't get my money back," Karen sneered.
Michael's eyelid twitched. "I'm afraid due to store policy-"
Karen slammed her hand on the counter. "No!" she roared. "No, no, absolutely not! You aren't going to pull that store policy horseshit on me again!"
Typically the store would refund the item, but they had been instructed specifically to stop this for "problem customers" who try to take advantage of the store, and Karen was THE problem customer.
Michael's heart raced. He fought to control his breathing. "I would be happy to find you a replacement for your purchase."
Karen scoffed. "Yeah, so they'll blow as soon as I get them home, too? Do I look like a moron to you?"
Yes, MIchael thought.
More than likely, these bulbs were old. Karen probably swapped the new ones for these and is now trying to pass them off as defective. Or something like that.
At any rate, he didn't care. He just wanted her gone. But even if giving her the money back would get rid of her (for now), Michael didn't have access on the register to even do that. Becky could, but it didn't look like she was coming back anytime soon. Michael tried to glance over Karen's shoulder to spot her, maybe flag her down. No luck.
Karen snapped her fingers in his face. "Look. At. Me. I want my money back. Now!"
Michael's jaw grew tighter. There was only one option.
"I'll need to check the backroom. I'll be back in a moment." On stiff legs, he turned and began walking away from her. Obviously, her money was not in the backroom. To his horror, he could hear her stomping after him.
"Absolutely not!" she raged. "I will not be left waiting here!"
As though he were a caveman pursued by a sabertooth tiger, Michael felt a primal instinct kick in to get the hell out of there. He picked up speed, rounded a corner, and spotted the backroom door. Still, Karen pursued, assaulting him with a deluge of incredulous screeching.
The backroom door never looked so inviting. The EMPLOYEES ONLY sign shone brightly in the synthetic white fluorescence of the store, beckoning him to safety. He pushed in.
There never really was any "extra stock" in stores like this, but many people didn't know that. This, of course, made it easy to make it seem like a clerk was diligently searching for what a customer was demanding, when in reality they came back here to check their phone for a few minutes. Then they would return, and let the customer know they definitely didn't have the item.
The backroom here, true to fashion, was a fairly narrow space with mostly empty shelving. A desk with a rolling chair and old computer sat in one corner, and a few boxes in the other. To Michael, in this moment, it was a safe haven.
For about ten seconds.
The door burst open. Karen stepped in slowly, hands on hips, a snake that cornered a mouse. She swept the bangs from her face, closing in on him.
"How dare you," she seethed. "Don't you know who I am?"
Then she said it. The words all retail employees shudder to hear.
"I want to speak to your manager this instant! Your behavior is unacceptable!"
In the back of his mind, Michael felt the uncomfortable humidity of the room and remembered the air conditioning was busted back here. A bead of sweat fell from his nose. He didn't sign up for this. He didn't have to take this. He could walk out right now, and Becky could deal with it.
Then he felt the manager pin. He had clutched it so tightly his knuckles turned white. Somewhere inside, he simply stopped caring. He didn't want to be the guy that took this kind of crap. Not anymore.
He stuck the pin on his shirt. "I'm the manager," he stated.
Karen shifted her weight to the other foot, clicking her teeth. She looked ridiculous, her hands still firmly on her hips, purse hanging from her shoulder. She couldn't be any more than 5'4''. Nothing more than a yapping chihuahua.
"Then I'm going to call corporate and get your ass fired for shit service." She smiled with such acidic evil.
Michael folded his arms. "Go ahead," he said coolly, despite the blood pumping hard through his face.
Her smile faltered. "What?"
Michael picked up a landline from the desk, offered it to her. "Here. Call them. The number is right there." He pointed to a laminated page on the wall with several phone numbers.
Karen stared at the phone, then at Michael.
"Fine!" she snatched it, squinted at the paper, and started dialing. She snuck quick glances at him as she did. Michael stood firmly, watching her, waiting.
"What's your problem?" she snapped at last.
Michael stuck out his chest, took a step closer. "What's YOUR problem?"
Were these his words? Coming from his mouth? It felt like a dream, like he was someone else.
This really caught her off guard. Karen let the phone fall slightly from her ear, watching him from behind those stupid sunglasses. Michael could hear the ringing, then a voice answered. She shook her head, pressed the phone back to her ear.
