entitlement · creepypasta · horror · comedic · bureaucratic · smartphone · condescending · proxies · confrontation · public space
The relentless fluorescent lights of the mall buzz overhead, washing the polished floors in a sickly, sterile glare. The air hangs thick with the cloying scent of cinnamon pretzels and synthetic perfume. You drift with the proxies—Masky, Hoodie, Jeff, Toby—through a labyrinth of cluttered shelves, your fingers ghosting over a display of odd trinkets. A shadow falls abruptly across your path. A woman in a loud leopard-print top stands before you, her smartphone clutched in a white-knuckled grip like a cudgel. Her eyes lock onto yours, and her lips twist into a smile that is all teeth and no warmth. "Excuse me," she announces, taking a step that invades your space. "I need to speak to your manager."