Karen-avirus

The year is 2020. Today a woman named Karen was identified as a possible patient zero in the coronavirus pandemic. Violence against Karens has increased 850% since the news broke. Friends and family members of Karens have flooded their local police stations with tips for where to find Karens so they can be tracked down and brought to justice… assuming the police get to them before the mob does. Rewards for Karenformation — information on the whereabouts of Karens — have reached the thousands of dollars and continue to rise. The stock ticker KARN has plummeted and the headquarters of the small women’s hair salon company that specializes in the “Kute Karen Kut” are being protested by a growing mob with Big Lots tiki torches and signs that read, “May I speak to a manager.” This would all just be another average day in 2020 but unfortunately, my name is Karen.

I don’t know what went wrong in my mother’s life. I don’t know what trauma she endured. I don’t know why she thought it would be a good idea to name me Karen; but my mother has always been about “tough love” and I’m sure that’s what she’s telling the cop right now as she helps them locate me. Fortunately, I’ve been karenoid my whole life. I’ve always felt like the world was out to get me, to stiff me on a discount, to keep me from the service I deserve, and now that instinctive karenoia is keeping me alive. I’ve been keeping my fingers on the pulse of Karen social sentiment since 2008 when twitter user LadiesManGrant777 first introduced the modern notion of Karen by tweeting, “Y is it always a woman named Karen that complains they don’t like our breadsticks?” Tweeted from an iPhone in an Olive Garden parking lot at coordinates 39°46'20.4"N 86°01'26.2"W. After he received 6 retweets and 9 likes I knew something was up. Since then I’ve been preparing for the coming karelimination that would promote violence against my kind and make us an endangered species. When the bob haircut heads piled up I wasn’t planning for mine to be among them.

Lately I’ve noticed the social sentiment has reached a boiling point, especially with the mask requirement in most places. This is a non-negotiable issue. I do not spend an appalling $35 at my local JCPenny makeup counter every week just to cover it up with some flim flam mask. I’ve been quietly protesting, slipping my mask down over my nose when no one is looking, and glaring back when they are. It’s the little victories that win the war. Thank you Granny Beth for teaching me how to have a spine.

I got a new job as a server last week and today is my first day. I can’t just run. That would immediately draw suspicion. No, I have to keep up appearances and just play it cool, staying under the radar. I’m going by the name Kay until things cool down. For now, my coworkers don’t know my true identity, and I plan to keep it that way. My legal name should have only been seen by my supervisor, Chad. There’s still a good chance he doesn’t notice. My cute blonde wig is a little itchy, but I need it to cover up my kute karen kut. I wave hi to Sabrina the hostess as I walk to the back to clock in. Chad isn’t here yet, phew.

My first table arrived at 5:45, and was seated at the corner booth. Ok, I’ve got this. I approach confidently, “Hello everyone, welcome to Cheryl’s Cafe, what can I get everyone to drink this fine evening?” I took their drink orders down on my notepad, not missing a beat, complimenting their choices until I got to the last guest, a middle-aged woman wearing pale red lipstick and 3 inch pumps. She looked me over once and then returned her gaze to fixate on a spot just above my eyes. Oh no, did she notice my wig? After a brief pause, she said, “I’ll have the Pinot Grigio.” The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. Oh, she definitely suspects something. I did my best to keep my cool but I stuttered for just a second in my compliment, and her eyes narrowed. I felt like a fish in the presence of a great white. Likely an alcoholic one. “My name is Kay ma’m.” Her eyes narrowed further as her table quietly chortled to themselves. “Do I look old enough to be a ma’m, Kay?” My pulse quickened. I’m in danger. I quickly attempted a cute little laugh and only managed a pathetic teehee. “No of course not! My bad completely! It won’t happen again.” She relaxed a little bit and turned to her friends, “I like her. She learns quickly.” As the table forced a laugh she looked to me, “Let’s be friends Kay. Just for tonight.” Her eyes drifted again to the same spot on my forehead. “Okay!” I said, and after a brief pause, “Girly!” The whole table stiffened. My heart stopped dead in its tracks. A waiter nearby stopped mid-pour and froze. One of the guests at the table shifted uncomfortably and looked down at his menu.Time seemed to stand still, the way it does when you’ve just asked the voice on the other line if you can speak to someone else. The woman at the table looked locked eyes with me and slowly, ever so slowly, smirked as if to say, I caught you. I know what you really are. I gulped and walked away from the table trying to feign confidence while my knees kept trying to buckle underneath my pale, trembling body. The woman’s eyes were throwing knives into my back as I scurried away. I need to leave. Immediately. They know. They absolutely know. Just at that moment Sabrina came up to me with a somber look in her eyes. “Kay? Chad is here. He wants to speak with you immediately.”

I walked, like a zombie, to the back of the cafe. My face was paler than a blue haired barista from Seattle, and I was certain Chad had just read my legal information. He stood at the back, all 5’7 of him, arms crossed. His hard part was held in place with a low-shine high-hold paste from Walgreens. I need to take care of him, and fast. His secondhand Ross button down was intentionally tight around the biceps, and I calculated my chances against this monstrosity of a man. I need to use my environment against him. Kitchen knives? No. Too far away. I mentally practiced a kick to his man parts (Granny forgive me), which were neatly tucked away in his 34/30 Joseph Abboud khakis. This Chad would be hard to beat, no doubt. I’ve never faced such an alpha male before. “Hey, Kayyy,” he said, intentionally prolonging my name. “We need to talk. Come into my office.” He took two steps and opened the walk-in fridge, gesturing for me to head inside. I placed my hands by my sides steadfastly and walked in to the titular ice box. Chad closed the door behind us. “Kay.” He said. “Kay, Kay Kay. You know I vouched for you when you applied to work here. I didn’t know who you were but I just knew, I knew you had your wits about you. I knew you’d be a team player and a good fit for our family here. Did you have a family growing up?” I answered the invasive and very common supervisor question like I’d practiced a million times. “Yes.” I said. “Well then you’d know how important it is that we all can trust each other here at the CC. Here at Cheryl’s Cafe. Family may mean something different where you’re from, but here…” He paused for effect as he shook his head slowly, arms once again crossed. “We don’t lie to each other here, Kay.” My mind was surprisingly calm in this moment. My eyes focused in a way that only happens at the start of Black Friday at 4 am outside of the Target Superstore. I’m like John Wick. I’m honing in on my opponent’s weak spots waiting for my chance to strike. Gosh I hated what they did to his dog. My moment of focus was shaken by a brief pang of sadness for mistreated puppies all over the world. Chad continued. “I was shocked by what I saw on your file.” Chad bit the side of his lower lip in that slight disappointed Michael Scott kind of way, no doubt from years of watching that show, trying to relate to girls on Tinder. Switching tactics like the seamless pop culture consumer that he was, Chad went in for the kill. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders forward, tilting his head to one side and blinking consistently while squinting just a tiny bit. He furrowed his brow, feigning his confusion. “Is there something you want to tell me, Kay?” In that moment I saw my opening. I pivoted on my right foot like Kobra Kai and with blinding speed backhanded Chad with my left hand. Instant pain shot through my hand as Chad took the full blow on his Martin Freeman impersonating face, and he fell back into the potato bin in the corner. I leapt forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins, and pulled the scrunchie from my wig, wrenching it off in the process. Chad’s face turned to horror and disbelief as he saw my lightly colored bob haircut. Realizing what was about to happen, his mind raced through all the ways this had gone so differently in his fantasies. The knowledge of what I truly was, of who had just dominated him and what Reddit would say was too much, and his spirit broke. As I gagged him with my oversized, fluffy hair tie, a single tear escaped his eye. I tied his hands together with girl-who-stayed-in-the-girl-scouts-til-she-was-16 like precision and stepped back. “They’ll find you soon enough Chad. Don’t you worry. I’ll be long gone by then.” I moved quickly, grabbing an ice pack for my hand. The swelling would start soon enough. I may have a contusion. I stepped out of the walk in and shut the door calmly behind me.

Sabrina eyed me questioningly as I grabbed my stuff and headed for the backdoor. “Chad wanted to rearrange the walk in so he’s going to do that before he comes out.” I said. “Ugh. Again?” Sabrina huffed and walked back to her hostess spot. Apparently she hadn’t heard the commotion in the walk in. Finally, I caught a break. I hurried out the back door, and used my half walk half run to get to my flat. Escape is so close I can taste it. Back at my apartment, I grabbed my Vera Bradley to-go tote and donned my favorite pair of big oversized sunglasses. I quickly adjusted my wig and said bye to my flat, blowing kisses at my Joanna Gaines interior decor. I grabbed my travel size “Love lives here” sign and left for the very last time.

It’s been three months since the Karenavirus almost wiped out my kind completely. I traveled for what seemed like ages, seeking refuge from my persecution. I ate at Subway for every meal because the Chik-fil-As were being watched closely. It took some time and some careful perusing of private facebook groups, but I’ve arrived. After proving that I wasn’t a spy by joining their multi level marketing downline, the other Karens let me into their compound in Ann Arbor, MI and I still reside here today. Life is simple here. I have all the hair products and essential oils I need, and I make a meager but fulfilling living sliding into DMs now and again. Finally, at long last, I’m home.