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reitmonero · 8 months

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Unbounce vs Competitors: A Comprehensive Comparison

Unbounce Overview: Unleashing the Power of Conversion Optimization

In the fiercely competitive landscape of online marketing, having a robust landing page builder can be a game-changer. Unbounce stands out as a formidable player, providing a comprehensive suite of features that empowers businesses to optimize their conversion rates. This overview delves into the key aspects of Unbounce, highlighting its features, strengths, user interface, and pricing plans.

A. Features and Capabilities

Unbounce isn't just a landing page builder; it's a powerhouse of features designed to elevate your online presence. From drag-and-drop elements for seamless design to robust A/B testing tools, Unbounce offers versatility. Its extensive template library caters to diverse industries, ensuring that businesses can create landing pages tailored to their unique needs. The platform's mobile responsiveness and integration capabilities further enhance its utility, allowing for a seamless user experience across devices.

B. Strengths and Unique Selling Points

Unbounce distinguishes itself with a set of strengths that resonate with businesses aiming for digital success. One standout feature is its dynamic text replacement, enabling marketers to create personalized experiences based on user search queries. The platform's speed and performance are noteworthy, ensuring that landing pages load swiftly, minimizing bounce rates. Moreover, Unbounce's integration with various marketing tools streamlines workflows, enhancing efficiency and campaign effectiveness.

C. User-Friendly Interface

Navigating through Unbounce is a breeze, even for those without extensive technical know-how. The user-friendly interface empowers marketers and business owners to create and modify landing pages effortlessly. The drag-and-drop functionality simplifies the design process, allowing for quick customization without the need for coding skills. The intuitive layout and organization of features make Unbounce an accessible tool for professionals at all skill levels.

D. Pricing Plans

Unbounce offers a range of pricing plans to cater to different business sizes and needs. From small enterprises to large-scale operations, there's a plan that aligns with specific requirements. The pricing structure is transparent, with options for monthly or annual billing. While the plans vary in terms of features and limitations, they all share the common goal of providing value for investment, ensuring that businesses of all sizes can leverage Unbounce to enhance their online presence.

In conclusion, Unbounce emerges as a versatile and user-friendly solution for businesses seeking to optimize their online conversion strategies. Its robust features, strengths, and pricing plans make it a compelling choice in the competitive landscape of landing page builders. Whether you're a seasoned marketer or a novice entrepreneur, Unbounce has the tools to elevate your digital marketing game.

Leadpages: Unveiling Features, Pricing, and User Insights

In the realm of online marketing tools, Leadpages stands out as a versatile platform catering to businesses aiming to bolster their online presence. This post explores the key facets of Leadpages, shedding light on its features, pricing structure, and user feedback.

A. Features and Capabilities: Leadpages prides itself on offering an array of features designed to simplify the process of creating and optimizing landing pages. The platform provides a user-friendly drag-and-drop editor, enabling even those without extensive design skills to craft professional-looking pages. Users can choose from a variety of templates tailored for different purposes, from lead generation to webinar sign-ups.

One notable feature is Leadpages' integration capabilities with various marketing tools and platforms. This ensures seamless connectivity and data synchronization, streamlining the workflow for businesses utilizing multiple tools in their marketing stack. Additionally, Leadpages offers A/B testing functionality, empowering users to experiment with different page elements and optimize for higher conversions.

B. Pricing Structure: Understanding the pricing model of a marketing tool is crucial for businesses of all sizes. Leadpages adopts a tiered pricing structure, providing users with options based on their needs and budget. The plans typically range from basic packages suitable for small businesses to more comprehensive options for larger enterprises with advanced requirements.

It's essential for businesses to carefully evaluate their needs and growth projections when choosing a Leadpages plan. The platform often offers a free trial period, allowing users to explore its features before committing to a subscription.

C. User Feedback and Reviews: User experiences and feedback play a pivotal role in assessing the effectiveness of any marketing tool. Businesses considering Leadpages can benefit from insights shared by existing users. Reviews often highlight the platform's intuitive interface, making it accessible for beginners while still offering advanced customization options for seasoned marketers.

Feedback on customer support responsiveness and issue resolution is another aspect that potential users consider. Analyzing user reviews can provide valuable insights into how Leadpages addresses challenges and supports its user base.

In conclusion, exploring the features, pricing, and user feedback surrounding Leadpages is crucial for businesses seeking a robust landing page solution. By understanding the platform's capabilities and aligning them with specific marketing objectives, businesses can make informed decisions to enhance their online presence and drive meaningful conversions.

Unlocking Marketing Potential: An Insightful Look into Instapages

In the dynamic realm of digital marketing, landing page builders play a pivotal role in transforming online presence into tangible success. Instapages, a prominent player in this domain, stands out with its array of features and capabilities designed to empower marketers. This post explores the essence of Instapages, focusing on its features, pricing structure, and user feedback.

A. Features and Capabilities

Instapages distinguishes itself with a rich set of features tailored to meet the diverse needs of marketers. The platform offers intuitive drag-and-drop functionality, enabling users to create visually appealing and highly effective landing pages without the need for extensive coding skills. Its library of customizable templates facilitates quick and easy page creation.

Additionally, Instapages boasts robust A/B testing capabilities, allowing marketers to experiment with different elements of their landing pages to optimize conversion rates. The integration of analytics tools provides valuable insights into user behavior, further enhancing the ability to refine and improve campaign performance.

B. Pricing Structure

Understanding the financial implications of a marketing tool is crucial for businesses of all sizes. Instapages offers a transparent pricing structure with various plans to cater to different needs. The tiered pricing model typically includes features such as unlimited landing pages, A/B testing, and integrations with popular marketing tools.

The platform often provides a free trial period, allowing users to explore its features before committing to a subscription. This flexibility in pricing makes Instapages accessible to both startups and established enterprises, contributing to its widespread appeal in the market.

C. User Feedback and Reviews

The real litmus test for any marketing tool lies in the experiences of its users. Collecting feedback and reviews from the user community provides valuable insights into the platform's actual performance. Instapages, in this regard, has garnered positive acclaim for its user-friendly interface, versatile templates, and responsive customer support.

Users often highlight the seamless experience of creating high-converting landing pages and the platform's role in optimizing their marketing campaigns. Critical feedback, if any, typically revolves around specific feature requests, indicating a community engaged in the platform's continuous improvement.

In conclusion, Instapages emerges as a formidable contender in the realm of landing page builders, offering a robust set of features, a flexible pricing structure, and positive user feedback. Marketers seeking a versatile tool to elevate their digital campaigns should undoubtedly consider Instapages as a strategic ally in their marketing endeavors.

V. Comparative Analysis: Unbounce vs. Competitors

In the ever-evolving landscape of landing page builders, Unbounce stands out as a formidable contender. In this comprehensive analysis, we delve into the critical aspects that set Unbounce apart from its competitors.

A. User Interface: Unbounce boasts an intuitive and user-friendly interface that caters to both novices and seasoned marketers. Its drag-and-drop builder simplifies the page creation process, allowing users to design compelling landing pages without the need for coding expertise. Compared to competitors, Unbounce's interface excels in providing a seamless and efficient user experience.

B. Customization Options: When it comes to customization, Unbounce emerges as a leader. The platform offers a plethora of design elements, templates, and styling options, enabling users to create highly personalized landing pages. This flexibility surpasses that of many competitors, empowering users to align their pages closely with brand identity and marketing goals.

C. Performance and Loading Speed: In the realm of digital marketing, every second counts. Unbounce prides itself on delivering landing pages with swift loading speeds, optimizing user experience and positively impacting SEO rankings. This emphasis on performance sets Unbounce apart, as some competitors may falter in providing the same level of efficiency, potentially leading to higher bounce rates.

D. Integration with Third-Party Tools: Seamless integration with third-party tools is a hallmark of Unbounce's approach. It facilitates easy incorporation of various marketing and analytics tools, enhancing the overall functionality of landing pages. While competitors may offer integrations, Unbounce's extensive compatibility ensures a smooth workflow for marketers, streamlining data collection and analysis.

E. Customer Support: Customer support can make or break a user's experience with a platform. Unbounce excels in this regard, offering responsive customer support through multiple channels. Users can access valuable resources such as documentation, tutorials, and a vibrant community forum. This level of support surpasses that of some competitors, ensuring users can navigate challenges effectively and make the most of the platform.

In conclusion, Unbounce stands tall in the competitive landscape of landing page builders. Its user-friendly interface, extensive customization options, emphasis on performance, seamless integrations, and robust customer support collectively position Unbounce as a comprehensive solution for marketers striving to create impactful and high-converting landing pages. As the digital marketing arena continues to evolve, Unbounce remains a steadfast ally, providing the tools and features necessary for success.

VI. Use Cases and Scenarios: Elevating Your Business with Unbounce

In the dynamic landscape of online marketing, Unbounce emerges as a versatile tool catering to various use cases and scenarios, proving its efficacy across industries and business scales.

A. Industry-Specific Considerations

Unbounce's adaptability shines through as it addresses the nuanced needs of different industries. Whether you operate in e-commerce, education, healthcare, or any other sector, Unbounce offers tailored solutions. For e-commerce, it enhances product visibility and conversion rates through compelling landing pages. Educational institutions benefit from streamlined enrollment processes, while healthcare providers use Unbounce for patient engagement. The platform's industry-specific templates and features ensure a customized approach, aligning seamlessly with diverse business objectives.

B. Scalability for Growing Businesses

As businesses evolve, scalability becomes paramount. Unbounce is designed to grow with your business. Its modular structure allows for easy expansion, accommodating increasing traffic and evolving marketing strategies. For startups, Unbounce provides an accessible entry point with its user-friendly interface, while established enterprises appreciate its scalability, ensuring that the platform remains a robust ally in their journey to greater heights. The platform's ability to handle growing demands ensures that businesses can focus on innovation and expansion rather than grappling with limitations.

C. Ease of A/B Testing

A/B testing is the heartbeat of effective digital marketing, and Unbounce excels in simplifying and enhancing this crucial process. The platform allows users to effortlessly create multiple variations of landing pages, experimenting with different elements such as headlines, images, and calls-to-action. The intuitive interface facilitates easy management and analysis of test results. This feature proves invaluable for marketers seeking to optimize their campaigns and boost conversion rates. Unbounce's real-time analytics empower users to make data-driven decisions, fine-tuning their strategies for maximum impact.

In conclusion, Unbounce's diverse use cases, scalability, and A/B testing capabilities position it as a versatile solution for businesses of all sizes and industries. Whether you're aiming to elevate your online presence, accommodate business growth, or refine your marketing strategies, Unbounce emerges as a reliable partner, offering a comprehensive toolkit to meet your evolving needs.

Title: Navigating the Decision-Making Landscape: Unbounce vs. Competitors

Introduction: In the realm of online marketing, selecting the right landing page builder is crucial for businesses aiming to maximize their digital presence. This post will delve into the intricacies of Unbounce, comparing its features, strengths, and user interface with competitors. In the vast sea of choices, understanding decision-making factors such as budget considerations, specific business requirements, and long-term viability is paramount.

II. Unbounce Overview: A. Features and Capabilities: Unbounce stands out with its robust set of features and capabilities. From drag-and-drop functionality to customizable templates, it provides a versatile toolkit for creating compelling landing pages. The platform's A/B testing, pop-up builder, and integrations further elevate its appeal, catering to diverse marketing needs.

B. Strengths and Unique Selling Points: Unbounce's strengths lie in its unmatched flexibility and customization options. Users appreciate the ability to create pixel-perfect designs without coding. Moreover, its seamless integration with popular marketing tools and platforms enhances workflow efficiency, setting it apart from the competition.

C. User-Friendly Interface: Navigating Unbounce is a breeze, even for those with limited technical expertise. The intuitive user interface ensures a smooth onboarding process, allowing users to create and optimize landing pages with ease. This user-centric design contributes significantly to the platform's widespread adoption.

D. Pricing Plans: Unbounce offers transparent pricing plans catering to businesses of all sizes. Whether you're a startup on a tight budget or a large enterprise with expansive needs, Unbounce's pricing tiers provide scalability and value for money. The straightforward pricing structure eliminates hidden costs, fostering trust among users.

VII. Decision-Making Factors: A. Budget Considerations: For many businesses, budget considerations play a pivotal role in the decision-making process. Unbounce's competitive pricing, paired with its feature-rich plans, makes it an attractive option. The platform's scalable pricing ensures that users only pay for the features they need, aligning with diverse budgetary constraints.

B. Specific Business Requirements: Each business has unique requirements, and Unbounce recognizes this diversity. Whether your focus is on lead generation, e-commerce, or event promotion, Unbounce's adaptable features can be tailored to meet specific business goals. Understanding these requirements is crucial for making an informed decision.

C. Long-Term Viability: Investing in a landing page builder entails considering its long-term viability. Unbounce's consistent updates, commitment to innovation, and a thriving user community speak to its enduring relevance. Businesses seeking a reliable and future-proof solution will find Unbounce to be a strategic choice.

Conclusion: In the Unbounce vs. competitors showdown, understanding the platform's features, strengths, and user-friendliness is vital. However, the decision-making process doesn't end there. By evaluating budget considerations, specific business requirements, and long-term viability, businesses can ensure they select a landing page builder that aligns seamlessly with their goals and aspirations.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs): Unbounce vs. Competitors

Q1: What sets Unbounce apart from its competitors? A1: Unbounce stands out through its intuitive drag-and-drop interface, allowing users to create high-converting landing pages without the need for coding skills. While many competitors offer similar features, Unbounce excels in ease of use.

Q2: How does Unbounce's pricing compare to its competitors? A2: Unbounce provides transparent pricing based on features and traffic. While some competitors may offer lower entry-level prices, Unbounce's pricing flexibility and scalability make it competitive, especially for growing businesses.

Q3: Can Unbounce integrate with other marketing tools better than its competitors? A3: Unbounce offers seamless integrations with various marketing tools, making it easy to incorporate it into your existing workflow. This flexibility is a notable advantage compared to competitors that may have more restrictive integration options.

Q4: What unique features does Unbounce offer that competitors lack? A4: Unbounce excels in dynamic text replacement, a feature that tailors landing page content based on users' search queries. This personalized touch is a distinctive feature, setting Unbounce apart from competitors without similar dynamic content capabilities.

Q5: How does Unbounce address mobile responsiveness compared to its competitors? A5: Unbounce prioritizes mobile responsiveness, ensuring that landing pages look and perform well on various devices. This commitment to mobile optimization can surpass some competitors, enhancing user experience across platforms.

Q6: Are there limitations to Unbounce that competitors have overcome? A6: While Unbounce is powerful, some competitors may excel in specific niche features or industries. It's crucial to assess individual business needs to determine if a competitor might be a better fit for certain scenarios.

Q7: Does Unbounce provide sufficient analytics compared to its competitors? A7: Unbounce offers robust analytics tools, tracking key metrics for landing page performance. However, depending on specific analytics requirements, businesses may find competitors with more advanced analytics suites.

Q8: How does Unbounce's customer support compare to that of its competitors? A8: Unbounce prides itself on responsive customer support, but the level of service can be subjective. Some competitors might offer additional support channels or personalized assistance, depending on the business's support preferences.

Q9: Can Unbounce be used for industries with specific regulatory requirements, and how does this compare to its competitors? A9: Unbounce is designed to accommodate various industries, but depending on specific regulatory needs, some competitors may provide specialized compliance features. It's essential to assess individual industry requirements.

Q10: What considerations should I keep in mind when deciding between Unbounce and its competitors? A10: Consider your specific business needs, budget constraints, and desired features. Evaluate trial versions, gather user feedback, and align these considerations with your marketing objectives to make an informed decision.

Glossary: Unbounce vs. Competitors

Landing Page Optimization (LPO): The process of improving elements on a landing page to boost conversion rates.

Multivariate Testing: A technique where multiple variations of page elements are tested simultaneously to determine the most effective combination.

Conversion Rate: The percentage of visitors who take the desired action on a landing page.

Heatmap Analysis: Visual representation of user interactions on a webpage, indicating areas of high and low engagement.

Split URL Testing: Dividing traffic between different URLs to compare the performance of distinct web pages.

Dynamic Text Replacement (DTR): Customizing the text on a webpage based on the search terms or characteristics of the visitor.

Mobile Responsiveness: Ensuring that landing pages display and function optimally on various mobile devices.

Form Abandonment: When visitors start but do not complete a form on a landing page.

Conversion Funnel: The step-by-step process that a visitor goes through to complete a desired action on a website.

Session Recording: Capturing and reviewing the real-time interactions of users on a website.

Exit-Intent Popup: A popup that appears when a user is about to leave a website, often used for last-minute offers.

A/B/n Testing: Comparing multiple variations (more than two) to identify the most effective design or content.

Above-the-Fold: The portion of a webpage visible without scrolling, considered crucial for capturing immediate attention.

Call to Action (CTA): Prompts that encourage users to take a specific action, such as making a purchase or filling out a form.

Engagement Analytics: Data and metrics related to user interactions and engagement on a website.

User Persona: Fictional characters representing the ideal customers, used for targeted marketing.

Sticky Navigation: A navigation bar that remains visible at the top or side of the webpage as the user scrolls.

SEO Integration: Incorporating search engine optimization strategies to improve a landing page's visibility in search results.

Behavioral Targeting: Delivering personalized content based on user behavior and preferences.

Customer Journey: The complete experience a customer has with a brand, from initial awareness to post-purchase.

Conversion Tracking: Monitoring and analyzing user actions to measure the success of marketing efforts.

Engagement Rate: Calculating the level of interaction users have with a webpage or content.

Geo-Targeting: Delivering content specific to a user's location, enhancing relevance.

Time-on-Site: The average duration a user spends on a website or landing page.

Error Page Optimization: Enhancing the user experience on error pages to prevent bounce rates.

Progressive Profiling: Gradually collecting information about users over multiple interactions, reducing form friction.

Customer Retention Rate: Measuring the ability of a business to retain customers over a specific period.

Segmentation: Dividing a target audience into distinct groups based on common characteristics.

Social Proof: Utilizing endorsements or testimonials to build credibility and trust.

User Flow Analysis: Evaluating the path users take through a website to identify potential points of improvement.

#Landing Page Builders #Unbounce #Competitor Analysis #Website Optimization #Digital Marketing Tools #A/B Testing #User Interface #Customer Reviews #Pricing Plans #Business Growth #Decision Making #User Testimonials #Marketing Technology #Landing Page Design #Conversion Rate Optimization

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tarekazizfba · 1 year

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#SourceMogul is a tool designed to help Amazon sellers grow and manage their businesses. It provides a suite of features and functionalities #Keyword research: SourceMogul helps sellers research and identify the most profitable keywords for their products #allowing them to optimize their product listings for better visibility and sales.#Product tracking: SourceMogul allows sellers to track their competitors' prices and product offerings #enabling them to make data-driven decisions about their own pricing strategies.#Sales analytics: SourceMogul provides detailed sales analytics #including sales trends and insights into customer behavior. This information can help sellers make informed decisions about their product o #Product ranking: SourceMogul provides sellers with real-time information on their product rankings #helping them to understand how their products are performing and identify areas for improvement.#Customer feedback: SourceMogul provides sellers with customer feedback #including product reviews and ratings #enabling them to make improvements to their products and customer service.#SourceMogul is designed to be user-friendly and accessible #SourceMogul is a valuable tool to consider.#SourceMogul #AmazonSelling #EcommerceTools #SellerSuccess #SalesAnalytics #ProductTracking #KeywordResearch #CustomerFeedback #ProductRanking #EcommerceGrowth https://www.sourcemogul.com/offer/affiliates-10-days/?ref=mdtarekaziz1

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turtletaubwrites · 5 months

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Sweet Abduction ~ Part 1

Thank you anon for this super cute request! I loved the idea, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

Pairings: Charlotte Katakuri x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4084

Ao3 Link

Summary: Times are tough, and you're afraid you'll have to give up the family business, until you find people who cherish your work. Who knew making doughnuts would gain you the attention of an Emperor of the Sea, and her second son? Will your new life be as sweet as it seemed?

Rating/Warnings: SFW, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Grief, (reader's dad has passed and she thinks about him a lot), Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Kidnapping, Minor Violence (hardly anything, just being grabbed by the arms briefly), Kissing, No Smut, Human/Monster Romance, He's freaking 16 ft tall, Reader is too sweet for this world

A/N: Turns out Katakuri is over 16 ft tall. I stuck with canon, hope you don't mind! Please heed the tags! This is very sweet romance type fluff, but there is some kidnapping and shit, so be wary 😅

Your body naturally woke you in the quiet, early morning light, but you still felt like you were in a bad dream.

After all your years of struggling to get by, of trying to make a living off the only skills you had, you still had nothing. You had kept your dad’s shop running, learning all you could, trying to honor his memory. But now that he’s gone, prepping these early mornings alone felt like losing him all over again.

Especially since hardly anyone in this town could afford to waste their berries on sweets.

Even buying ingredients for one day's batch was brutal.

I’m sorry, dad. I don’t want to sell your shop. Please, I wish you were here to tell me what to do.

You blinked back your tears as you started frying the morning's first batch of doughnuts.

Falling into your rhythm, you glazed and displayed each doughnut with care. Still taking pride in your work, you treated each pastry with love, even though they would probably be wasted.

You gave a little yelp as the tiny bell on the shop’s door chimed.

Your mouth hung wide as you looked at the two potential customers. Shaking yourself, you greeted them, turning on your customer service charm.

‘The best way to keep a customer is to show them you really care.’

Your dad’s sweet voice filled your mind, and you smiled, genuinely hoping that these people would have a wonderful day. And that if they tried your doughnuts, it might make their day even brighter.

The two strangers made their way to the display case, reviewing the little menu above the counter, and they asked you detailed questions that surprised you.

You had been too busy trying to make sense of the colorful, almost outrageous way they dressed, that it took you a second to realize how excited they seemed to be here.

They can’t be from around here. Everyone here is too poor to be that colorful.

You pinched your wrist at the sour thought, reminding yourself of your dad’s view of the world. He’d tell you to focus on the good things happening right now.

The two customers ordered four doughnuts each, and you carried their plates to the dingy little table in the corner, filling their cups with coffee.

The urge to stare was almost too powerful. It had been so long since someone new came to enjoy your work.

They smacked their lips, and licked their fingers, and their bright eyes warmed your heart.

‘There’s nothing better than watching someone enjoy the work you put your heart into.’

You cleared your throat, turning away from them as you wiped away a tear at your dad’s words in your mind.

“Ooh, Mama’s gonna enjoy this,” the taller one hissed in a mock whisper.

“Excuse me,” the other patron called, waving you over.

You wiped flour off your hands, grabbing the pot of coffee. You felt their eyes on you, feeling examined as you refilled their cups.

“Is there anythi–”

“How would you like a sponsorship to open a shop in the sweetest capital of the world?”

“... I’m sorry. What did you–”

The tall one grabbed your wrist, eyes almost manic as he leaned toward you.

“We’re scouts, you see. We’re from Totto Land, and we’ve been looking for someone with your talents. Everything will be taken care of. We already have a doughnut shop that's just waiting for an artist like you.”

Your eyes were so wide it was almost painful, and part of you told you to run from these strangers.

‘Don’t fight miracles, sweetheart. Sometimes good people really do get good things.’

“Okay,” you stuttered, following your dad’s advice one more time.

You had heard the name Big Mom before, seen her wanted poster. She didn’t seem like a real person when you were struggling in your run down town.

And you thought that Emperors of the Sea were meant to be terrifying, almost demonic.

But here you were on her archipelago, her myriad of islands filled with so many happy people. So many people who love what you do.

It's surreal!

You’d been given a doughnut shop on Komugi Island, along with a beautiful apartment above the shop. You wanted to explore and meet people, but you couldn’t think of closing the shop for even a day.

All the ingredients you could dream of, equipment that you’d never seen before, and a dining area inside and outside with plenty of tables so you could enjoy the happy noises people made when they ate your doughnuts and pastries.

It was heaven. It felt like your dad was there with you, kneading the dough, pouring the coffee. You could almost hear his laugh, his silly songs that he used to hum.

It felt like home.

After a few days, you noticed that the shop cleared out a little before lunchtime. You had been having a steady stream of customers all day since the day you opened, but now it was empty. You tried to remind yourself that things wouldn’t always be that busy, and that it didn’t mean anything.

I guess I’m just worried, dad. I want to do well here. I want to stay.

You had a pile of plates in one hand as you wiped down a table outside.

“Good afternoon,” boomed a deep voice from above, and your ankle shifted against the stone tiles.

You were slipping, trying and failing to keep a grip on the porcelain plates.

Then a huge, warm hand held you steady, and your mouth gaped at the sight of another gloved hand catching the plates before they fell.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, heart racing.

Shifting away to look at your new patron, you steadied yourself, pressing your palm against the warmth beside you.

Your breath hitched as your hand touched firm leather. You stumbled back a step, and he grabbed your shoulder to steady you, before setting the dishes on the table, and towering over you.

“I apologize. I should have waited until you set down the plates.”

The deep, measured voice made you shiver as you looked up at the man it belonged to.

He was so tall. Insanely tall.

Is he a giant?

He sat down beside the shop on what you just now realized was a bench, made for someone his size.

Realizing how rude you were being, you cleared your throat, giving him a smile.

“No need to apologize. Thank you so much for saving my plates!”

You dipped your head, letting your eyes go wide as you looked at the ground after getting a better look at him.

He had deep crimson hair, with eyes to match. Those intense eyes were framed with arched brows, and eyelashes so dark and thick that you could see them from where you were.

You brought your head back up to meet those eyes, and you bobbed on your toes as you tried not to gape at the rest of him.

You’d never seen anyone like him before. He wore a layered scarf that draped around his shoulders, covering his neck, and the lower half of his face.

Below the scarf was an expanse of muscle, pink tattoos accentuating his chiseled abs. His leather vest covered nothing, but it matched the leather across the rest of his body, belts, straps, and spikes giving you so much to look at.

Then you looked back at his eyes, and realized you’d been staring.

“I–I am so sorry. I’m new here, and my head is a little off still. Would you like me to bring you a menu?”

He hardly spoke while he was there, but his gaze felt heavy and warm. Thankfully, no one else came by to witness you making a fool out of yourself.

He made a huge order, and you packed three large boxes to the brim.

Your dad would have been so happy in that moment. You could picture his smile. Practically hear his voice.

‘Look, sweetheart. Your love is gonna touch all those people that eat your sweets. Isn’t that just lovely?’

“Are you afraid?”

“What,” you choked out, quickly brushing a tear from your eye as you thought of your father.

He’d taken the boxes from you after paying, but now his brows were furrowed as he looked down at you.

“Oh my– oh no! I’m sorry,” you panicked, realizing what he meant.

“I wasn’t crying because of– I was just thinking about my dad. He would have been really happy with your order. You picked all his favorites!”

He stiffened, one of his gloved hands flexing on his knee.

Clearing his throat, he stood, his height leaving you speechless again.

“Thank you, miss. Have a pleasant day.”

“... Th-Thank you! Please, come again soon!”

You were waving at his back, and he froze for a moment at your words. But he kept walking, finally leaving your sight.

Slumping into one of the chairs, you felt the blood rushing through your body, your head feeling fuzzy after all of that.

Then a line of customers started trickling back in, and you poured yourself into work.

What an interesting place this is.

He came back again. And again. And you always forgot to ask for his name.

He never said much. He always ordered at least three boxes. And you always spaced out as you stared at him at least once before he left.

Luckily he always seemed to come during a slow hour, catching you cleaning with no other customers to attend to.

You wanted to ask if he liked them. If he liked your dad’s favorite recipes. It seemed like a silly question, since he ordered so many every time.

But you liked his voice, and you thought it would sound really nice if he said it.

You caught yourself grinning in the mirror at the thought as you got ready for the day.

I think I like it here.

“Good morning, miss Y/N!”

You had just stepped downstairs, morning light still not quite touching the world, but your shop was full of people.

“I… I’m sorry. The shop’s not open yet. But I’m happy to share my pot of coffee with you if you’re willing to wait on the doughnuts!”

You felt extra grateful that you’d dressed for the day before coming downstairs.

“Thank you dear, but you’ll be coming with us.”

A tall, thin woman moved toward you, a rough scar bisecting her face, and you clenched your fist to stop yourself from recoiling. It was too damn early for someone who looked like a gnarled old witch to break in and threaten you.

Is she threatening me?

“Sorry, uh,” you said awkwardly as you moved behind the counter. “I’ve got a lot of doughnuts to get started for the day.”

“Not today, sweetie,” the witch-like woman said, her reddish nose bobbing as she shook her head.

“I don’t– Did I do something wrong?”

You shrank back against the wall as guards moved against you, gripping your arms.

“Not at all,” the woman nearly shrieked, failing to sound comforting. “In fact, you are being granted the highest of honors. You are about to become part of Big Mom’s family!”

You had been squirming only slightly, not really fighting against the men holding and moving you. But now you slumped, confusion hurting your brain too much to keep steady.

“What do you mean? What’s happening,” you asked, panic building in your throat the closer they got you to the door.

“You have been chosen to wed the shining star of the Charlotte family. Our strongest warrior, a man whose back has never touched the ground. My perfect big brother, Charlotte Katakuri!”

Your mouth hung open as she continued, her voice manic, louder with each word. She may as well have been speaking another language.

She pointed a long, twig-like arm at you, and you tried to clear your head to understand.

“You can call me Brulee, sister in law. Tomorrow you will become Charlotte Y/N.”

You stood, frozen and dizzy.

“Come now, lots to do, sister,” she tutted, snapping her fingers.

“But why? Why me?”

She reared on you, her red nose inches from yours.

“You’re special, of course. You were chosen. And you’d better learn not to question Mama.”

“Please,” you pleaded, twisting against the guard's hold. “I don’t–”

“Don’t question mama! And don’t even think about refusing her.”

The guards tightened their grip, leading you toward the door.

“Wait!”

“Don’t res—”

“Please change the sign! Please let my customers know I’ll be gone, I don’t want them to wait out there for me.”

Brulee frowned at you, but had one of the guards write a note, hanging it on the door.

“Thank you,” you sighed with relief, giving her a grateful smile.

She frowned again.

You didn’t resist, and the guards let you walk freely. You felt the stares of citizens on you, and watched a group of onlookers waving as the ship departed for the main island.

Whole Cake Island.

It was incredible. The sounds, the colors, the smells! Excited locals rushing around, as if preparing for something big.

Like a wedding.

Brulee spent the travel time regaling you with stories of her brother.

The second son of the Big Mom Pirates. One of the Three Sweet Commanders. The Minister of Flour who governs over your new home, Komugi Island.

“When he was born he stood straight up, and slept on a chair. His back has never touched the ground. He’s never laid down, and never been knocked down either.”

“That sounds tiring,” you muttered under your breath, but she turned, grasping your wrist.

“Not to my brother. He’s more than strong. He’s superhuman. He’s noble, and cool-headed. And you are going to be the perfect wife for my perfect brother. Got it?”

“I-I got it.”

She released your arm, and you tried to fight your nerves, but you couldn’t stop shaking.

You were led through a massive castle that looked like, or was it a cake? The ceilings were so massive, you had to crane your neck to see them.

Brulee left the guards outside, leading you into a gorgeous bedroom, with an extravagant bathroom, and at least ten servants carrying all sorts of fabrics, powders, shoes, and more.

You felt like you were in a whirlwind, just staying still and letting these strangers touch you, pamper you, fit the white dress to your body.

Now and then you’d pay attention to what they were saying between their giggles and demands.

“She’s so lucky.”

“I wish I could join the family.”

“I wonder if his children will be as perfect as he is?”

Finally, you were freed from their hands. Dinner was brought to your guarded room, and you watched the night fall.

You curled up in the luxurious bed, and sobbed silently. You caught yourself whispering under the blankets, eyes burning as you tried to make sense of it all.

“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m trying to see the good here. But I’m scared. I love this place. I love making people smile. But what if this man… What if my husband is a bad person? What if he’s mean? What if he doesn’t like me?”

Visions of terror filled your mind. If they could kidnap you for this, could they really be good people? This land seems so happy and prosperous, could this marriage be a good thing?

“Is this a miracle, dad? Should I let it happen, and hope for the best?”

“Will they kill me if I try to run?”

“I’m scared, dad. I wish you were here.”

Finally, your quiet sobs fell into slow breaths as sleep pulled you under.

Morning arrived, and the servants were buzzing with excitement as they prepared you for the wedding. You felt empty, hollow. They kept pinching your cheeks lightly, trying to wake you up, to convince you to be happy.

All you could manage was a weak smile as you looked at your reflection.

“You look beautiful, sister,” Brulee praised, patting your hand. “It’s almost time.”

She led you to a massive stone room, guiding you to a small bench before leaning over you.

“Just wait here. It won't be long.”

She left, and you didn't turn to watch her go. You thought about running. There were no guards in this chamber.

You bit your lip to keep from crying, afraid of what might happen to you if you ruined your makeup.

“Y/N…”

A choked gasp left your throat as you turned, looking for the owner of that deep voice.

Your favorite customer was there, his height looking almost normal in this massive room. He sat along the wall on a giant bench, leaning toward you.

“Oh, hello,” you practically squeaked, throat caught with unshed tears. “What are you doing here? I’m sorry I couldn’t make your order today!”

“Please,” he stopped you, holding out his gloved hands. You blinked at him, noticing that his normally black attire was white, somehow making his hair and tattoos stand out even more.

“What are you…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Let what happen,” you asked, your mind moving so fast it felt like it was tripping over itself. You stood without meaning to, walking closer.

“You were brought to my island as a gift. For me.”

His dark eyes poured over you as you stood, silently waiting.

“I shouldn’t have told mama that I liked you. I tried to convince her to stop, but there’s no way to stop this without violence now. And I cannot hurt my family.”

Violence?

Your heart beat in your chest like a bird, wings flapping desperately to escape a cage.

“Mama is a decisive woman. When she makes her mind up on something, it will happen. I am usually the one to make it happen. Most of my siblings have their marriages arranged. I didn't…”

Regret tinged his voice, and you met his eyes.

“Why me?”

He looked away, sighing as he leaned back against the wall.

“My siblings brought you to my island because they thought I would enjoy your doughnuts. I happened to mention how much I’ve enjoyed your work, and your… company. So Mama has decided that you’ll be joining the family. That you and I will marry. In less than an hour.”

You’d never heard him say so many words at once, and his voice rolled over you while you tried to comprehend everything. Your mouth hung open as you stared at him.

“You must be frightened.”

He shifted on the bench, looking almost uncomfortable before he caught himself. He adjusted the movement, making it look deliberate. But you noticed.

He’s just a person.

“I think having a first date might have been nice,” you teased with a small smile.

He stared down at you for a long moment, before his brows furrowed.

“You shouldn’t have to marry a monster.”

“What do you mean,” you questioned, starting to feel lightheaded from everything.

“When we kiss, it will be over…”

“We’ll be married?”

“No.”

You hadn’t thought his eyes could get any more intense, but they sure did. You stood, still as a statue, waiting for him to explain.

“There’s something I have to show you.”

Katakuri unraveled his scarf, slowly revealing the lower half of his face.

Your eyes went wide at the sight of his large mouth, scars stretching from ear to ear. Sharp teeth or fangs jutted out at the edges of his lips.

Your first thought was that he did look like a monster.

‘You can’t tell somebody’s heart from the outside, sweetheart. Always give people a chance.’

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, after you stood there too long, thinking of your dad’s voice.

You watched those huge hands start to drape the scarf, looking away from you as he covered his scars.

“Wait,” you commanded, voice almost too loud in the echoing room. You reached up to put your hand on his knee, shoving aside a brief thought about how things would work with his height.

“Will you be kind to me?”

He paused his movements, face still uncovered. Your whole body rolled with warm shivers as he laid his hand on yours.

“I will be kind to you. And I will protect you.”

“And you’ll tell me how much you like my doughnuts?”

An almost surprised huff left him, and you were pleasantly shocked to see his wide lips twitch up, a hint of a smile there.

“I love your doughnuts. They make me very happy.”

Your toes curled in your shoes as you grinned up at him

“Okay,” you nodded, dread shifting to excitement. “I guess we’re getting married then? Please, promise to be kind.”

“I promise,” he agreed, head tilted as he looked at you, before wrapping his scarf back around.

You were practically bouncing on your feet now, and your words came out high and fast.

“So, your name is Katakuri?”

“Yes.”

“Is it true you never lie on your back?”

“We’ll learn a lot of interesting things about each other later,” he promised, voice low as he patted you on the head.

“Right now we have somewhere to be.”

There were so many people. So much food, so many sweets.

Big Mom was enormous, even taller than Katakuri. All of her children looked so different, so interesting.

Everyone seemed happy.

I’ll choose to be happy too, dad. I just wish you were here with me.

The ceremony and vows flew by, and luckily you remembered what to say. Then the end arrived, and you realized that you didn’t know what to do.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may start your marriage with a kiss!”

How am I supposed to kiss him?

Your question was answered as his large hand scooped down beside you. Looking into his face, you could have sworn he was smiling by the slight crinkling of his eyes.

A giggle left your lips as you nodded, and you gasped as he grabbed you gently around the waist, lifting you up.

You heard the cheers of his family as he turned away from the crowd, keeping his face from their sight.

“I am sorry, Y/N.”

His whisper made your heart ache for this strange man. He seemed so lonely, even with all of his family looking up to him.

Maybe neither of us have to be lonely anymore.

You touched a hand to his cheekbone, and he seemed to freeze.

“Don’t be sorry, Katakuri. Let’s just be good to each other.”

You felt a hum move through him before he carefully pulled his scarf down, just enough, just for you.

He’s so big!

That thought hit you again, but you’d already decided. You were already his. You leaned forward, and kissed him between the sharp fangs at the edges of his mouth.

His lips were warm, and soft, and sweet.

You let out a hum of contentment, wiggling slightly in his grasp. He pulled back, covering his face, then he stared at you.

“Hi,” you said softly, feeling your skin flush as you felt suddenly shy.

“Oh mama, mama,” Big Mom laughed, making him turn to face the party.

“My family is getting bigger and bigger! What a wonderful day. Let’s start with the cake!”

Katakuri didn’t join in on the fun, sitting on the edge as if keeping watch over his own wedding. Everytime you tried to talk to him, new in-laws would drag you away, light conversations and laughter hogging the day.

Finally, you were ushered away, waving back at the crowd as your husband joined you.

Instead of a carriage, you were carried away from your wedding on Katakuri’s shoulder, adjusting the scarf so that it would stay in place.

A procession of onlookers applauded, calling his name. You even heard your own name once or twice. It felt like the entire island was cheering for you, and you were caught in the chaos of a world you never could have imagined.

Your mind started racing as the wedding was over, the real world starting to return. A million questions tore through you, and you didn’t know where to start, until one came tumbling out.

“How are we going to sleep if you never lay on your back?”

He let out a sound that could have been a laugh as he kept moving toward your new home.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll show you.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Once again, I'm so happy to take requests! I probably wouldn't have thought to write for this big guy, but now I love this lil doughnut man. He's so sweet 😭😭 (Let me know if I should write the honeymoon... 😳)

Tag List: @shewrites02

Part 2

#katakuri x reader #fluff #charlotte katakuri x reader #one piece x reader #reader Insert #fem!reader #fic requests #x reader #turtletaub fics #mine #one piece fanfic #charlotte katakuri #one piece fic #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction

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clavissionary-position · 3 months

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Emma: (shopping for soaps online)

Emma: (scrolls to the customer reviews)

Gilbert ★★★★☆ The rosy scent is a little strong, but it works wonders on bloodstains. Heehee.

Kagari ★★☆☆☆ Doesn't last nearly long enough between kills. Would be nice if it came dorayaki-scented.

Clavis ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ I live with an animal and purchase these in bulk for him. I highly recommend this brand to other cat-owners!

Silvio Full-disclosure: I own this company, so I'm not going to leave a rating. But I work closely with the family who started the business and to say I'm impressed by their practices is an understatement. You won't be disappointed.

Licht ★★★★★ It's soap.

#ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri kagari #clavis lelouch #silvio ricci #licht klein #incorrect quote folder

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begenilen · 1 year

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Bestnotifier - Gold

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sammydigitaleu · 21 days

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#business directory #local listings #SEO services #business profiles #digital marketing #online presence #social media marketing #business promotion #local SEO #advertising platform #corporate publications #business networking #customer reviews #business ratings

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popatochisssp · 8 months

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Would it be too much to ask what kind of jobs the new skeles might have since you already shared bram would be a groundskeeper at a cemetery?

Looks like I never officially did this one for Wave 2, just Wave 1 over here.

So, while we’re at it, let's do 2 and 3!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): He’s semi-unemployed, or self-employed depending on how you look at it. He busks, playing his trombone out on the street and accepting donations from anyone who feels so inclined. He likes playing music and the idea of brightening peoples’ days in the middle of their commute, so the money doesn’t really matter to him. Sometimes he picks up small gigs at local venues, mostly by word of mouth, and eventually he breaks into the tutoring scene—teaching his favorite instrument to young aspiring musicians who find the same joy in it that he does.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He works as a professor at the local community college, teaching anthropology. He’s passionate about the subject and can’t think of anything he’d rather do than share it with a classroom of humans who probably have no idea how interesting they really are. If only one student walked away from his class with a new appreciation for what humanity’s all about then he’s fulfilled—but he tends to send a lot more away with that than just one, since he’s a very popular, friendly, and accessible teacher.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He’s self-employed, knitting blankets at home and selling them online. He doesn’t need a job at all, between the Queen and his brother, money’s not an issue, but he’d go crazy if he didn’t have something to do all day, and nobody wants to see what he looks like when he goes crazy. He takes commissions often, but other times he just makes things according to whatever he’s feeling and what color yarn he has handy and sells to whoever feels like buying it.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He works as a physical therapist. He more or less taught himself to walk again after losing his leg, and a second time after getting a replacement, so he very personally understands the need that exists for people who are injured and want to get back to their normal life—but maybe lack the discipline, the knowledge, or the tools to take that journey solo. He’s hard on his patients and sadistically merciless, but his success rate in terms of mobility recovered is very high and any complaints after the fact are begrudging at worst.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a home baker, making cakes and small pastries for a small but growing client base. He likes the freedom of getting to pursue his passions seriously and to be his own boss, set his own hours, screen his own clients, et cetera. He puts a lot of time and care into what he makes, both in terms of flavor and decoration, and finds nothing quite so satisfying as a repeat customer or a glowing review and recommendation to someone new.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Freelance programming is what he does for cash. It was something he could both learn how to do and actually do remotely, without the need for more than the bare minimum of in-person contact. He likes problem-solving, and complaining about the problem-solving, and the field is pretty much always in demand so if he’s bored of certain kinds of jobs, or sick of the person giving him the jobs, he can jump ship at any time and be a contractor someplace else.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): He’s a boxer, more amateur than pro so he doesn’t make a ton doing it, at least not consistently, but he likes fighting and draws in a decent crowd by being a bit of a spectacle (a blind skeleton in the ring) so the entertainment value is worth something. Aside from that, eventually, he fills in for his brother as a combination business partner/agent/accountant, helping him get jobs and keep clients and manage the money he makes doing so.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He’s unemployed for a long while, but ultimately breaks into professional photography, with a specialty in travel photographs. He likes taking pictures and getting to see the world in the process, and it helps that it’s a family business so he and his brother have pretty much full control over what jobs he takes and for how much. He doesn’t really concern himself with the money numbers, though, he just likes filling out his portfolio with gorgeous locales all around the world.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He does a lot of odd jobs, all over the place, generally (things that are considered) unskilled labor—bussing tables, janitorial work, desk clerking, that kind of thing. He doesn’t like the thought of getting too stuck into any one thing and being unable to try something else out later if it doesn’t work out, and there’s something to be said for the satisfaction of being closely connected to the results of your labor. Sometime down the line he will end up sticking in one career, as a dealer for a casino, because it combines his social, charming nature with his sharp eye and quick hands, but until then he’s happy to bounce around.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): He’s a bookkeeper at a nondescript company. He’s organized and thorough with record-keeping and double-checking data, and he likes putting those skills to use to make sure his employer’s finances and transactions all balance out at the end of the day. Some might find it boring work and he could almost certainly qualify for a much more ‘prestigious’ job doing something else, but he’s satisfied having a job that doesn’t require all of his effort and brainpower, so he can save some of that for his personal life and private interests.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): He’s a nomad, a wanderer, he has no job. He’s a robot in the shape of a monster—ostensibly still a monster, even so—in a world full of humans that as yet believe monsters don’t exist, so even if he wanted a job, getting one would be logistically difficult. Luckily, he feels no special need to be gainfully employed and just spends his time wandering around and taking in the world. If he needs something, he’ll either just take it or use one of his brother’s accounts to pay for it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a performer, a disc jockey who mixes, makes, and plays music to crowds at clubs, raves, and discos, anywhere he’s welcome. He takes advantage of the perception of his holographic form as an artist’s gimmick, like Daft Punk, Hatsune Miku, dead musicians projected onto stages to play posthumously… In his defense, that last one is sort of exactly what he is, except he didn’t really start making music until after he died. Still, he has fun doing it and adores the fame he’s steadily gaining as a popular, cutting-edge technology music act.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): He does aura readings for people. For those interested to know, he shares his perception of their colors and the flow of energy in and around them, and just generally describes the sense he gets about a person. What he does is really more of a soul read than an aura read, so a lot of the color meanings and terminology he uses contrast with the kind of readings his clients may get from humans who practice something a little bit different. Still, he’s earnest in his desire to help people understand themselves and their energies and emotions, so he gets a lot of recommendations and repeat clientele who trust he’s the real deal.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): He works as an event planner, organizing gatherings, arranging vendors, booking venues, the whole nine. He has a great reputation for making things go smoothly and always seems to be able to talk out bumps and snags before they ever become a major problem. He also maintains great relationships with people in the industry and delights in having connections just about everywhere in case he needs to call on a favor to make something happen for a client. He's got the magic touch and the silver (gold) tongue that makes everything fall into place just so.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He works as a clerk at a pawn shop. He gets to handle a lot of interesting items and assess roughly how much they’d be worth, and he’s pretty good at haggling and negotiating with people who might not agree with said assessments. Sometimes people will come in with broken stuff they wouldn’t be able to get too much for, but maybe he can cut ‘em a deal, fix it up on his own dime and if they come back for it, great—and if they don’t, his boss’ll be happy to have something that works to sell to somebody else at a markup, how ‘bout it? He does a brisk business and both sides of the counter love him.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s in construction. He’s huge, strong, takes direction well, and diligently follows rules and protocols—he’s an ideal fit for it. He likes to work hard and be able to see a job come together, knowing he had a part in it and being satisfied with the quality of his contribution. He especially likes to take every safety training and equipment certification course he can attend because he likes knowing what the rules are and being specifically told how certain procedures are run, machines operated, et cetera. He’s very likely to be apprenticed in as a foreman if not the inheritor someday of the construction business by its current owner for his work ethic and dedication, but that’ll be a long ways from now.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): He works as an independent auditor and combs through companies’ records, internal and external documentation, processes, and accounting and ensures everything is being done in accordance with industry standards. In short, he shows up, demands to see everything they have, and looks through it to see if they’ve lied, did something wrong, or lost information they weren’t supposed to. Sometimes he can do this remotely but other times he has to travel out to a physical office somewhere and sit down with a bunch of stuffed file cabinets, and he really doesn’t mind either way. He likes the work and he’s good at it—maybe because he’s good at it—and he finds it satisfying to catch the tiniest little misses and errors to demand an accounting of them.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He’s a trail maintenance worker for Ebott National Park. He walks the paths and hiking trails and makes sure they’re safe and unobstructed for visitors, as well as whatever odd jobs in the area that happen to come up—looking out for invasive species, helping with a bench install, directing lost tourists, that kinda thing. It’s not especially glamorous work but it’s pretty much exactly where he wants to be and he’s happy to do it, probably wouldn’t pick any other job in the world…except maybe to volunteer for a seasonal fire-watch position and do pretty much the exact same thing, but more isolated and with a big cool tower to sit in.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He works as a mortician at a local funeral home. He generally isn’t expected (read: allowed) to deal with grieving families, that’s more the funeral director’s purview, but he works behind the scenes embalming, processing, and otherwise preparing the dead for their final party and last ride home. He has a strong stomach—or rather, no stomach at all—and doesn’t get squeamish or emotional about the dead, so that works out. They also let him work nights so he has several long, quiet hours of methodically going through the routine with no (living) humans around to irritate him or vice-versa. Sounds like a good gig to him.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): Yes, still a groundskeeper for the cemetery and loving it. It was something he kind of fell into through his brother, when he didn’t really know what he wanted to do on the Surface, but his brother sends dead humans off to their final resting place and said final resting place was looking for someone to dig holes, mind the grass, keep everything looking neat and nice—and that’s certainly something he can do! He also works nights, being that monsters are almost entirely nocturnal these days, so he’s also an unintentional scarecrow deterrent to teenagers sneaking in late for partying or spooky dares when they see a slim, bony silhouette materialize out of the shadows with a shovel in hand, asking if they’re just visiting or thinking about moving in.…

#anonymous #headcanons #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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colsonlin · 2 years

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“Cape Cod”: a good old-fashioned short story (a 45-minute read)

“Cape Cod” is an analysis of our society’s tendency to produce narcissism, sociopathy, and casual dehumanization. It felt so good to get all of this off my chest! —Nina

A lot of how we talk about middle school in America is something I take issue with—like, for instance, that it’s somehow not the most formative experience of our lives. (It is.) A lot of people say “college,” but I had already cycled into an idea of who I was going to be as an adult by then—an A student, a talker, a birdwatcher, a take-no-prisoners observer of human social life. I studied sociology at the University of Maryland. At my retail job now—I work at a Nordstrom in Connecticut—I interact with a dying breed: old rich white women who still buy their cashmeres at the mall. At my old retail job in Farmington I was a cashier. At Nordstrom I’m more of a saleswoman—I don’t hand my customers their purchases after I’m done folding their clothes into the bag, I walk around the counter to deliver their parcels to them personally. I work six nights a week until the mall closes at 11 and on Sundays, Mondays, and Thursdays I drive to my second job at a call center in Southington. I earn enough money to pay for my Hyundai and an apartment above the laundromat, have coffee on the weekends, keep up with my student loans, and map out what the next step will be.

College feels like a million years ago.

Middle school still feels like yesterday.

“Brenda” (not her real name), my supervisor at my old department store in Farmington, was the portrait of managerial incompetence. She was fat and unmarried and all of the associates who weren’t actively helping a customer used to crowd into the stock room whenever she came out of her office, usually to berate one of us for misplacing a store key. We all know a Brenda from middle school. Everything you say is wrong, and everything she says can’t be improved upon. Three of us quit within the first ten months of Brenda’s arrival, and at least one of us later wrote an anonymous email to the district manager about her obvious drinking problem.

My old department store—I don’t want to get into any trouble here so let’s just call them “Not-Quite Sephora”—was in a strip mall. I never knew who to feel more sorry for during the day, myself or the customers who came in. I once explained to my boyfriend that we were kind of like Wal-Mart’s “more youthful older sister”—a high school varsity cheerleader perhaps, but still stuck in the past all the same.

There were ten of us on the first floor—the second floor, “Men’s,” might as well have been a different planet entirely. Brenda acted like she was better than all of us, because she has a master’s degree in “Global Business Administration,” whatever the fuck that was. Brenda didn’t seem to understand that all her master’s degree did was make her look both underqualified and overqualified for her job at the same time. (Her main role, from what I could tell, was assigning holiday bonuses and amplifying customer complaints.)

Not-Quite Sephora has a dying business model, but we were kept artificially alive by a steady stream of suburban glum as the principal anchor of a once-iconic strip mall. The first floor was perpetually understaffed—our Google reviews under Brenda’s mismanagement decayed from 4.2 to 2.8 stars (and this coming from a woman who tends to take “American public opinion” with a grain of salt). The turnover rate among everyone except me, Ashley, and Gabby seemed to be such that a new Chris, Brian, or Andy was being fired every three months. Good riddance, I always thought.

Men don’t understand how to take orders from a woman, and the ones who say they do are liars from the black lagoon.

I understand Brenda.

I really do.

Brenda’s most direct feature was that you couldn’t get a direct answer out of her, ever—it was either caustic sarcasm or happy-peppy self-deprecation. Everything she said was either designed to suppress or to charm. She was intelligent, which was the problem—quick-witted even—she prized competence, prided herself on being everything everywhere all at once (with self-pity), once complained to me in the break room that she was an ex-spelling-bee champion. Appearance-wise, what once made me jolt awake at night was that she tries, she actually tries. Not doing anything to set Brenda off had become something of an obsession of mine by her third month there. I applied to other jobs, but only in non-retail.

Trying to go non-retail—my life in a nutshell.

Brenda took over at a precarious time. Inflation was rising. Covid was either over or about to be over, but either way, brick-and-mortar seemed to be one of its death tolls. Brenda had mousy blond hair, wore black trousers to work, and used to tramp around the store carrying an inventory clipboard whenever she was upset about something. I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to take fashion-merchandising so seriously. Her first day at Not-Quite Sephora, Brenda compared our fitting rooms favorably to the fitting rooms at her old Kohl’s in Florida, now shuttered (“So coming back up here was kind of like coming home for me, y’know?”). Brenda grew up in a trailer park in New Jersey and you can tell.

You can guess what her politics are.

I think what appealed to me most about the Cape Cod trip, if I were to be honest, was the right to tell Brenda that I’d have to take a few days off in mid-September because my boyfriend had invited me on a trip to “the Cape.”

Here was a woman in her late forties or early fifties who had located the profundity of her self-esteem in “competence”—and yet it never finally occurred to her that the only way to be “competent” in your everyday life is to command the trust of those around you. Trust is earned, Brenda, and it’s lost with unreliability. I could never really trust that woman not to not trap me inside a rule without being able to explain to me the reasons—not to not be imperious and self-certain and in self-protection mode at all times—and not to not explode all of her emotional wreckage on me, drenching me in the black mist of her self-absorption. Brenda was always right. Brenda is never to be questioned. (Brenda’s real name is “Karen,” which is why I didn’t want to say it at the time.)

It felt so good to able to tell Brenda that—all of her anxieties about the back-to-school rush aside—I’m going to have to take three days off in mid-September because my boyfriend has invited me on a trip with his three friends to the Cape. (I met my boyfriend a year ago on Opal.) It pained me to be so petty—no, not the reference to Cape Cod, which was just a kiss on the lips, but the reference to having a boyfriend, which was my primary poison. I wore more eyeliner to work, not less, the longer the weeks went by trying to circumnavigate Brenda’s imperialism. I enjoyed looking like a magazine cover while supplicating to her at the makeup counter.

We worked at a department store.

(“—so that’s my life, okay?”)

I could see it already. I love how Brenda, with her master’s degree in Global Business Studies or whatever the fuck she majored in, has to flinch every time who I really was blinked in front of her. I bet you flinched every time you saw me shrug into your office, Brenda, no matter what you called me into your office for, because I know about the Us Weeklies you stole from the front stands—I told Accounting about them!—I know how responsive you are to young women with movie-star looks who had won the genetic lottery. I smile at you, Brenda, precisely because I know how my angelic dimples make you feel. It makes you feel like you want to protect me.

It makes you feel you need to defend your true queen.

Beauty was my one and only power over Brenda, but I can assure you I only used it sparingly (all it took was sparingly with a woman so obsessed with appearances). We don’t talk about being pretty enough, which is another way of saying we don’t talk about seeing only the appearances enough. Seeing only the appearances was how I, prior to this weekend, once saw Cape Cod. What do you know about Cape Cod anyway? What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you mentally google it? I want to leave you now with an image of seagulls.

I matched with my boyfriend last September on Opal.

Now I know what you might be thinking—this whole story basically amounts to one long humblebrag about how I have an account on Opal, lol. No. First of all, I deleted that account six months ago. My boyfriend and I both did, on the same day—that was how we agreed to be serious.

Opal’s cornered the market on young attractive people who like to paraglide to remote destinations—the one and only trick it has up its sleeves is “exclusivity,” which in America is a royal flush. I’ll tell you real quick how I landed an account on Opal. A hedge-fund apparatchik I had gone on two dates with wrote me a recommendation letter after I told him I didn’t think it was going to work out between us, but did he still want to be friends? (And what do friends do?) It was his fault. He was the one who’d bragged to me about having an account on Opal in the first place. He even helped me pick out my profile pictures.

I left the Alma Mater field blank.

Opal’s about what you’d expect—videos of narcissist after narcissist who summer in Thailand. I swiped past all of the alpha males, which took days. Men who were earnest or men who were silly were the only men I could take seriously.

My boyfriend’s in that five percent of men just below the top ten percent that most women don’t know to circle the ocean for. You know the type. He’d be unstoppable if just one or two more things had gone right for him, but as it were, the wrong job, the wrong company, the wrong alma mater, had kept a handsome face trapped beneath a monthly gym membership. You’ll recognize these five-percenters from their personality—pure souls who’d lucked out facially, two sevens on the slot machine, but whose unambiguous victory had been stunted by some existential lemon. Some of them have eating disorders. Some google “male plastic surgery” in the dead of night. In my boyfriend’s case, he’s pansexual. Open-minded women have rejected him, which gives him a chip on his shoulder, and now he thinks he understands what it’s like being a minority. My boyfriend’s the type to care a lot about social issues. I’m not sure he even knows we’re interracial.

His parents have a house in Cape Cod.

His dad’s a federal judge and his mom’s an immigration attorney. Until we met and he started showing me pictures on his phone of his childhood vacation home, I had never really thought a lot about Cape Cod. I only knew it as the brand of a potato chip one step up the class ladder from Lay’s, and as a cultural metonym for white-sand beaches, old stone lighthouses, and the Kennedys. Brenda grew up in a trailer park in New Jersey, but I’m sure she must have learned at her master’s program what Cape Cod was.

Cape Cod was where she wanted to be.

And as it so happens, Brenda?

Cape Cod is me.

I wanted so desperately to tell her but I couldn’t.

I wanted so badly to inform Brenda that I had more important things to worry about than making sure the lipsticks were alphabetized, or that the powders were arranged in alternating shades of rouge and beige: namely, that a splitting image of one of the stars you read about in Us Weekly had a life to live, and she was going to enjoy the fruits of her beauty—fruits that Brenda could only live vicariously through (I tallied six missing issues of Us Weekly over the course of a year; no other magazine had gone unaccounted for during the same period except for a single issue of Better Homes & Gardens, which I found one night crumpled on top of Brenda’s desk).

The way Brenda’s eyes lit up whenever she talked about Mackenzie Davis—I just needed Brenda to recognize my own beauty in the same way! It flipped around, you see, like a head trip—sometimes Brenda bowed to her true queen, and sometimes she said mean things to me. I wasn’t thought of as “intelligent” by Brenda, and I could never tell if it was because of my race or my beauty—the two possibilities flickered around in my head like a dueling candlelight until one night I decided, “It’s both,” and just let it die.

Resentment was brewing between me and Brenda.

Ever since I realized I would have to lie to her about my Cape Cod trip, because September would be the back-to-school rush, and there was no way Brenda was okaying me those vacation days. At Not-Quite Sephora, Brenda’s first rule was: “Just be honest. I want to know everything.”

But do you, Brenda?

Do you want to know how I plan to get out of work during the back-to-school rush, because I’ll be with my boyfriend and his three Yale Law classmates traipsing across Cape Cod? Do you really want to read about a beautiful woman’s life in Us Weekly? (Just steal my diary.) I’ll call in sick. I’ll lie and cough right to your face over the phone, Brenda, and I’m telling you it’s corona. I don’t have to be honest with you about anything because you rule by fear, not trust, and in a world of fear without trust anything goes.

Fear without trust is the animal kingdom.

And Not-Quite Sephora is the animal world.

The night before my last day at Not-Quite Sephora, Brenda humiliated Ashley in the stock room. (Ashley had made the mistake of asking her for paid time off for a wedding in December.) I didn’t overhear it, but I heard about it, which was enough. I have always had a way with words, and I gave Brenda some direct evidence of it by way of a resignation letter I wrote to the district manager—only it wasn’t really a resignation letter, it was more like a record of how Karen McHiggins was a terrible supervisor, sent to Corporate and cc-ed to the entire floor. (What mattered wasn’t that I had cc-ed the entire floor, but that the next morning, every single person on the floor congratulated me.) The group chat I’m in with Ashley and Gabby pops off more than ever now ever since I quit, only I didn’t mean to quit.

I only wanted to take a truthful temperature.

Brenda showed all of her cards when I showed up to my shift the next day. “Nina? My office. Now.”

I made eye contact with Ashley, who was already in her uniform, and we both smiled.

She kind of gave me an eye hug.

I wore nude lipstick that day.

The email I had sent Corporate was subject-lined “Management’s Mismanagement,” and it listed six bullet points about Brenda’s bad behavior (one involved throwing a purse at a mannequin; the last five were instances of emotional abuse). It ended with a paragraph about Brenda’s encounter with Ashley in the stock room (Brenda had called Ashley “unlikable,” “self-absorbed,” “a fucking dipshit”).

I laid out the case like the lawyer I couldn’t afford to be (I had other interests, hobbies, and pursuits in middle school, like not killing myself). Brenda was probably shocked I could write. She was probably shocked I could read, but I wield words as weapons—that’s the only thing you ever have to know about me. (In third grade, I won the spelling bee too.)

How did I dress for work the day after I wrote “Management’s Mismanagement” (and really I should say the morning after, because I sent the email at 4 a.m. and had to wake up three hours to let an exterminator in)?

I looked like a star.

I had even spent the last six months of my life casually coaxing Brenda toward the mixed-race celebrities I wanted her to subliminally see me as. Cape Cod would smile. I’d fit in well there, because in my late forties or early fifties I’d have the sort of personality that everybody at Beach Road would know to be impressed by—I could lift my life up to heights that the bourgeois rabble couldn’t even see. Not a single one of my applications to a white-collar job had ended in a palatable offer. Not-Quite Sephora, founded in Vermont, has a labor-friendly CEO. My benefits were good—I even had vision and dental. “One way or another, I’m bringing up my Cape Cod trip,” was the last clear thought I had before knocking on Brenda’s door.

“Come in,” a harsh voice gruffed.

I opened the door.

“Close that please,” was the first thing I heard Brenda say before she and I even made eye contact.

I closed the door dutifully.

Karen McHiggins was standing next to her desk in red pants and a black blazer. She had tied her hair into pigtails that day for some reason, although her hair was so short that they ended up looking more like ringlets, and her eyes behind her glasses were blue and pixel-like. Brenda made a quick gesture at the floor with her hands, almost like she was trying to say “Enough!”, and then said: “What is going on, Nina—what is going on, because I do not understand you.”

Her voice was hoarse.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her red pants—but your blazer is black?—so I just said, “I—” while panning my gaze to her desk, waiting for her to continue.

Brenda’s desk was a mess.

Just like her thought processes.

“If you have ever had a problem with me, you could have come to me directly. What have I always told you, Nina—” Brenda was now screaming.

Brenda thinks screaming has an effect on me.

She’s right—loud noises do have an effect on me. Elevated decibels have an effect on every animal that evolves through nature. How much do I hate Brenda right now? My eyes are staring into hers—but I don’t see a human.

I see an animal.

The power of volume is that it throbs the ear—and ears desire music. Ears desire harmony. Wild animals make me forget poetry as I bolt into the jungle—how much do I hate the woman screaming into my ears right now? Well, there’s a simple formula for that, and all of us are making it, even if we don’t know that we’re making it. We take how much anxiety we experience from being around a person, and then we multiply it by a factor.

My factor is 1 when that person is equal to me.

My factor is a fraction of 1 when that person is homeless.

My factor is greater than 1 when that person is greater than me.

And for Brenda my factor was 42,137—that’s 1 for every dollar that the winds of Brenda’s turbulence lorded over me, granting me vision and dental.

The ensuing number is a hatred.

How much anxiety was Brenda creating in me? Well, for starters—how much did I distrust Brenda? (And how much did I secretly want Brenda to like me?) All the eyeliner I wore to work every day—it wasn’t for mall patrol, it wasn’t for Ashley, and Lord knows it wasn’t for Gabby.

It was for me.

But maybe a little bit of it was for Brenda.

And how much taller does Brenda tower over me right now?

And how much taller does Brenda tower over me right now? Well, let’s see—I submitted 42 job applications, all non-retail. Interviewed at 11. Final-rounded at 7. Received an offer at two—both in New York, which I couldn’t afford. A young white boy at a social media marketing firm told me during the interview that I was “obviously brilliant” before offering me an internship. By July, Brenda towered over me like a god. I fell asleep at night fantasizing about her supervillain origin story. Brenda complained so much about Americans who weren’t vaccinated that I once asked her if she was a childhood polio survivor. “Where in the world did you get that idea?” Brenda laughed, and I laughed too. “Oh, I was just curious.”“How many times have I told you, Nina…”

My expenses have been going up, thanks to my new boyfriend. (As a matter of fact, I am the type of girl to go Dutch!) Taking over Brenda’s position would mean a four-percent raise. To my surprise, Brenda took off her glasses, put them on top of a crinkled magazine on her desk, and started crying. Like, actually crying.

Two actual teardrops leaked out of her eyes.

Self-pity makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable when the powerless do it, because now I have to do something, and it makes me uncomfortable when the powerful do it, because now I have to eat them. When somebody more powerful than me expresses self-pity, I can’t help it: I want to guillotine them. I want to take away their right to exist, but I want to watch them suffer first. If I were God, I’d invent Hell just for Brenda. It satisfied me that Brenda would most likely die without children or a partner. I want all capitalists in the First World to die without children or a partner, but to have afterlives that go on forever.

It still doesn’t seem enough though.

Brenda’s office has a desk, no windows, and a door that leads to the loading dock. A poster on the wall behind her desk, and I was just noticing this about her office now for the first time, was of a lighthouse in Cape Cod. “—the back-to-school rush—” Brenda was saying, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

The ceiling light was fluorescent, and the walls were built of the same beige bricks that made up my elementary school. I once applied to a master’s program in sociology at Johns Hopkins University.

I got in, too.

I hate it here in America—doesn’t anybody else? Is this really that much better than the Soviet Union?

Sympathy for Brenda?

Brenda who lorded over my vision and dental like a bureaucratic algorithm—my boss Brenda?

I did good work.

I was Brenda’s star employee! (I left that part out because I’m not the bragging type.) The only work I couldn’t charge for was the work I didn’t want to do—navigating around the runes and mysteries of Brenda’s uncharted sensitivities like Leif Erikson. The truth was, I hated Brenda for not being able to see me as a beautiful woman just because I wasn’t a beautiful white woman like the pin-up girls she’d gone to school with in New Jersey. Brenda bleeds white guilt, but she rarely ever let me massage any of it toward my favor, except superficially (and you can guess by now how I feel about superficiality). Brenda’s insincerity dehumanized her to me. We humanize each other first as leaps of faith, and then through trust—and nothing about Brenda’s way of existing suggested she could be trusted by me. Not her white guilt. Not her New Jersey liberalism.

Not even her tears.

In fact the longer Brenda cried, the more intensely I wanted to punish her—the phrase “white bitch tears” comes to mind. I wondered if Brenda sincerely didn’t understand that if I could push a button to keep her trapped inside a hole for the rest of her life, I would, and her tears only made me want to push harder. Still, it gave me a start to see—this woman who could take away my ability to not go into debt like checking “Buy Now” on Amazon—reduced before me into a person now trying to trick me into believing she has a soul.

Don’t the workers of the world understand?

Powerful people don’t have souls.

Brenda having a soul would have meant taking my ideas about the BOPUS orders seriously, and not dismissing them out of hand because how could any good ideas come from Nina, the pretty one, if Brenda’s even not-racist enough to see me as pretty (BOPUS is industry slang for “buy online, pick up in store,” and it’s basically brought Not-Quite Sephora to its knees—that and Brenda’s mismanagement). I could divide my hatred of Brenda by a factor to account for the fact that she was fat and unmarried—but whose fault was that, Krispy Kreme? Do you think I actually like exercising?

Are you ready for some real talk now?

I can tell you about the runner’s high until I’m blue in the face, but I’m not built inside like a runner—I’m built inside like a girl who understands that nothing tastes as good as being pretty feels. I don’t know how American society decayed to this point—my Ph.D. dissertation in sociology at Johns Hopkins would have been about the link between an artificial society and the importance placed on appearances, but I couldn’t afford to go, I had actual work to do in middle school (like not killing myself) so I never bothered thinking very long and hard about anything. “Quitting would mean losing my gym membership,” I suddenly remembered.

A new recognition suddenly dawned over me—no gym membership would mean no Cape Cod. It takes a couple hundred months and a couple thousands steps to get there, but trust me, I’ve worked out the odds.

(I make my brain work for me.)

I looked at the lighthouse poster behind Brenda’s desk and said: “Brenda, it’s just—how you treated Ashley last night in the stock room…”

“You weren’t even there!” was what a clear-headed Brenda would’ve said, but Brenda the Tender said nothing.

“I heard about it from Gabby,” I continued. “You know, we’ve talked about this so many times.”

“I know, I know,” Brenda whispered.

“You don’t know how to create a functional work environment sometimes. Groups are held together by trust, not fear.”

I wasn’t quitting.

I was saving everyone at Not-Quite Sephora from Brenda’s bad temper. Brenda’s boss Charles would understand—he’d say, Nina made some good points in this email, but it sounds like you guys have everything worked out, so get back to work—and everyone would move on.

Only Brenda would now be moving into the light.

She would see how her anxieties about Not-Quite Sephora’s declining sales figures were spilling into her paranoias about job security (“And what will I do with all of my competence now that I can’t find a job because I’m old, fat, and ugly?”) and have been spilling into us as sarcasm and curt dismissals ever since her second day on the job. (Her first day was lovely—I was obsessed with Brenda! I even nicknamed her “cool Mom” to Gabby and Ashley.)

How Brenda appeared to me that first day was how Cape Cod once appeared to me too, before this weekend—white-sand beaches, old stone lighthouses, the Kennedys.

Cape Cod had told me a story—and so had Brenda when she first took over Kristi’s post at Not-Quite Sephora (Kristi got pregnant and never came back). Cape Cod’s story was Yale Law, benevolence, intellectualism. Brenda’s story was that she was loud and earthy and understood how to make an entrance—if she’d been honest, she would’ve just said: “I can use my power to make you feel however I want you to feel about yourself. I’m an emotional abuser.”

But the story I heard, because I’m a gullible sweetheart, was “Fun Mom.”

I laughed along amiably to “stressed-out Mom,” bopped along bewilderedly to “not everything is functional upstairs Mom,” and—how do I put this?

I didn’t like the mother who had a master’s degree.

Self-protection was Brenda’s middle name, and nothing I said using the tools of reason or logic could penetrate the fortress of Brenda’s first impressions—that’s the definition of “closed-minded,” by the way (Brenda has a lot to say about closed-minded people—that’s the crazy part).

How we look is the first story we tell each other about who we are. It’s our audiovisual accompaniment to the words that make up the second half of our story—the “spoken half”—and everyone understands that this isn’t fair, everyone understands and then does nothing. Brenda isn’t the only person who learned how to survive in America by going to an American middle school. She’s only lost her temper at me a couple of times, but I’ve been tracking all of them.

I’ve been watching you like a falcon, Brenda.

I’ve been watching you like a true A student.

True A students are out of favor in America for a reason. We’re only mortal, but we’re a little bit supermortal too. Because what I really didn’t like about Brenda was her insincerity—“When have I ever said no to you, Nina?” Brenda was now drying her eyes with a tissue and screaming.

It was a change in the air—a subtle bit of misdirection that she probably thought I was too stupid to catch (I’m not).

I was the powerful one now.

And Brenda McHiggins was now “the victim.”

“You threatened to fire me right after Easter for being late on a BOPUS order,” I treaded carefully.

“Nina, ninety-nine percent of our Google ratings come down to the BOPUS orders—”

“Which is why I said you needed a better system for assigning roles for when people aren’t .”

“Which is why I said you needed a better system for assigning roles for when people aren’t here.”

“But I never threatened to fire you.”

“You told me you’d have my name forwarded to Charles!"

“Exactly!”

“Which is the same as getting fired!”

“That isn’t true, Nina—I would have protected you.”

This statement was so stupid that it almost broke my brain. “Wha—protected me: do you not understand how Charles operates?” Brenda turned her back to me, waved her hand in the air, and said: “I’m not going to go into this with you again” as she looked for her glasses.

“It’s right there,” I said. “On top of Better Homes & Gardens.”

“Oh,” Brenda said without acknowledging me.

Brenda put on her glasses and then sat down into the chair, which made a sound like it was about to snap in half.

This was how she always liked to berate us—from her chair. I had seen that painting of the lighthouse behind Brenda’s desk so many times—it just never occurred to me that it was Cape Cod. Sometimes, I’d overhear Brenda berating Gabby on my way to the restroom and I’d think, “Well, she isn’t wrong—Gabby is kind of stupid—but that’s still not the way you talk to her. You have to incentivize her to trust you first.” (Gabby was the one who first changed Brenda’s nickname from “Fun Mom” to that cunt with a stick up her ass.) Ashley and I burst out laughing. (What else is there to do inside a dying country?)

“Everyone here is so short-tempered with each other because you set the tone. I’ve been too afraid to ask you for three days off in September to go on a trip with my boyfriend for our one-year anniversary because I knew you weren’t going to say yes, so I was just going to take them off as sick days—and that’s not a functional work environment if people are constantly doing things like that all the time, because what you really need to do is go to Charles and ask for more staff.”

“This September—oh, Nina, you got to be kidding me!”

It was the first honest thing I ever heard Brenda say.

I thought about my naïve dream from earlier—how I thought I was going to turn Brenda around.

How I thought I was going to save the store. “The problem is we’re under_staffed_” was what I should’ve said—I get that now, I do, and I don’t know why I couldn’t wear it in my mouth even as it was trying to form in my subconscious. Because other forms were rising in me now too, forms like: “Brenda is a world-class manipulator. She butters you up just to brine you.” (I couldn’t even trust her tears, and if you can’t trust someone’s tears, you can’t trust them to ever find help.) I don’t know how I’d fare if it were just me and Brenda on a deserted island—I could see her killing a cougar for us with her own bare hands, but I could also see her killing me. “I never said that, I just told you I’d have to forward your name to Charles”—Brenda the liar. Brenda who could probably play dead about as well as she could play stupid—any falcon worth its weight in bird could see through it.

“I’ve been having issues with my boyfriend,” I suddenly blurted out.

Where had I learned this from?

Middle school.

“The anniversary trip means a lot to him, and I can’t even say yes or say no—it just hangs there over us, because he knows about the back-to-school rush. And he’s not even someone I—even feel fully comfortable with in some ways. But I’m also scared to lose him, I’m scared every time I come into work on Tuesday because I don’t know how you’re going to change my hours. Everything we do revolves around my not having enough time—I’d have issues building a perfect relationship with him if we had the rest of our lives to ourselves on a deserted island, but every weekend until closing? He works a normal job! He’s tired all the time too, but he makes time to see me and I can’t—I can’t come to you about anything.”

I didn’t cry.

But I did smile in my head:

“Wanna play victim, bitch?”

I could see Cape Cod now—I could see its lighthouse drawing my boyfriend and I closer and closer, I could see us dancing now to The Strokes at midnight like we were back in middle school because I didn’t want this to be the rest of my life, I don’t want retail, I don’t want resumes and cover letters and I don’t want to meet any more Brendas—what I want is for the Brendas of the world to collapse at my feet, but all I can see are the Brendas of the world closing in on me until death and so I need a release, I need to go back to middle school (I was popular in middle school, I can admit that now, I had bee-stung lips, and a bee-stinger too)—I need The Strokes (haven’t you ever made out with a boy in a hot tub while stroking your nails across his abs, parting the hair where his lower back begins?)—“Is this it? … Is this it?”—(my boyfriend and I swimming in the stars of our liberation, and I’ll give him all the vision and dental that he likes)—prey: always just a one-click order away (and we’ll eat lobster, because lobsters hold harms forever)—I the warm body and he the warm arms, holding me in his lanky-panky forever (and if Connor ever got a gym membership I would die—I don’t need a perfect 10, I can settle for an 8.9)—my captors: do they know? Do they understanding I’m not living my one true life? Wearing Ray-Bans while gazing out at the Atlantic from a yacht, because Comfort is my one true God—I’m ready, Mr. DeMille, for my one true closeup to begin. How am I still in Brenda’s office? I’m twenty-seven years old—how am I twenty-seven years old and still smoldering in Brenda’s office? In middle school I listened to The Strokes while everyone else listened to pop hip-hop—another Universe has been calling to me all my life. And all it would take was just a few more thousand steps to get there.

I’ve been running every day since I was thirteen. I don’t even eat my desserts correctly—I just spit and chew.

Ashley and Gabby remind me of who I was back in middle school. I had power over everyone back then except Abercrombie Couture (not her real name). Abercrombie was the class favorite—it’s hard to explain, but among the very-outgoing girls, Abercrombie was Frivolity Personified. And when only the people who needed to see it could see it, Abercrombie was the cruelest human you’ve ever met—she’d ignore you so subtly you’d drive yourself crazy for days asking the other girls if she was mad at you. Back then I had already begun telling myself I was too cool to care—but I still have nightmares about Abercrombie sometimes, about the way she’d say hi to everybody else at the party except me. “I just can’t deal with your emotional up and downs anymore, Brenda! Like I’m sorry—I’ve defended you to Ashley and Gabby so many times! I’m sick of having these conversations with them.”

Abercrombie, I later realized during college, must have been unsettled by how candidly I could talk about her behind her back. That was my little power over her, and I’d like to think I wielded it gracefully. (Abercrombie was dethroned by a lurid sex scandal involving a used condom in eighth grade, and I’d like to believe I led our class to a more open and inclusive place after her dismissal.)

“Three days—where you trying to go, Wuhan?”

“No. The Cod.”

“The what?”

“The Cod.”

“Where’s that?”

“In Massachusetts.”

“You mean Cape Cod?”

That was how quickly I realized I had fumbled the ball—that was the speed at which I realized I had fumbled the fuck-you—the one thing I needed to do correctly and I had fumbled the ball trying to cross the finish line. “It’s the Cape, not the Cod sweetie,” Brenda was already huffing to me by the time I realized my mistake, with a smile on her face. She’ll deny it to this day, and in absolute candor I can’t really say it was a “physical” smile—I don’t remember what it looked like, I don’t remember if Brenda actually huffed or if she even moved her mouth all that much at all, it was more in the eyes, but that bitch smiled.

I grew up in Nevada.

My boyfriend graduated from Yale Law and with him I can see a way out of my life—and I really don’t understand why that’s such a terrible thing to say. And I’m about to lose him—it’s in between the lines, but I can just feel it, I have him wrapped around my little finger because that’s the only way I’d ever have any man who loomed so tall over me, with him it’d be Cape Cod until the end of my days and nobody would ever laugh at me for calling it the Cod again—I’ll just rename it.

My hatred of Brenda in that moment was rivaled only by my childhood hatred of Abercrombie Couture.

But I knew I had to proceed gingerly.

I began to feel like Leif Erikson again—what other uncharted sensitivities do you have, Brenda?

Do white people really have white guilt?

Verbalizing the subconscious is like navigating by stars—Pequod knows where it’s trying to go, it just needs the conscious mind to plot out the steps to get there first—only I couldn’t verbalize any of this, all I could do was feel the mind for throbs like the twitches of a rat’s tail inside the forest below—and I was throbbing for a release, I was throbbing all my middle-school embarrassments, I was throbbing Cape Cod. A woman who understood nothing but appearances stood in front of me, utterly preoccupied with her own self-preservation—neither wise, open-minded, nor beautiful—but who could mean the difference between me and my income, between me and my livelihood, between me and my boyfriend breaking up (which would mean the difference between me and Cape Cod)—and I couldn’t even get anyone on the second floor to take her magazine theft seriously. How do I even begin to tabulate all her subtle knife-wounds to the psyche?

My favorite song by The Strokes?

“Hard to Explain.”

“You can correct the way I say things all you’d like, but it doesn’t change the fact that I live in fear of you—okay? I go home every night and cry. You bully Ashley and Gabby every day but I’m not Ashley or Gabby—okay? You have not created an emotionally safe environment in the workplace and it’s affecting my life—okay? I’m sorry you take yourself so seriously, and I’m sure it has nothing to do with your fear that all the girls who thought you’d never amount to anything in middle school might be right, but if you have to terrorize other people just to feel better about yourself, that’s not how I roll—okay? That’s not me. The way you talk to Ashley, Gabby, Mike, Chris—it’s un-ac-cep-ta-ble, Brenda.”

And this is where my ship was trying to go:

“I don’t think you belong in your position. So that’s what I told Charles.”

I’d set fire to Cape Cod if I could.

I’d set fire to my boyfriend’s lake house, I’d set fire to Brenda’s Us Weeklies, and I’d certainly set fire to the poster of the lighthouse with seagulls behind Brenda’s desk.

“I don’t work here anymore. Not until you apologize to Ashley,” I added quickly.

My speech was now outpacing my life decisions.

“And I’m not going to be manipulated by you anymore, okay? Because you know how hard I work, you know how much I give to this store every day but Wannabe-Nordstrom isn’t my life, okay? I am not living the life I want to live every single day—so that’s my life, okay?”

Were ordinary people in the Soviet Union this unhappy? Has anyone ever bothered to ask them?

The only thing I ever knew how to do around Brenda was say whatever I needed to say to make her feel comfortable.

Like seagulls exploding out of a cove, that was the only thing Brenda ever seemed to value: her personal comfort. I don’t remember how Brenda looked in that moment. She kept darting her eyes between Better Homes & Gardens and the floor, and her glasses were foggy. I gazed at Brenda with a falcon’s stare and said:

“Think of last night as my last straw.”

It’d be worth it, you know.

It’d be worth it to suspend my gym membership for a few months to see Brenda have to swallow the fruits of her own disorder. I hadn’t coaxed Brenda into reacting the way she did to Ashley’s request—I had only coaxed Ashley into talking to her, and that was a sincere act of friendship: “You have to stand up for yourself with people like that, Ashley.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Brenda and you are like best friends.”

“We are not.”

“You have her wrapped around your little finger, Nina.”

“No I don’t,” I said, and then I hit Ashley’s face with a big fat pillow until feathers fell out, which of course never happened because Ashley and I don’t have open and honest conversations about anything. All Ashley said was “You’re probably right,” and I could sense in Ashley’s eyes that she was perceptive enough to understand I was probably wrong—but even I couldn’t pick that up, at least not consciously, so in a way, Ashley doomed herself by failing to correct me.

I was Brenda’s star employee and everybody knew it.

I’ve been an A student all my life.

I’m the picture of good anger management.

Management hates it when you quit. That’s the one thing you can still lord over them, even during a recession (and July 2022 in America was anything but)—replacing an employee costs time, and time is money. Every store manager knows that—even Brenda (her management woes don’t source back to her inability to optimize).

And then Brenda said something so stupid that for a second I almost thought she was parodying Gabby.

“I thought you and I could speak openly to each other.”

Brenda.

Girl.

Just because you tell me about the medications you take for your back problems doesn’t mean we’re friends.

Was this really happening right now?

“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” I told Brenda. “I did speak openly in the email.”

Was Brenda really buying into Ashley’s delusion that management and workers can be just friends?

Or was she just calculating that I—because I’m pretty—was stupid enough to buy into it too?

“Actually, no—the way you engage with others doesn’t seem intended to provide a pathway for sincere and open conversations. You have a ‘No Assholes’ policy that seems intended to make other people suppress their true feelings around you at all times, because anybody who contradicts you is automatically an asshole.”

I didn’t say that.

I just said: “It can be intimidating to speak to you sometimes.”

Even when you try to laugh with me about your muscle relaxants, I laugh back, but what I really want to say is “Brenda, a certain percentage of the population is going to have back problems, and you have given me no particular reason to care about yours.” I think again now about if Brenda and I were stuck on a deserted island. I’d probably have to save her life from the elements from time to time, and that’d build trust between us. “What we’d need to do is charter a plane somewhere, and have the plane crash. That’s the only way to resuscitate this relationship.”

“How many times have I told you, Nina, you can come to me about anything…” and before I could even respond, Brenda began comparing our dynamics to a mother-daughter relationship and I was one second away from saying, “Bitch, that’s your problem,” but I caught myself and said calmly:

“Brenda, that’s the problem.”

Brenda looked at me earnestly.

“Just, that right there—the word you used. I don’t think you really understand other people’s boundaries? I tell you obligatory anecdotes from my personal life because you specifically ask to hear them, not because I want to volunteer them—again, that’s how afraid I am of you, Brenda, because I don’t even feel like I have the right to tell you that my dating history is, actually, now that I think about it, none of your business. And then you lecture me about how I talk to my boyfriend? Again, because you asked to hear the details, and you actually make it so that now I’m thinking about my boyfriend at work instead of focusing on my job, which you then get mad at me for? I don’t think you really understand, Brenda, how your friendliness comes off when it’s mixed with so much—neediness, I don’t know, this need to control everything all the time—to make everything perfect.”

The first time I ever met Brenda, we got along so well that after our shift we went to a Red Lobster on the other side of the strip mall, where she bought me three milkshakes. I told her about growing up with my mom in a trailer park in Nevada and she told me about growing up with her mom in a trailer park in New Jersey—we laughed a lot that night. I don’t even remember what we laughed about, but we were both talkers, Brenda and I, we were both tellers, and we were both showers. I could tell after my first milkshake that Brenda must have floated in the margins of the sub-popular crowd in middle school, and she all but confirmed it on the second (she just had one of those I’ve seen it all energies).

“So how does it feel being back in the Northeast?”

“Honestly?” Brenda said, grabbing a French fry. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t hear the ocean from where we were sitting, but you could hear a highway.

I understand Brenda.

I really do.

Sometimes at night, while I fantasized about quitting a company whose Corporate was famous for giving their employees vision and dental (and anyway, what else would I do besides marketing or retail? In what other way might I be called upon to serve the good people of America?), I’d climax with an image of Brenda sitting alone at home on a Thursday night (that was Brenda’s day off), crocheting to Fleetwood Mac, with a cat rubbing up against her ankle. The only mystery was how many paintings of beaches dotted her apartment.

I know Brenda doesn’t talk to her mother anymore (“Neither do I!” was probably one of our first laughs), and I’d fantasize about how much she probably secretly admired me—because I was pretty—because I could always talk my way into classes and parties she could only stare through the curtains of (I once helped Brenda create an account on Plenty of Fish), and now it was too late for her because she was already in her late forties or early fifties—and I?

I was bound for Cape Cod.

“What are the locals there like,” all summer long I used to wonder. I work at a Nordstrom now.

And I no longer wonder.

“Oh, sweetie—it’s called the Cape, not the Cod.”

Wasn’t that how she had said it?

Even in her most helpless moment, she was still so condescending—she was still just so frivolously condescending—I mean think about the stakes here, girl, you’re about to lose your star employee right before the back-to-school rush—was the poison dart worth it?

Was the poison tip worth it, Brenda?

“I don’t think it’s healthy for me to work here anymore,” I suddenly blurted out. “You’re not a good influence on me.”

“What can I say to make you stay just through September?”

It was so quick and direct that it snapped me instantly out of my sympathy spell.

Brenda.

There’s the Brenda I knew—Brenda, you’re back!

And you’re still holding onto threads in the air.

This store will dissipate, Brenda. Your job will dissipate, and then you’ll have to go right back out there again and sell your competence at another round on the roulette wheel. (Just don’t end up at another store that sells beauty supplies, Brenda—I don’t think you quite understand what they’re really telling the world.) “I don’t think there’s anything you can say, Brenda. I know how hard the last few months have been for you, and I thought very long and hard about doing this to you. But I have to prioritize my own mental health.”

“You know Charles is only giving me a year.”

Brenda said this with a vulnerability I had never heard from her before.

Her voice was like a child’s.

Guilt—it’s impossible to summon it for a person you’ve already dehumanized. Cockroaches die every day.

My subconscious was churning again—I would have a child with my boyfriend someday, and I would protect her from people like you, Karen McHiggins. “Brenda, you have the mental age of a child,” was what I really wanted to say to her. “When I fuck up at work, who do you think I go to? Nobody—do you understand that, Brenda, because adults take responsibility for their shit.”

But I would have to sugarcoat it, because someone with the mental age of an Abercrombie would be unable to understand that the powerful can’t be friends with the powerless, no matter how hard they tried—and someone with the mental age of an Abercrombie would also need everything sugarcoated for them.

“Brenda, I don’t know how to break this to you but there isn’t going to be any back-to-school rush! It’s not 2019 anymore—Covid killed retail. We don’t know whether we want to be bargain basement or high-end and the middle class is dead, everyone wants either a bargain or an experience! What did they teach you in that master’s program?”

Only I couldn’t say that either, because Brenda would somehow spin it into me losing my cool, which is the one thing I never do—I’ve been one thing and one thing only all my life, and that’s an A student.

“You’ve given your life to a dinosaur, Brenda—move on. Department stores are dead—this isn’t the ’80s anymore. Your image of America—it’s a façade, and I can prove it. It’s that picture of the lighthouse you keep behind your desk that you pilfered from returned merchandise, and I can prove that too. We’re like explorers in an uncharted land. Things are going to fall apart for us in ways we have no templates for, just like they did for all of the generations before us—only they weren’t as trapped inside the façade of returned merchandise as we are! Settled mores are changing. This century could still look like anything—it’s all up for grabs, and more and more people are just beginning to wake up to this new dawn. Maybe what you really need to do is start a YouTube channel. You have the voice for it, you have the charisma, and you have the storytelling abilities—we could all profit from hearing from your perspective, only nobody will because you’re not young, thin, or beautiful, but hey—it’s worth a shot! You’ll have a better chance there at the lighthouse than you do in retail.”

Only I didn’t say any of this either, because I knew Brenda couldn’t hear a word I was saying. Brenda was dead between the eyes—her soul died in middle school, and she’s been dragging the corpses of would-be lives ever since.

“You’re not a particularly smart or competent person, Brenda, and what’s happening right now speaks for itself. You didn’t just get unlucky, Brenda.”

Brenda once whistled to me when she saw me change into a sundress as I was leaving my afternoon shift—“Whose heart are you breaking tonight, Nina?”

“None of your business!” was what I wanted to tell her, but I wanted to let Brenda live vicariously through me—it was the only gentleness I could ever offer her.

“You know Charles is only giving me the year,” Brenda had said, and she was staring into the void now. I could feel her back pain. She had given her whole entire life to Not-Quite-Sephora, six days a week, and on most nights on my way to the restroom I could hear “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac playing from a small Bluetooth speaker. I looked at Brenda and said: “I have no idea what you want from me. It’s not my job to make you look any better than you are at your job. And I don’t know what your agreement with Charlie has to do with anything—in fact, I had lunch with him the other day.”

Brenda lifted her eyes.

“What?” she said stupidly.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I was trying to get a vacation approved. No, Brenda. I needed to talk to him about a few things.”

“What things?”

And then, before I could offer an answer, “What are you trying to say, Nina? Just spit it out!”

“You have a problem, okay? I’ve seen the way you’ve unraveled in the last few months—Gabby and Ashley are afraid of you, Chris is about to quit, literally nobody can handle your emotional volatility anymore. Everybody’s so short-tempered with each other all the time and coming to me for help, and it’s not my job to help them—that’s your job! You’ve created a situation where nobody can even talk to you. We just smile at you out of fear. You don’t command anybody’s respect—you know that, right? So we basically have to operate without a supervisor—you understand that, don’t you?”

It feels good to eat.

I no longer have a gym membership anymore. Instead, I jog every Tuesday and Friday at the public park.

“So yeah—so I guess I just thought it was about time Charlie heard all of this. He’s actually very reasonable if you talk to him in a reasonable way. He said he’d look into opening one or two more positions for us to cover the weekends. But you probably won’t be there to oversee it.”

Not-Quite Sephora was founded as a regional competitor to J.C. Penney in 1991. It never expanded beyond the Northeast, Minnesota, and California, and it’s about to die—it’s only a matter of time. Unless if maybe Corporate in Burlington saw the light and hired someone like me and actually listened to her ideas for turning all of their stores into “experiences,” which is what I’ve been trying to tell Brenda every time she questioned one of my lipstick arrangements. A lot of what I miss about middle school is the taste-test of freedoms I enjoy every day now as an adult: you build a friendship with the highest person who’ll take you in.

That’s how you climb a hierarchy.

Brenda looked at me like a wounded animal.

There really isn’t ambiguity, is there, about which one of us would survive if it were just you and me on a deserted island. A new recognition was forming inside of Brenda, and I didn’t want to be there to watch it settle in—you can’t treat people like you treated Ashley the other night in the stock room, this isn’t the ’80s anymore. Of course, Brenda was too obtuse to work out that I was only bluffing. The truth was, I had talked to Charlie briefly on the second floor, but he just told me to “put it all in an email,” and I knew he was never going to speak to Brenda long enough to ever contradict anything I had just said—Charlie’s not exactly the open type. Besides, Charlie did agree to look into hiring more part-timers, the way Charlie ever agrees to anything—by pretending it was his idea all along. “It’s the unreliability of when customers come in, that’s the problem,” Charlie had explained to me. (“Yes, that’s true. Unreliability is always the problem,” I told Charlie.)

You can’t rely on other people’s testimony when you ask them about Abercrombie Couture.

You have to come to me.

I’ve seen sides of Abercrombie that nobody else has.

“So what’s the dating scene like out here?” Brenda had asked me that first night at Red Lobster, while popping a French fry. I remember trying not to look at Brenda like she was serious. “It’s just men!” I remember laughing to Brenda in front of two tall glasses of milkshake. “It’s just a bunch of men—that’s the only way I know how to put it!”

And then Brenda in her black blazer and black pants laughed too.

Like we were girlfriends.

“I would’ve given you those vacation days, Nina,” Brenda finally said in a whisper. “If I had just understood that you knew what you were doing when you took them—what you were doing to the store—I would’ve given them to you.”

A new sincerity is trying to grow in the air all around us—I can hear its infant-screams, can’t you? (Couldn’t Brenda?) “Oh my God, Brenda. This is about so much more than whether or not I can go on one trip to Cape Cod.”

“That is all this is about to you, Nina, and don’t you pretend otherwise—”

“No, it isn’t.”

“—because you have a fancy boyfriend now.”

“Leave Connor out of this.”

I don’t really know where my life’s going to go after Cape Cod. Colson’s mental health—it causes collateral damage to people (Colson was one of Connor’s three friends that had stayed with us at the lake house). I don’t really think he understands that his actions have consequences on other people. He thinks I’m one of the popular kids who terrorized him in middle school, but the truth is—I’m just a little bit higher or lower on the pecking order than he is. All of us are—all of us down here. I can’t really bring myself to fully hate him for what he did, but then I remember what his life is and I do—I hate him by several orders of magnitude more than I ever hated Brenda. And what Colson and Brenda both have in common, of course, is their dripping self-pity: they’re both absolutely lacquered in it (what is it about competitive social environments that produces so much self-pity anyway, dripping like honey?). I didn’t have too much compassion for Colson when he asked me to feed some of his honey back to him with my fingers. “Money,” I wanted to tell him.

“How much money you have is an easy way to tabulate what your self-pity is worth to me.”

But to be honest, I couldn’t even lift a finger to care.

Cape Cod was only four days ago, but it’s already just another memory now—that’s how all of our weekends are bound to end. Several hundred more of these and then it’s lights out. Connor and I listened to the first season of Serial on the way up, and as we walked through Martha’s Vineyard later that afternoon, we saw fifty migrants from South America file onto a bus bound for a military installation.

There were cameras and cake everywhere.

We’re all participants in this gladiatorial contest to see who ends up in Cape Cod as the sun sets over our lives.

Colson recently wrote a book called A Stick of Dynamite in the American Elite.

I wish him luck.

I have plans for him, you know.

No matter what his next chess move is—I have a plan to stop him. I left Brenda alone in her office that day. I never learned where she went after she was dismissed from Not-Quite Sephora, all I remember is Ashley and Gabby coming over to hug me as I grabbed my purse from the break room, and they both quit two days later. It was because there’s something in my soul that doesn’t like to see other people are in pain—even people without souls like Brenda (Colson doesn’t count because he’s not really a human in my eyes, he’s more like a bad anecdote you shake off)—that I found myself hugging Brenda right before I said goodbye, holding her as she kept saying to me that I’d been like a daughter to her: “Brenda—Brenda, listen to me. My boyfriend has an ex-boyfriend whose stepmom also has a drinking problem, okay? Brenda—are you listening to me? They live in Westport…”

Cape Cod will die.

It’s only a matter of time before it collapses under the weight of its own contradictions. I sail America’s values like Leif Erikson now—other people have built their homes and comforts here, but I don’t mind. I wonder sometimes what Abercrombie Couture anesthetizes her listlessness to these days—HBO? Unsubtle affairs with younger men? “How long before mundane dehumanization bears fruit?” I smile to myself every day at Nordstrom, as I walk around the counter to deliver my customer’s parcels to them personally.

I see Abercrombie sometimes in the eyes of the women I help at Nordstrom. They’re all moms, and if that’s the final meaning of our lives—then yes, I agree.

Let’s all be moms.

You don’t know the Hell I’ll reign over America’s guilty class in the twenty-first century, but you will soon: I will mother the destruction of America’s guilded gilts into existence. I broke up with Connor this morning. Something about his reaction to Colson’s breakdown in Cape Cod just didn’t sit well with me—he couldn’t see through Colson’s insincerity, and that makes me think he might not have what it takes in this life to go where I’m trying to go. At my new job at the mall, I nibble on old memories like a woman who hasn’t eaten now in years. The last person I ate was my narcissistic mother in Nevada—she ruined my childhood—she was the Leif Erikson of my formative years—but then again?

So was my middle school.

College feels like a million years ago. My sorority sisters are all married with kids now. Mothers will do anything to protect their young.

#MeToo.

2022

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phoenixyfriend · 11 months

Text

Raising the Minimum Wage and Its Effects

Ko-fi prompt from [name redacted]:

So, what does raising the minimum wage really do to the rest of the economy?

Hecking Complicated! I think I might need a doc of just. References for this one. But here are a few elements!

(Also, the Congressional Budget Office has an interactive model of how different changes to the minimum wage could affect various parts of the economy, like poverty rates and overall employment. Try it out!)

Reduction of Benefits

A common claim that is used to argue against the minimum wage is that it will result in companies cutting hours for their employees in order to recoup losses by having to provide benefits to fewer employees. This isn't 'the minimum wage is bad' so much as 'corporations are assholes,' but it is unfortunately still a thing that happens. (Harvard Business Review)

This is not a problem with the minimum wage itself, in my opinion, but these issues are emblematic of the weight that self-serving elements of capitalism carry. The low minimum wage is just one part of many that contribute to the current wealth disparity; if things like health insurance were universal, then bosses wouldn't be as able to cut them to employees in order to save money. Current regulations incentivize companies to hire more part-time workers than full-time, in order to avoid paying out benefits. Some cities have enacted Fair Workweek Laws in order to combat these approaches, though the impact is as of yet uncertain (Economic Policy Institute, 2018). Early reports, like the Year Two Worker Impact Report on Seattle’s Secure Scheduling Ordinance, do seem to indicate positive results, though:

In addition, the SSO led to increases in job satisfaction and workers’ overall well-being and financial security. In particular, the Secure Scheduling Ordinance had the following impacts for Seattle workers: - increased work schedule stability and predictability - increased job satisfaction and satisfaction with work schedules - increased overall happiness and sleep quality, and reduced material hardship. (direct quote from the Year Two Eval)

Unfortunately, these were approved at the earliest in 2015 (San Francisco's Formula Retail Employee Rights Ordinances, which went into effect in March 2016), which means that none of them were in play for longer than five years before COVID-19 ground the planet's economy to a near halt. I tried to find results for the San Francisco laws, but I couldn't find any studies for it; I did find an article from March 2023 that summarized which cities in California have brought in fair workweek laws, though, so maybe someone could use that as a jumping off point (What Retailers Should Know About California Scheduling Ordinances).

Companies prevented from cutting benefits by cutting hours would probably find another way to do the same thing, but let's be real: keeping the minimum wage low won't stop them from cutting every corner possible. EPI has some articles, like "The role of local government in protecting workers’ rights," that talk about how these measures can be, and have been, implemented to protect workers from cost-cutting employers.

Cutting the hours and benefits of part-time employees is a real, genuine concern to have about raising the minimum wage, and those need to be anticipated and combated in concert with raising the minimum wage. However, it is not a reason to keep the minimum wage depressed. It's just a consequence to be aware of and plan for.

Passing Costs On To Customers

A common argument against raising the minimum wage is that companies will raise costs in order to cover the raise in expenses, to a degree that nullifies the wage hike. This is, um. Uh.

Really easily debunked?

Like, really easily.

Over a ten-plus year period, research found that a 10 percent increase in the minimum wage resulted in just a 0.36 percent increase in prices passed on to the consumer at grocery stores. A similar Seattle-based study showed that supermarket food prices were not impacted by their minimum wage increase. - (Minimum Wage is Not Enough, Drexel U.)

I've talked about it before, but in some cases it's just a matter of how US-based labor is such a comparatively small portion of costs for medium-to-large businesses that raising wages doesn't raise corporate expenditures that much.

That said, some companies rely on drastically underpaying their employees, like Walmart. Walmart's revenue in 2020 was approximately $520 billion (Walmart Annual Report, page 29). Now, this report doesn't actually tell us what amount is spent on labor, but it does give us the "Operating, selling, general and administrative expenses, as a percentage of net sales." This is, to quote BDC, "[including] rent and utilities, marketing and advertising, sales and accounting, management and administrative salaries."

So, wages are just part of the (checks) 20.9% of revenue that is operating SG&A expenses. But maybe I'm being mean to Walmart! After all, the gross profit margin is only 24.1%, so only 3.2% is left for those poor shareholders!

Oh, oh, that means the profit is still over 16billion USD? And Walmart cites having 2.2 million associates in that same report? And that's about $7,500 per employee per year that's being withheld? And that's before we take costs up by like three cents per product?

Which, circling back: A study from Berkeley by the name of "The Pass-Through of Minimum Wages into US Retail Prices: Evidence from Supermarket Scanner Data" found that

a 10% minimum wage hike translates into a 0.36% increase in the prices of grocery products. This magnitude is consistent with a full pass-through of cost increases into consumer prices.

Of course, Walmart does sell more than just groceries, but isn't it interesting that raising a minimum wage resulted in such a small cost increase? If we assume this is linear (it's probably not, but I have so many numbers going on already), then doubling wages from 7.25 to 14.50 would still mean only a 3.6% increase costs! Your $5 gallon of milk would go up to [checks] $5.18.

Hm. Those 18 cents might be meaningful to our poorest citizens, but if those poorest citizens are more likely to be raised out of poverty by raising the minimum wage, then it might just be the case that they too can afford the new price of milk, and have more money left over for things like... rent. Or education. Or healthcare.

Maybe even a cost cutting loss leader like Walmart can reasonably increase its wages. After all, they still have 13 stores on Long Island, where the minimum wage is $15, and has been since 2021.

(I could have just cited the Berkeley study and moved on, but after a certain point I was too deep in parsing the Walmart report to not include it.)

But also... minimum wage increases are often staggered. They start out on the bigger companies, which have the resources to accommodate those changes (unless they've been doing stock buybacks), and then later on the smaller businesses, now that a portion of the economy (those working for the big companies) has the spare change to spend money at those smaller businesses that are raising their prices by a little more than the corporations.

And at that point, all I can really say is, well.

If you can't afford to pay your employees a living wage, you're not an oppressed company. You're just a failing company. Sorry, Walmart&Co, your business model is predicated on fucking over poor people, and so it's a bad business model.

Being a dickhead, while successful, is not actually 'smart' business practice.

(This doesn't even get into the international impacts, like what an "American companies should pay higher wages abroad, especially if they charge higher-than-American pricing for their products, but also at factories where we know they're committing human rights abuses" approach could be but this is already long as fuck so that'll have to wait for another post.)

Anyway.

Inflation

This one is tied into the cost argument above, but like...

Inflation is already a thing? Inflation is happening whether we raise the minimum wage or not. Costs go up whether we raise the minimum wage or not. Who is this argument serving? Not the people who can't afford rent, surely.

Quoting the earlier-mentioned Drexel report (red highlights mine):

While the minimum wage has been adjusted numerous times since its implementation in 1938, it has failed to keep up with inflation and the rising cost of living. The purchasing power of minimum wage reached its peak in 1968 and steadily declined since. If it had kept up with inflation from that point it would have reached at least $10.45 in 2019. Instead, its real value continues to go down, meaning minimum wage employees are essentially being paid less each year. Additionally, some economists argue if minimum wage increased with U.S. productivity over the years, it would be set currently at $26 per hour today and poverty rates would be close to non-existent with little negative impact on the economy. However, because gradual change was avoided, the extra funds were instead shifted to CEO compensation. A sudden change in wages now could possibly make a more noticeable impact on the economy, which is often cited as reasoning for a slower increase over time moving forward. Gradual increases with inflation and productivity could have avoided any potential economic ripple effects from wage increases and should be considered in ongoing plans.

Increasing Unemployment

A common argument is that the unemployment rate would jump as employers were forced to let employees go. Assuming they didn't just hire more employees so they could give them less hours in order to cut benefits... not really!

A 2021 article from Berkeley News summarizes the issue, along with several others, covering some thirty years of research that started with "Minimum Wages and Employment: A Case Study of the Fast-Food Industry in New Jersey and Pennsylvania," published in 1993. They also touch on the issue of subminimum wages for tipped workers, though they do not address the subminimum wages set for underage and disabled workers.

“A minimum wage increase doesn’t kill jobs,” said Reich, chair of UC Berkeley’s Center on Wage and Employment Dynamics (CWED) . “It kills job vacancies, not jobs. The higher wage makes it easier to recruit workers and retain them. Turnover rates go down. Other research shows that those workers are likely to be a little more productive, as well.” - Berkeley News article, "Even in small businesses, minimum wage hikes don’t cause job losses, study finds"

Lower turnover rates also save money for employers, as it causes them to have much lower HR expenses. How much money do you think large employers spend on using sites like Indeed or Glassdoor to find new employees?

This article from Richmond Fed does, admittedly, encourage a slightly grayer analysis:

In a 2021 review of some of the literature, [researchers] reported that 55.4 percent of the papers that they examined found employment effects that were negative and significant. They argued that the literature provides particularly compelling evidence for negative employment effects of an increased minimum wage for teens, young adults, the less educated, and the directly affected workers. On the other hand, in a 2021 Journal of Economic Perspectives article that analyzed the effect of the minimum wage on teens ages 16-19, Alan Manning of the London School of Economics and Political Science wrote that although the wage effect was sizable and robust, the employment effect was neither as easy to find nor consistent across estimations. Thus, although the literature supports an effect on employment among the most affected workers, it does not appear to be as sizable as theory might suggest.

The International Labor Organization has a similarly mixed result when taking a variety of studies into account. (I left in their own reference links.)

In high-income countries, a comprehensive reviews of about 70 studies, shows that estimates range between large negative employment effects to small positive effects. But the most frequent finding is that employment effects are close to zero and too small to be observable in aggregate employment or unemployment statistics (1). Similar conclusions emerge from meta-studies (quantitative studies of studies) in the United States (2), the United Kingdom (3), and in developed economies in general (4). Other reviews conclude that employment effects are less benign and that minimum wages reduce employment opportunities for less-skilled workers (5).

And there's the 60-page "Impacts of minimum wages: review of the international evidence" from University of Massachusetts Amherst, which looks at data from both the US and UK. I'll admit I didn't read this one beyond the introduction, because this is very long already.

Not all US studies suggest small employment effects, and there are notable counter examples. However, the weight of the evidence suggests the employment effects are modest. Moreover, recent research has helped reconcile some of the divergent findings. Much of this divergence concerns how different methods handle economic shocks that affected states differently in the 1980s and early 1990s, a period with relatively little state-level variation in minimum wages.

I'd encourage you to think of it this way:

Employer A pays $7.25/hr. Employer B also pays $7.25/hr. An employee works 25hrs/week for Employer A, and 20hr/wk for Employer B. The minimum wage goes up to $15/hr. Employer B cuts the employee. Employer A cuts employees as well, but not this one, and instead increases their hours to 30/wk for greater coverage.

The employee has gone from just under $400/wk to $450/wk. They lost a job, sure, but the end result... They have an extra fifteen hours of free time per week! Or more! With time to level out, you have less jobs, but more employment, because people aren't taking up multiple jobs (that someone else could have) just to survive.

This is a very, very simplified example, which doesn't take into account graduated wage increases (see the NYS labor table) or the benefits issue from before, but it does show the reality that "less jobs" doesn't necessarily mean "less pay" or "fewer employed" people, when so many of those employed at this pay are working multiple jobs.

Even the Washington Post agrees that the wage hike wouldn't cost as many jobs as conventional wisdom claims, and they're owned by Bezos. (Though I recognize the name of the article's author as the same person behind that 60-page Amherst report, so there's that to consider.)

The Kellogg Institute also points out that individual workers were, on average, more productive after receiving the pay increase, so the drop in the bottom line was softened. This is a bit debatable; the results varied based on the level of monitoring, but it's worth noting that most minimum wage jobs are pretty high-intensity, high-monitoring. Goodness knows you don't get a whole lot of time to yourself outside of the critical eye of your shift lead or customers if you're working fast food. They also note a decrease in profits, but I'd point out that they speak specifically of profits, not share of revenue.

To explain the difference: imagine you sell $100 of product in a day. The product cost you $50. Overhead (rent, utilities, taxes) cost you $10. Labor cost you $15. Profit, then, was $25, or $25.

A 16% reduction in the profit does not mean you now retain $11. It means that you retain 16% less of the $25. You now retain $21.

(This is, as with many of my examples, INCREDIBLY simplified, but I need to illustrate what the article's talking about, and I don't have infographics.)

Some other articles on the topic are from The Quarterly Journal of Economics, Business for a Fair Wage, The Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco (more critical), the Center on Wage and Employment Dynamics, the Center for Economic and Policy Research, UCLA Anderson, Vox, and The Intelligencer, which cites another Berkeley article. I do not claim to have read all of these, especially the really long ones, but the links are there if you want to look into them.

In the interest of showing research from groups that do not serve my own political views, I'm going to link an article from the Cato Institute; I do encourage you to read that one with a grain of salt, given that it's written by a libertarian thinktank, and they are just as dedicated to hunting for research that serves their political views as I am. There were a few other libertarian articles I came across, but the way they presented information kept feeling really duplicitous so I just... am not linking those, or the leftist ones I am also uncomfortable with due to the whole "I'm totally not tricking you" vibes. Also eventually I just got tired, there are so many articles on this and I am just one blogger who is not actually working for a magazine or thinktank, I am working for my own personal tumblr.

Negatively Impacting Slightly-Higher Paid Employees

Did you know that raising the minimum wage affects more than just those making minimum? It affects those just above as well. It's referred to as the ripple effect of minimum wage hikes by this Brookings article. They estimate that a wage hike would affect nearly 30% of the country's workforce.

"Price adjustments provide the principal adjustment mechanism for minimum wage increases: higher labor costs are passed through to consumers, mainly for food consumed away from home. Such an increase does not deter restaurant customers. Price increases are also detectable for grocery stores (Leung 2018; Renkin, Montialoux and Siegenthaler 2019), but not more generally. The effect on inflation is therefore extremely small." - "Likely Effects of a $15 Federal Minimum Wage by 2024," Testimony prepared for presentation at the hearing of the House Education and Labor Committee, Washington, DC (2019)

This overlaps with general criticisms of widening income equality, citing an AEA article I cannot access since it's behind a paywall. I wonder if it touches on companies like Amazon being headquartered in the city and manipulating the job market by sheer size? I can only speculate.

Plus, there are the health benefits! Which are mostly connected to lessening poverty, and through that lessening stress and increasing healthcare access, but still! Some of these results are debated, but I'd need to know more about the details to know how they're related (University of Washington).

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I've spent most of the day on this, so if you guys have made it this far and are interested in supporting me, please donate to my ko-fi or commission an article. (Preferably for more than the base price; I'm effectively working at a fraction of minimum wage myself, which is ironic considering the theme of this post.)

(I realistically shouldn't have spent more than two or three hours on this, but I have so many strong opinions on the subject that I couldn't stop.)

(Also: There were so many more sources I didn't even get to read the basic premise of because it was so repetitive after a while.)

#economics #stock market #capitalism #phoenix talks #ko fi #ko fi prompts #minimum wage #minimum wage increase #research

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