"Can I speak to the manager?"
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Synopsis:
Arturo is a manager at a Wendy’s. He needs a hobby, with how stressful customer service can be. (Especially with the way certain types of customers act.) So, he took up making magic curses in his free time.Tags, for mobile users who can’t see the tag menu:
vore, torture, tiny, snuff, shrunken woman, shrinking, non-con, handheld, giant, entrapment
Arturo looked at the line of customers in front of him, and his heart sank. The line looked like it would never end. It even reached to the door. The lunch rush is why he drinks at night.
“How can I help you?” he said, again and again. The customers told him what they wanted. He punched the orders into the register. He took their payment and he made change. Again and again.
Office worker: Spicy chicken sandwich. Construction worker: Pretzel bun burger meal #3. College student: #7, hold the mayo. Retail worker, wearing a uniform from the Home Depot down the road: Strawberry pecan salad.
The masses of customers blurred together in his minds’ eye. Arturo didn’t have the mental space to even tell one apart from another, and he didn’t care. He focused on the performance of the busy fry cooks and food preparers behind him, and the line of orders neatly coming into and out of the kitchen. He wasn’t just a cashier, he was the shift manager, so it was his responsibility to make sure everything ran smoothly.
Arturo started to see the stream of customers and orders fall into place on the register screen and in his minds’ eye. He could handle this. He was on top of things.
Right as he thought this, she walked up to his register.
She was a middle aged, slightly chubby woman with a blonde haircut that almost covered her forehead, but was buzzed in the back. She was wearing high-waisted jeans and a frilly pink blouse, with a matching pink crystal earring and necklace set. She had a pair of Oakley sunglasses on, even indoors. She smelled like essential oils, even from several feet away at the cash register. She already had a sour look on her face before she started saying the order.
“Hello there, sir. Can I please get a #6, medium, with a diet Dr. Pepper. And could you sub a side salad for the fries? I know it’s extra, don’t you start that with me.”
“All right,” Arturo said, carefully typing her order in. He could already tell that she was itching to complain about anything he did even slightly wrong, so he made sure to enter everything exactly as she said. He repeated it back to her to confirm, something he didn’t do with most customers.
“Yes, that’s right, hon. Thank you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping with false sweetness.
When she left to the side to wait for her order, Arturo breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good. He got back to the rest of the still-long line. He could see the end of it now. It ended five feet from the front of the door.
Someone dressed like a lawyer, baked potato with bacon. A pair of cops, a pair of #5’s with cokes. A little kid and their doctor parent, a chicken finger kid’s meal, and a Caesar salad, diet sweet tea.
A few minutes passed, and then a food preparer from the back put the problem woman’s order onto the pickup counter. To be sure everything was right, Arturo double checked the ticket, before calling out her order number.
“136?” he called.
She didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to have the receipt in her hand. She was staring at her phone.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
No response.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he tried getting her attention again. “Order with #6 medium, Diet Dr. Pepper, Salad subbed for fries?”
She looked up from her phone, and quickly grabbed the paper bag. She opened it up, and started dissecting the bacon ranch chicken sandwich, blocking the way for other customers to get to their ready orders.
“Excuse me? Can I speak to the manager?” she said.
“How can I help you?” Arturo replied.
“No, the manager,” she responded. “There’s a problem with my order, and I need whoever is in charge of this location to fix it, and to educate whoever is responsible.”
Arturo’s face flushed. Who does she think she is? The lady of a manor talking down to her butler?
“Ma’am, I am the manager -”
“Don’t MA’AM me!” she yelled now, aghast. “Your disrespectful attitude right there has to face consequences. I will call corporate and report you, boy.”
“Boy”? Did she really call him the word that racist white people use against black people when they are afraid of being caught on video saying the “n” word? Only one of Arturo’s four grandparents was black, two were Honduran, one was white, but did she really care about such details? He didn’t look white, so he was caught in her stream of slightly racist verbal venom.
Arturo breathed out. Irate customers like this are part of the job. It is his job to keep his cool.
“What seems to be the specific problem, miss?” Arturo said, forcing calm into his voice. Boiling inside.
“I specifically asked for no ranch on the sandwich. And it’s covered in ranch,” she complained.
Arturo rewound the action in his head. This was not true. She mentioned no substitutions or requests other than the salad when she ordered.
“I’m so sorry for that mistake. Allow me to get you a new sandwich,” he said, and took the old one from her hand. He threw it away, and went to the sandwich assembly area, quickly grabbing a new base.
“THANK you,” she said, her tone of voice dripping poison.
“Now, I don’t tip, but here’s a free lesson, kid,” she continued, very loudly.
Arturo was 28.
“Dumb mistakes like this are why you’ll be stuck in a dump like this, frying chicken and baking potatoes, for the rest of your life. If you don’t learn to fix your listening problem, and your awful attitude towards me, you’ll wish that I got you fired from here. Because I can do that. I’ve done it before. I just have to call corporate and tell them what happened here.”
Arturo was originally planning on just making a new bacon ranch chicken sandwich, (hold the ranch) for her, and moving on, but, that latest tirade sent a flash of anger straight through his body. It reminded him of the curse potion that he kept in his pocket. The one that he made on a full moon a few weeks ago.
As Arturo sprinkled the thin, clear liquid onto the new chicken sandwich, he mumbled the curse that goes with casting the spell. He wrapped the piping hot sandwich in foiled paper and handed it back to the problem woman.
“Here you go,” he offered to her, with his best customer service grin on his face.
“Thank you,” she replied curtly, and checked the sandwich for the dreaded ranch dressing again. “This will do. Try harder next time,” she was compelled to add.
Even though the line was still long, Arturo spent a precious half-minute watching her, to keep track of where she was going. She walked across the street to a small park and sat down at a bench. Arturo noted the exact bench.
Thanks to his coworkers picking up the slack after one got back from their break, the remaining line only took another 15 minutes to get through.
“I’m going to take my lunch now, Grace. Can you cover me a little early?”
“Of course,” his youngest and most capable employee responded.
Arturo washed his hands, tapped his code into the timecard system for a lunch break, and left through the employee exit in the back. He walked past the dumpsters and grease trap, and made his way to the front of the store’s parking lot. He couldn’t wait to see what was waiting for him at the park across the street. He jaywalked, and jogged to the back of the bench that he had seen the problem woman sit down at.
He slowed his pace, and looked carefully at each place he put down his greaseproof Doc Marten workboots. He didn’t want to crush her like a bug under his shoes, unexpectedly.
He saw what looked like the remnants of a strange disappearance on the bench. There was a frilly pink blouse lumped on top of jeans, and a purse and smartphone sprawled to the left and right. A pink crystal earring set and necklace were neatly placed on top of the blouse.Behind the purse, there was a crumpled bag from the fast food restaurant that Arturo managed. There were empty leather wedge heels beneath the bench, standing empty.
He stepped closer, and a subtle spark of movement caught his eye. It was the problem customer, now a tiny woman, just two inches tall, waving her arms and shouting for help, jumping up and down on the top layer of the blouse. She had shrunk out of her clothing - she was stark naked.
Once she noticed that his gaze was on her, she stopped shouting, and made shade with her hand as she looked up at him. His body was backlit by the sun, so she couldn’t see his face at first. But she could smell the familiar grease of the restaurant that made the meal she was just eating a few moments ago.
Arturo shifted slightly, and his frame cast a shadow that surrounded her body. She could see him clearly. Once she recognized his face and uniform, she stood frozen, terrified. After a moment, she shouted, meekly.
“Listen-”
Her voice sounded like a tiny squeak to him. He slowly bent down to get closer, and smoothly turned his ear towards her. She could smell his braided hair’s moisturizing product from this close. His ear was taller than her.
“I’m sorry about our disagreements before. Please, young man, can you help me find a doctor to fix this?”
Arturo said nothing. He turned his head back towards her, he smiled his best customer service smile, and with the speed and precision of a snake bite, his hand plucked her off of the clothing pile. He brought her to his eyes and took in the sight of her for a moment, chuckling slightly.
She looked into his dark brown eyes, and saw nothing but malice in his expression. She felt dizzy from the momentum of being moved around so quickly. He enjoyed the feeling of her nude little peach-colored body, which instinctively grasped onto his brown thumb like a huge roller coaster safety bar, as his index and middle fingers supported her in the back. He could feel each of her tiny squirms against the sensitive flesh of his fingertips.
In one smooth motion, Arturo placed her in his white, button-up, manager uniform shirt’s embroidered chest pocket. The fast food company’s logo decorated the front of the square of fabric, and it now looked slightly lumpy.
“Now, stay hidden. Pop your head out of there, and I drop you into the deep fryer,” Arturo said, and felt a rush of excitement course throughout his body.
The tiny woman could feel his heartbeat’s fast rhythm, as she tried to adjust to her cloth prison. She could get somewhat comfortable if she leaned against the bottom front of the pocket, but his enormous body’s heat was overwhelming on this summer day, and all she could see from her vantage point, through the straight, starched fabric at the top of the pocket, was the bottom of his chin, and sometimes, his nostrils.
She breathed deep, trying to calm a panic attack, and noticed with disgust that his shirt smelled like a combination of fabric softener, and the permeating stink of fryer grease.
Arturo gathered her old, normal-sized clothing, and shoved it into his backpack. It barely fit on top of his other things. He took her phone, smashed it underneath his boots, and threw it away in a park trash can. He put her wallet into his bag, wanting to not leave any evidence of her identity, and dropped the rest of her purse into a drainage ditch. He walked back across the street, through the parking lot, past the dumpster and grease trap, and back into the restaurant.
He was grinning like he had just had an amazing first date.
“What’s going on, Arturo?” his coworker Jesse said, smirking.
“What?”
“That grin on your face, bro. You got a nice pic from some new girl on your lunch break?” he held out a “congratulations” high five, teasing him on his lack of prowess.
Arturo laughed, and met the high five. He followed it up with a brief secret handshake and smirked back.
“Nah, I did meet this cute little chica in the park, though. Think we might be able to get real close, after my shift.”
“Ooh woow, boss bro getting laid tonight! Ha!” Jesse laughed, sure that Arturo was just making this up.
“Yeah, yeah. Back to the fryer, Jesse,” Arturo said, and took his place back at the register.
“Sir, yes sir,” Jesse responded, clearly stoned out of his gourd.
Throughout this whole conversation, the tiny woman felt like she was going to go deaf from how loud Arturo and the giant Jesse were to her miniscule ears. Every time he spoke, the chest she was resting on resonated like the loudest jet engine. She covered her ears, until they began ringing. She tried to think of how to escape, but her thoughts were clouded by her suffering. This was already unbearable. She let out a tiny whimper.
Arturo’s shift lasted for another 10 hours. He went from the cash register line, where the tiny woman was deafened by his constant, repetitive talking, to supervising the workers in the kitchen during the dinner rush. He shouted directions at his employees from across the kitchen, and the tiny woman’s ears would ring. Arturo even got up to the grill and frying stations himself for several periods.
The heat from the cooking elements emanated to Arturo’s chest, and combined with his body heat, it made the tiny woman in his shirt pocket drift in and out of consciousness. She felt like she was slowly roasting in a very loud oven. Sometimes, everything would go tunnel-like, and then black. And then he’d shout again, and she would startle awake, resentful of the sound again.
This entire time, Arturo was walking with a light step, and laughing at more of his young employees’ dirty jokes than normal. He was giddy, just from how thrilled he was at knowing that he had this fucked up little secret in his shirt pocket.
She was right on top of his left pectoral, the whole time he was working, without anybody suspecting a thing. When he’d move in certain ways, he’d feel the slight tug on his chest from the weight in his pocket, and he’d be again reminded of her: helpless, trapped, completely at his mercy.
It did feel like an evil sort of first date, but it was with someone who had such haughty contempt for him when they met earlier in the day.
After the dinner customers trickled out, it was Arturo’s job to close up the shop. A few employees stayed for about an hour, closing up the kitchen for the night, throwing away unused food, turning off the griddles and fryers, wiping all the metal surfaces with bleach-soaked rags. Arturo locked shut the drive through window and the front entrance doors, and flipped on the neon “closed” sign over the driveway. He turned out all of the lights, leaving only a couple of emergency fire safety bulbs on.
He counted the register and filled out his daily digital report, and emailed it into his regional manager.
With all the customers and other employees gone, the tiny woman’s captor had finally stopped talking. She was lulled to sleep by his heartbeat, and by his repetitive, gentle motions as he finished his computer work and cleaned a few of the surfaces in the front of the store. He always did one last pass with the cleaning rag in the dining room after he had the place all to himself.
He put the cloth away, and washed his hands, again. He picked up an extra large soda cup from next to the soda machine and reached into his chest pocket.
The tiny woman was woken from a nightmare by the feeling of a gigantic pair of fingers gripping her gently, and before she knew she was even awake, she had been deposited at the bottom of the wax-lined paper cup.
She looked at the round, bright white sides of this new trap. Reality set in, and she cried out in anguish.
“This is really happening,” she yelled, and sat down at the edge of the cup. Her legs reached the center of the cup when she sat at the edge, but the top was impossibly far away for her to climb to. As she looked at this, she saw that enormous brown face looking down at her. His expression was hard to read - she couldn’t tell if he was excited or angry.
“Please. Let me go. Please, make me big again.”
“So you can treat me and everyone else who works at a job like mine like garbage, again?” Arturo said.
“I’ve learned my lesson, sir,” she shouted.
“Maybe I should throw you in the garbage. You might survive in there, eating unwanted and rotten food, until the commercial trash truck comes 3 days from now, and crushes the entire block. If you’re clever enough, you might even escape the slippery-walled dumpster. If you made it down to the ground from there, you could then be eaten by the crows that live in the parking lot. I saw one eat a rat, once.”
“What do you want?” she cried out.
“I want one less entitled, stuck up, sadistic asshole like you in the world,” Arturo said. “You Karens are like time traveling slave masters - trying to treat everyone who works a worse job than yours like your personal servants. It’s the modern world, chica, we’re all in a broken, late capitalist system, and my job has nothing to do with my intelligence, my skill, or my worth as a human being. It’s just fucking economics. Your hateful mindset doesn’t fit in anymore. Read the damn room.”
“Here, your favorite,” he added, as he moved the cup to the spout of the machine. He tapped a button, and a jet of fizzy brown liquid fell into the cup, with industrial speed. It knocked the tiny woman down, and it quickly became deeper than her reduced height. She held her breath, and tried to swim towards the ever-raising surface, but the current from the jet was too strong. It was like swimming against a fire-hose the size of a river rapid. As she struggled under the current, she could taste the familiar flavor of Diet Dr. Pepper.
Even though she was still under the surface of the giant soda cup, the woman could hear Arturo’s voice vibrate through her skull, as the vibrations of his voice traveled through his chest to his arm, to his hand that held the vertical pool of sticky liquid.
“There is just one place your backwards mentality CAN fit,” he said.
She could see some brown-tinted light near the surface of the beverage. Just a bit further to swim.
Arturo lifted the cup to his mouth, and opened his jaws wide. He opened his throat, the same technique he used to quickly chug full cups of beer at parties. He tilted the cup slightly, and chugged the Diet Dr. Pepper down.
The liquid became shallower, as the position of her new prison shifted, and the woman now had the sensation of a stream of shallow liquid carrying her towards a warm cave in front of her. She took a breath in the air, and was struck by the horror of being in the fast food manager’s mouth. The room was dimly lit, but she could see the shine of his white teeth above her, and the blackness of the back of his monstrous throat directly in front of her.
Arturo felt a large object in his mouth, like when you come across an ice cube while chugging soda. He pinned her to the roof of his mouth with his tongue, and tilted the cup back to idle in his hand, only half-empty.
The woman screamed for mercy. She kicked her legs desperately, and slammed her arms against the sensitive roof of his mouth. She prayed he would change his mind before he did the last, irreversible thing.
Arturo savored her body’s taste. He could feel every thrash of her tiny limbs trying to save herself. The fact that her body’s strongest motions were so pathetically overpowered by just his tongue filled him with pleasure. Her terrified screams thrilled him.
“I don’t want to die!” she screamed, as Arturo dropped his tongue down, and tilted the soda cup back one final time. A rush of Diet Dr. Pepper carried the problem customer down his held-open esophagus, all the way down to his waiting stomach.
Arturo burped. It was a pleasant sensation, since the spicy, effervescent taste of Dr. Pepper bubbles came right back, a result of his stomach shifting around some swallowed carbonation, among other things. -
@tiny-ivy I love revenge
