“Get me out of here this instant!”
“How many socks do you think she weighs?”
They ignore me. If anything sparks my ire, it is being ignored. I stand up as best I can and I raise my voice to an authoritatively shrill tone.
“Bring me the manager!”
They stop and look at one another.
“We could bring him here.”
“But he said to bring her to him. That’s the other way around. He won't like that.”
“Oh no he won’t like that at all.”
“But the claw’s not working on her.”
“Tip the basket over?”
“Can’t do that. Then what’s at the bottom would come out.”
“Oh, right. Can't have what’s at the bottom coming out.”
“What’s at the bottom!?” I squeal the question, only to be further ignored.
“Let’s get him. We’ll tell him she's not cooperating. He’ll believe that. Humans never behave.”
“He’ll expect us to deal with her.”
“She's been sent to him to be dealt with. Let him deal with her.”
“Whenever I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him, whoever he is, that he's being represented by utter morons,” I interject.
"What is taking so long?”
The question is snarled by the massive beast who just strode in through the door. I take an instinctive step back behind the pile of socks, putting more fabric and material between me and the monster manager.
“We can’t get her out of the basket, Mr…. sir… Tyank.”
“Damn stupid system," he growls. “It should be a cage. With a door. Not a basket.”
“The basket is from the Galactor period,” the little alien stammers. “They never removed humans from the simulation. They only removed their socks from time to time. It’s the scythkin who repurposed the ocean hole to remove humans.”
The alien gives them a violent look which makes them fall silent. He has gravitas. I admire that, though of course I loathe him and his kind. I’m not entirely sure what his kind are, but I have enough loathing packed away inside me for use on any occasion. I don’t need knowledge when I have ample hate ready to be deployed.
He comes closer and I see him for more of the monster he is. Aliens run my world. That truth is only just starting to sink in now, and I can feel it will take several days to truly become part of my actual reality. These beasts of teeth, claw, and blade have been making every decision which shapes my world for I do not know how long. How dare they?
I have so many words in store for him. I will not allow myself to be intimidated by his massive form, or become afraid of his fearsome physicality. I am Karen, and if I know how to do anything, it is complain, harangue and generally lecture until I get my way.
“So,” he says. “You're the troublemaker.”
I draw back, look down my nose, and give him the benefit of the full force of my offense. The basket gives me the height to do that, set as it is on a raised platform. Probably a counter. This is, after all, the laundry room at the end of existence, where things come to be cleansed. I haven’t been told that explicitly, but it seems to be a safe assumption.
There is a sense of chaos here, a disconnection between the massive alien with the fiery eyes and the broad smiled, round headed smaller creatures which must do his bidding, however inefficiently. He does not belong here. He is out of place here among the discarded laundry. Uncomfortable with a world which cannot be his own.
He approaches the basket, reaches in, and plucks me out as if I weigh no more than a kitten. His hand is massive, just like the rest of him. He is covered in the same sharp blades I saw on the other creature of his kind. They retract as my body swings near in an evident attempt to avoid hurting me. I appreciate it.
He places me down on the ground with what I can only describe as an abundance of care, then looks down at me with a curious expression, as if appraising me. I do not know what an alien might make of me. I know what I make of him. He’s massive, brutal, warlike in appearance and I surmise, temperament. He is everything a human should fear, but I am Karen, and I fear nothing.
“I’m Karen,” I say. “I have some complaints regarding the management of this…” I struggle for a word for a moment, not sure how to describe the collapse of my entire existence “…world.”
“Oh, you do?” He folds his massive blade ridden arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side, his horns twitching forward as if to indicate interest. “Please, do enlighten me.”
“For one, you cannot gather everybody on a Tuesday afternoon and tell them reality isn't real. It’s not nice.”
“Not nice,” he says, as if making a mental note. “Mhm. Do go on.”
I draw myself up, trying to make myself tall, but there’s no way to come up any higher than his ribs. I am not a tall woman. I never have been. That has not stopped me lecturing everyone from policeman to politicians.
“It’s not only not nice. It's incompetent. Do you know how afraid people were? There was panic in the streets.”
“Panic in the streets," he repeats, nodding again.
I get the impression I am not being taken seriously. I know when I am being patronized. It is a mistake many male authority figures have made when trying to handle me. I, however, am immune to being patronized.
“You say you're the manager, and all you can do is repeat what I say? Are you a manager or a parrot?”
“Neither," he says.
“Well these minions of yours seem to think you are. I'd like to speak to the actual manager. The person, or horned beast in charge of this excuse for a planet.”
He makes a small grunting sound, then leans down toward me so my face is very near his, and his is very near mine.
“I am scythkin,” he growls. “We are the scourge of the universe, slayers of species, destroyers of worlds, and we do not take orders from humans named Karen.”
“I haven’t even begun to give you orders.”
My feet make an unscheduled departure from the floor as he grips me under the arms and holds me aloft, much like a small lion cub being presented to a menagerie of wild beasts. Except the only beasts here are the round headed grin factories who now dare laugh at me.
“Small human woman,” he growls, giving me the full benefit of an up close and personal examination of his flame red eyes, harsh bladed body, and horns which I see now gleam with sharpness as if waiting to gore someone. “You will learn to speak with respect.”
Words fail me.
I have been trying to cling to my old way of being, to find the deep well of Karen-ness which resides inside me and makes me who I am, but I am scared of him. How could I not be? He is an unknown monster who has hold of me and seems infuriated by my comments. A sensible person would be quiet, but a sensible person would have sulked back to their apartment and waited for the aliens to make everything okay again. I’m not sensible. I’m Karen.
He lowers me to the ground, slowly letting my feet touch the floor before he lets me go. I breathe out, a long exhalation, and I resort to the question at the core of my being, my own personal koan which has guided me through life.
“Who is your manager?”