“This is an outrage! Do you know how much I paid for this? I want my fucking money back!”

From the corner of his eyes, Nathan catches Allan pass by and waves his hand, his white dress shirt as pristine as ever. His own esteemed customer keeps ranting. Allan must have entire stores of white shirts at his place. Mountains of them.

His trained ears pick up the words “incompetent” and “fucking joke” and he switches his attention back to the man standing not so tall in front of him, finally starting to lose wind. Nathan lets him finish and keeps a suitably contrite and sorry mask. He imagines Allan in a walk-in dresser room, all filled with the exact same white dress shirt and black ties, and asking himself what he could possibly wear that day. Nathan struggles to keep a neutral expression.

The man facing him stops to catch his breath. He is a large fellow, middle aged with a sweaty striped shirt, balding black hairs peppered with grey and sad brown eyes. He crosses his arms defensively and Nathan realizes he should have said something earlier. Missed timing due to overactive imagination. Not very professional. Fortunately, it isn’t too late yet.

“Of course sir, may I ask your name so I can find you in our system?"

He gives it, and Nathan acknowledges even though he already knows everything including his address and phone number, he is just stalling so he can check the availability of their repair team. All of this could have been done sooner of course, but complaining people demand full attention. Nathan sometimes wonders how much better the world would be if people realized how often letting their emotions control them gets in the way of their happiness. Then again, complaining can get you more stuff than just being reasonable just because people want you to stop. It’s a balance.

“We apologize for this service Mr Lee, however we would like you to allow us to make up for it. I have a repair team available right now and they could go check your installation immediately. You could go and select a couple blue rays so you can test the home cinema when they are done. On the house of course.”

Solid stuff works better on older customers while younger people prefer free months of streaming services. It’s not like blue rays sell anyway, with most people torrenting what they do not stream. Yarrr.

Mr Lee of the striped shirt hesitates one second before starting angrily about how he has had enough disappointment but the brief pause is enough, he is the constructive kind, the one who is more interested in reparation than in revenge. His eyes dart toward Nathan’s bandaged left arm and he starts to show signs of empathy, worry, and guilt

If it were a normal situation he would have inquired after Nathan’s health. Screaming at him had made him feel like an asshole.

“Please sir, most problems like those come from a bad installation, it could be solved in five minutes. “

Nathan can almost see the gears grinding inside his head, but his fuel had been anger and it had run out. Nathan looks harmless, wounded even, his phone in hand already raised, waiting for his approval. Mistakes are going to be fixed, apologies have been made, a price is to be paid and the lure of browsing a store for gifts is difficult to resist.

“Well, alright I guess."

"Thank you sir. Blue rays are over there.”

Nathan passes on data and instructions and the well honed corporate machine stirs while striped shirt Lee walks away, still a bit defensive.

Nathan looks at Naomi and winks. The tall woman only returns a skeptical glance, the brows drawn on her dark skin raised high.

“This was an easy one sugar, let’s see how you handle that." She points with her chin.

“Hey next one was supposed to be yours.”

“You see that chick? She will ask for you within two minutes.”

Sometimes, Nathan thinks, he can tell if someone is for his team just by the way they walk. The woman in question is striding angrily with the self-importance of a banana republic general, or a scorned Latina lover, whichever is worst. If it had been a bar Nathan would have ducked behind the closest table. He reminds himself the wooden counter offers a nice buffer and would be hard to climb. As if.

The woman has short but artfully cut dyed blond hairs, a face that might have been pleasant if it had worn a different expression and reasonably stylish clothes, not quite hiding the fact that she is overweight. Her shoes look particularly expensive and so does her bag. Nathan would bet ten bucks her name is either Karen or Susan. As Miss Nemesis stops and looks around Nathan steels himself in anticipation and sighs deeply. Naomi chuckles briefly, a pleasant, throaty sound. It is the calm before the storm.

Irate customer finds them and aims at the after sales booth like some kind of seeking missile of offended fury. The more Nathan sees, the less he likes. She has finely manicured hands. She moves with the gait of someone not used to being fat, must have been recent. Worst of all, she is holding a small dog in her right arm, the wretched thing looking around with bulging black eyes and shivering as if it had a fever. The “No pets allowed” notice is for other people of course, not her, she is too important. As she comes closer Nathan spots scarlet cheeks and nose beneath the makeup. Alcohol. All indicators on the asshole detector shift to bright red and he tries to relax his shoulders in preparation for the showdown, before wincing in pain. His left arm still has a deep cut and he had to stop taking painkillers after Gwahin had talked about “clear mind”, “pain tolerance” and “stop being such a sissy”. He tries to forget the pain, the incoming shit show and Toothy currently trying to build a fort out of post-its and paper clips. He should convert to Buddhism and move to Nepal.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The woman closes the last few feet and a wave of perfume submerges him, barely masking that of booze. That’s it, Nathan is going to die, drowned in amber, vanilla and distilled malt, not by the hands of a Varog but from fumes at a thousand bucks a bottle. Nathan doesn’t know what fate he should blame for that woman not walking next to an open flame and spontaneously combusting.

“You’re customer service?”

Nathan resists looking up at the big, big panel with “customer service” written on it in bold letters and telling her “No I’m the king of ice cream and I’m waiting for my nephew”.

“Yes how may I assist y…”

“I want to talk to a manager. I have dealt with enough clueless idiots today. No offense.”

She bares her teeth in what was probably an attempt at a condescending smile but was just really her own satisfaction at having insulted someone who could not reply without losing his job. Of course. No offense. Right.

Nathan’s smile is frozen on his face. He has seen it all before but for some reason, his ability to distance himself from all this shit is wearing thin recently. Normally he would let all of this go through him and would simply not care, for the simple reason that the person in front of him is insignificant and nothing they say can affect him. That woman simply doesn’t matter. It’s a skill.

Sensing something, Toothy lazily takes off from behind the counter under the panicked gaze of the queen bitch’s rat like dog.

Nathan points to his corporate shirt where a large pin where “Nathan, Manager” is written in bold, clear letter and announces:

“I’m the fucking manager you booze whale.”

Just kidding.

He says “As it happens I am the manager, please let me assist you with your…”

“You? A manager? Bullshit. Get me your manager then, and stop wasting my fucking time.”

She grabs the complimentary penholder off the counter and half pushes, half throws it into Nathan. He watches in disbelief as the heavy black cylinder slides off the counter and, with uncanny accuracy, lands on his still-healing arm. The dull throb immediately turns to blinding pain. Nathan recoils and hisses. Seriously, what are the odds? What are the fucking odds? Naomi is already calling security but they won’t get there before he does what he intends to do. He will lean over the counter and wipe the smirk off that bitch’s face by smashing it in the wooden frame. He cannot wait to see her ugly mug turn to panic, the crunch of broken bones and her mewls of pain as blood pours down her expensive rags in a beautiful crimson tide. It will be glorious.

No.

What is wrong with him? There are protocols to deal with this kind of situation, protocols that he reviews and enforces regularly. Those rules serve his department well and give harried people guidelines on how to deal with the small minority of utter assholes who believe they are too important for rules and regulations, that employees are just insects to do their bidding, and that there is a conspiracy to frustrate them and waste their time. Nathan manages to stop himself midway off his chair.

The queen bitch has taken a step back and stares at him warily. With agonizing slowness, Nathan sits back and forces his anger down, down the cold well of his control. Yes. Everything is fine.

The Sylvan strikes.

The bitch’s dog is struggling in her arms as if knowing what was going to happen. Nathan wants to stop all this, to deescalate the situation but it is far too late: Toothy reacts to emotions and Nathan’s have gone too far out of control. In the blink of an eye, The Sylvan dives on the dog and is gone, but not without taking some flesh.

Oblivious to it, the bitch sees him back down and decides it is time to strike back.

“You dare? You piece of sh…”

She would never get to finish that sentence. Her dog’s mild struggle turns into a flight for his life as he yowls in pain. She reflexively holds him tighter and he does want all cornered creatures do: he bites.

Canine jaws clamp on her fat arm and start ripping. Nathan can only watch in grisly fascination as her flaccid flesh tears and blood start dripping down her arm. Her shrieks of pain reach all the way to the cashiers and a few heads start to turn.

“OH SHIT.”

Naomi reacts first and rushes to her help. It is the bitch’s turn to struggle and in only a few moments she successfully grabs her ex-pet and throws it away with the strength of desperation, making her wound much worse in the process.

Nathan is still in his chair when security rushes to his booth, looking at Toothy munch on something and oozing satisfaction. Nathan cannot see the woman, but he can hear her. She is currently screaming like a fucking banshee, cursing at Naomi and him, the store, the whole fucking world. Nathan tries to tell himself that he did not go help her because she would not have accepted it. He then tries to tell himself it was because of his surprise at Toothy’s action. Then because of the threat of a lawsuit. The truth though, is that he had wanted her to suffer and she had.

Nathan shakes himself. Time to be useful.

"Hum, security? There is a loose dog near aisle 6."

“On it.”

Two hours later she is gone, the blood has been cleaned and everything is back to normal. Sort of.

Nathan finds himself in the break room drinking a cup of coffee. It looks like it someone used mud instead of roasted beans and it tastes about as good as you would expect. He is the unwilling witness to the slaughter of a bag of sugar, savagely gutted by Toothy’s claws after an epic fight. The little Sylvan is celebrating his victory by devouring its innards.

The security chief, a tall black man with a belly called Lucas comes in. They are the only two humans in the room.

“Hey Nathan I was looking for you.”

“What’s up man?”

He looks embarrassed for a second. 

“Huh it’s about that woman. We found her dog. Anything you would like to tell me?”

Nathan frowns before remembering about the bite. Of course. “

“No? Why? Is there?”

“Well it’s just that… The dog was bleeding. You don’t have anything to do with that, do you? I mean, Im not accusing you of anything it’s just that this customer is pissed as hell and we’re all pretty sure she’s going to sue.”

“Lucas, I did not come within three feet of the woman and I certainly did not touch her, how could I make the dog bleed? The nasty thing probably hurt itself escaping. “

It wasn’t the first time they had issues about disgruntled people claiming the team assaulted them, they had very good security cameras on the customer service desk and several years of archived film secured at an offsite location. Nathan had made sure of it. Now Nathan has some regrets, but is not too worried. Toothy has a way of bending light, and even if Security saw something it couldn’t be linked to him right? Right? Right. Who would believe in the carnivorous version of Tinkerbell anyway.

“Yeah sure, the guys are checking the footage right now. I was just checking and, you know, giving you the heads up. Just in case.”

“I appreciate that man I really do.”

“That woman was talking about legal actions and everything.”

“They all do, but the dog was in her hands when he bit her so…”

His phone rang and he answered promptly. After a few seconds said "I see, good", then hangs up.

“Ok fine there’s nothing on tape. I don’t know why it just starts trying to escape all of a sudden.”

“Maybe she was crushing it, angry people do that sometimes.”

“Yeah…”

The room drowns in awkward silence.

“I have to go back to work, you take care now.”

“Goodbye Lucas. Thanks for coming to tell me in person. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, bye.”

There is nothing on tape as he expected, so there is no proof. The problem is that unless he gets himself under control this could happen again and if it does, he could unwillingly send the next asshole who gets on his nerves to the hospital, or worse, lose his job. This is not like him at all. It could be that the recent events have taken a toll on him but Nathan suspects the reality is more worrying: the Weave is messing with his life.