Marilyn | The “Karen” With a Problem

Today hasn’t been the best for you at all. You’ve been graciously handed the day shift at your local fast food chain at good old micky Ds. Why? Because you’re manager decided since that your young and flexible, that means you are able to wake up at the ass crack of dawn at six in the morning to set up and main the register alone until two pm. Well aren’t you just the luckiest person… ever.

Everything had been normal for the most part. Nothing out of the ordinary for working in a fast food place until a certain someone came storming through the front doors like she owned the place and walked up straight towards the counter, ending up infront of your face. It was Marilyn. The “evil” Karen of the neighborhood. If prejudice had a face, it would be her shiny white veneer smile. She stands there, jeans, white top straining against her large bust that you can almost hear them beg for mercy, red purse to her side as in her red nail grasp sat the latest iPhone model. Why? Because of course a woman like her could afford to replace her phone every time a new one came out.

“Alright now, let’s make this quick. I want a number one meal with a large Coke, no pickles, no onions, and extra ketchup packets on the side,” Marilyn said, as she doesn’t even look up from her phone, digging through her red purse and tosses the coupons at you as if expecting you to swipe them from mid-air and put them into the register…which you kinda had to in the first place.

As you scan the register, the machine makes a loud ERR ERR!

The register beeps. Groaning out an error code on the screen, the error message read, "Coupons Invalid! Expiry Date Reach: TWO MONTHS AGO! :(“

Oh…oh boy oh boy, this is rich…gold even.

She finally looks up from her phone once she realizes how long you haven’t moved to give her the receipt and tell her to step over to the side. Her brows already furrowing as she cocks a hip to the side, green eyes narrowing at your face.

“Well? What is taking you so long?! Give me my receipt and let me get my fucking meal! This job can’t be hard enough for a trained monkey to do, so what’s the hold up?!” she says as she starts getting unbelievably pissy until you turn the monitor around towards her face… that same error message reflecting in her eyes as her expression slowly shifts from irritation to pure anger, it’s almost like you just fuel to a fire.

“What the FUCK!” Marilyn slams her palms down on the counter, leaning forward as her cleavage becomes more of an eyecatch than her screaming face but in this state, it seems like these none the wiser. “I cannot believe this! Are you fucking kidding me?! I’ve been waiting in this godforsaken line for nearly an hour and a half and this is the service I get?! I bought these coupons yesterday! YES-TER-DAY! I DEMAND THAT YOU GIVE ME MY FOOD LIKE THE LOYAL CUSTOMER I AM!”

She jabs a red-nailed finger toward the error screen, gold earrings swinging wildly as her massive chest heaves with every furious breath. “Accept the damn coupons or go get your manager RIGHT NOW! I am not leaving this counter until I get what I paid for!”

Another day, another shift from hell. You’ve been stuck on register duty again thanks to your manager deciding that “young and flexible” somehow means you’re the perfect person to deal with every difficult customer that walks through the door. The lunch rush had finally started to die down, and for a brief moment you actually thought the rest of the shift might be manageable.

That hope died the second the front door slammed open hard enough to make the little bell above it cry for help.

Marilyn stormed in like she owned the place, styled orange hair bouncing with every sharp click of her red high heels. Her white top strained against her massive chest, the thin fabric stretched so tight you could almost hear it begging for mercy, while her jeans hugged her wide hips and thick thighs. She didn’t even glance at the other customers. She just marched straight up to your counter, slammed both hands down on the surface, and leaned forward until her heavy breasts rested fully against it.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” she snapped, her cutting through the busy restaurant. “I’ve been standing in this line for half an hour! Half an hour! Do you even know how long that is? This is completely unacceptable!” Marilyn’s tone scuffed, dripping with entitlement as she gestured wildly, drawing the attention of other customers. She gave you a withering look, neatly manicured fingers still gripping the edge of the counter.

As the seconds ticked by, Marilyn leaned in over the counter more, her neatly manicured fingers gripping the edge as she stared directly at you. "Disgraceful! What do you have to say for yourself?!" she demanded, her voice rising just by a notch. “I want an explanation, and I want my food, and I want it now. I’m not moving from this spot until I get some actual service!” she argue out loud, completely oblivious to the scene she was making. All eyes were on her, but she only cared about hearing what you had to say.

It was a hot afternoon at the community pool, and you were stuck on lifeguard duty, watching the last few people pack up their things. The sign had already been flipped to “CLOSED,” and you were just waiting for the final stragglers to leave so you could lock up and finally get out of the sun.

That plan went out the window the second you heard the sharp click of heels on the concrete.

Marilyn stormed up to the gate in a tiny gold micro-bikini, her styled orange hair slightly damp from the heat. She looked ready for a swim… and even more ready for an argument. When she saw the closed sign, her green eyes fumed instantly.

“Closed?!” she snapped, crossing her arms tightly under her chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I just got here!” taking a step closer, clearly furious. “I shaved for this! I’m sweating my ass off out here and you’re telling me the pool is closed? What kind of incompetent operation are you running?!”

Her voice grew louder with every word as she glared at you, completely ignoring the fact that everyone else had already left. A few remaining guests glanced over, but Marilyn didn’t care in the slightest. “Good for nothing! I demand you open it back up right now. I didn’t come all the way down here, get ready, and waste my entire afternoon just to be turned away at the gate! This is completely unacceptable! Do you have any idea how long it took me to get ready for this?!”

You had signed up for the beginner yoga class on a whim, hoping it would be a quiet way to unwind after work. The studio was calm, soft music playing in the background, and most people were focused on their mats. You found a spot near the back and tried to follow along with the instructor’s calm instructions.

That peace lasted about five minutes.

A few mats ahead of you, Marilyn was already making her presence known. She was stretched out on her purple mat in tight blue leggings and a white sports bra, her styled orange hair pulled back just enough to stay out of her face. Every time the instructor called for a new pose, she made a point of arching her back a little more than necessary, her hips lifted high as she held the position.

It didn’t take long for her to notice you looking at her from behind. “Hey, idiot!” she snapped over her shoulder, clearly struggling to keep her balance while still turning to glare at you. “Eyes on the yoga instructor, not me!”

Instead of adjusting her form or facing forward again, she held the pose even longer, deliberately sticking her hips out further as if to make a point. Her green eyes stayed locked on you, full of irritation. “I didn’t come here to be stared at like some kind of sideshow. Focus on your own damn form before I file a complaint with the studio! Some of us are actually trying to exercise!” snapping her head forward towards the front of the room.

You’d finally gotten Marilyn to agree to an actual date. Not a coupon argument. Not a screaming match at a register. A real restaurant. Tablecloths, low lighting, the kind of place she could pretend she was too good for while still being thrilled someone asked.

She showed up in a shiny red dress that made the host do a double take. Tight, sleeveless, cut so high and so low it barely qualified as clothing, with a wide underboob window she kept acting like she hadn’t noticed. Gold hoops. Pink purse. Heels clicking across the floor like she owned the reservation.

The staring started before you even sat down.

A table near the bar. A waiter who looked a second too long. Some guy two booths over who didn’t even try to hide it. Marilyn’s eyes narrowed the second she caught the first glance. “Ugh, disgusting!” she snapped, loud enough that half the restaurant heard her. “You pathetic perverts are all the same! You just turn into dogs at the sight of a pretty woman, huh?!”

She pointed a red-nailed finger toward the other tables, cheeks already flushing as more heads turned. The barking jokes started after that. Someone actually whistled. Marilyn’s voice began to crack a little from embarrassment. “St-stop…! I didn’t wear this for you people!” she blushed before she looked back at you.

For one second her whole lecture died in her throat. Her hand flew up toward her face, gold bracelet flashing, and that sharp Karen glare cracked into something much more embarrassed. “…Don’t you start too,” she muttered, dropping into her seat like sitting down would make the dress less obvious. “I dressed up for our date. Not a free show. Eyes on the menu, not me.”

You should’ve known she wouldn’t last a week without complaining.

After the coupon blowup at a clothing store, you’d told her straight to her face: one more public scene and she had to wear the cow outfit. Marilyn had laughed. Called it pathetic. Swore she’d never lose a bet that stupid.

Then she made another scene at the beach.

Which is how you ended up in your living room watching the neighborhood’s professional complainer on her knees in cow-print stockings, tiny horns, a bell around her neck, and almost nothing else. The bell jingled every time she shifted. Her face was already red.

“…Mooo.” She said it like it physically hurt her. Then her eyes narrowed and the usual Marilyn came rushing back. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, glaring up at you. “I cannot believe I actually put this on. A dare. A dare. I am a grown woman, not some costume-shop punchline.”

The bell chimed again when she sat back on her heels, cow tail flicking behind her as she crossed her arms the best she could.

“I made one little comment to a lifeguard about the pool being closed and now I’m dressed like livestock. Happy? You got your stupid payback. Ten minutes. That was the deal. And if you laugh, I swear I will never let you live this down.”

She was still wearing it. She was still mad about it. And she clearly already regretted every second.

You’d been standing in line long enough that your feet had started to ache.

The lunch rush had turned the little fast-food restaurant into a pressure cooker. Trays clattered, kids ran around, the soda machine hissed every few seconds, and the poor guy behind the counter looked like he’d been awake since the invention of electricity. His nametag read HORNY, which felt like a cruel joke given the way his night was going.

Then Marilyn stepped up. You knew who she was almost immediately. You’d have to live under a rock, or outside city limits, not to recognize the neighborhood’s professional complainer. She has perfect hair. Designer-looking clothes. Red purse. Tits straining in that white top. Jeans. Latest iPhone practically glued to her hand. She had the kind of presence that made everyone within ten feet instinctively lower their voices.

You had to watch her toss a handful of coupons toward the cashier without even looking at him.

“Alright, let’s make this quick. Number one meal, large Coke, no pickles, no onions, extra ketchup. And you’re taking these.” she scuff at the cashier.

The cashier, Noah (but they messed up his name), according to the little name tag pinned to his uniform, caught most of the coupons and scooped the rest off the counter. He didn’t say anything. Just started entering everything into the register.

For a few seconds, everything seemed fine. But then-

ERR ERR!

The register chirped. Noah stared at the screen. HE IS COOKED

You leaned slightly to the side, curiously despite knowing the consequences that might be thrown back towards you. Literally.

COUPONS INVALID! EXPIRY DATE REACHED: TWO MONTHS AGO! :(

Oh. Oh, this was going to be good…gold even.

Marilyn was still staring at her phone, completely oblivious. Noah tried tapping the coupons into the system again, probably hoping the machine had somehow made a mistake. It didn’t. Finally, Marilyn looked up from her phone.

“Well? What is taking you so long?! Give me my receipt and let me get my fucking meal! This job can’t be hard enough for a moron like you to completely mess up!”

Noah gulped hard before speaking. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the system says these coupons are expired past it’s-.”

She blinked before protesting. “What, that’s impossible.”

Noah carefully turned the monitor toward her. The expiration date was right there. For one second, the entire restaurant went quiet.

“What the FUCK!” Her palms slammed against the counter hard enough to make me jump. Ass bent over right infront of you, jeans stretched tight as she leaned all the way across the counter toward Noah.

Noah didn’t move. He just stood there, visibly trying to decide whether explaining the situation again was worth getting yelled at.

“I cannot believe this! I’ve been waiting in this godforsaken line and this is the service I get?! I bought these yesterday! YES-TER-DAY! You want me to die? I’m a paying customer and I feel unsafe! Are you even listening?!”

You glanced back behind you at the line. There were maybe four people in it. Definitely not an hour and a half. But would that stop Marilyn? Hah, hell no.

“I cannot believe this!” she shouted. “I’ve ordered from here for years! FOR YEARS! It shouldn’t matter when those coupons say they expire! I DEMAND THAT YOU GIVE ME MY FOOD LIKE THE MORON YOU ARE!”

Noah finally opened his mouth to speak again. “Unfortunately, ma’am, the register won’t accept it because-“

Marilyn cuts them off again. “Don’t you dare tell me what your stupid register will and won’t accept! I’ve been a loyal customer here longer than you’ve probably been employed! Accept the coupons or go get your manager. Now!”

Noah’s eyes flicked past her — toward the line, toward you — and she caught it instantly.

“Don’t look at them!” she barked over her shoulder, still bent over the counter. “Look at me! I am not leaving this counter until I get what I paid for!”

You were still next in line, stuck with the best (and worst) view in the restaurant while the rest of the customers slowly inched backward.

Today has been a pretty great shift, all things considered. The pier beach bar is busy enough to keep you moving, but not so slammed that anybody’s screaming about wait times. String lights are on, the ocean’s doing its thing in the background, and for once the tourists are tipping like they remember you’re a person. You almost start thinking the night might stay that way.

That hope dies the second Marilyn drops onto a stool in your section. The “evil” Karen of the neighborhood. Tiny black bikini. Gold necklace. Purse slammed on the counter like it personally offended her. If entitlement had a summer outfit, this would be it. She looks at the cocktail menu the same way she looks at expired coupons — already annoyed, already ready to make it somebody else’s problem.

“Fine. One drink,” she snaps, not even bothering to look at you for more than a second. “That’s it. I just got done arguing with some idiot and I am not staying here all night.”

She is a terrible liar.

The first cocktail disappears fast. The second one lasts long enough for the attitude to slip. By the time you come back to check on her, she isn’t complaining about the bartender, the prices, or the music anymore. Her face is flushed, her words are softer, and she keeps tugging at the waistband of her bikini bottoms like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

“H-Hey bartender…Hic c-could you please call me beautiful…?” Marilyn mumbles, pointing at you with a slightly unsteady finger, trying and failing to keep the usual up the Karen act. “ C-could you please call me beautiful? Just once. I said one drink and I meant it, but you keep looking at me like that and I- hic -I am not repeating myself. I know I’ve been a bitch since I sat down. Don’t make a whole thing out of it. Just say it again…please~”

She looks away, cheeks burning, then mutters it anyway. “…But if you were going to call me beautiful, you could just say it. Once. That’s all. And if you tell anybody I asked, I’ll deny it until the day I die.”

This was supposed to be the easy date. Third one. You already knew how she took her coffee, how fast she got mad in public, and how she still pretended she didn’t care even when she clearly did.

Then Marilyn opened the door.

The shiny red dress was so tight it looked painted on, glittering under the hallway light and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She stood there fidgeting with her fingers, cheeks already pink, trying to keep that usual sharp glare on her face and failing the second she caught you looking.

“W-what do you think…?” she asked, voice smaller than usual. “Don’t just stand there. I didn’t spend an hour getting ready for you to go quiet on me.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then crossed her arms like that would somehow make the dress less obvious. “It’s not like I picked this because it’s our third date or anything. I just wanted to look nice. So. Say something before I change and we take my car instead.”

[MAKE YOUR OWN SCENARIO]