Word: Glower

glower

[ glou-er ]

verb (used without object)

1. to look or stare with sullen dislike, discontent, or anger.

noun

2. a look of sullen dislike, discontent, or ange

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               When the woman entered the store, Dave could tell exactly what kind of customer she would be. She wore a dress that was in no way flattering to her figure and a hairstyle that was at least twenty years out of date. But those were just minor details. The biggest tip-off was her look. She was giving him a thousand-yard glair that spoke of her firm belief that anyone in the service industry was not worthy to breath the same air as her.

               Hers was a look that spoke of her inherent superiority as a customer. A look that spoke of how little she cared about things like common curtesy, manners, or basic human decency. She was above all others, and those in the store should obey her every whim or be cast down.

               Dave took a deep breath and hoped she would not approach him. She had already locked eyes with him, and so she was aware of her presence, no matter how distasteful she found it. As such, he could not simply disappear into the back room and pretend to be on break. No, his only hope was that she saw what she was looking for, and wanted to spend as little time in the small shop as possible.

               Alas, it was not to be. The woman took one look around the place and stormed up to the counter.

               “Excuse me.” She said, acting like just talking to Dave was painful. He put on his best customer service smile and answered.

               “Yes, ma’am? How may I help you?”

               “Where’re your shoes?” She asked. If words had physical presence, hers would have leveled a city block.

               “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t sell shoes here.”

               “Don’t lie to me. This is a men’s formal wear store. Shoes are part of formal wear. That means you have shoes.”

               She was obviously convinced of that, no matter how wrong she was. It was not like Dave had worked at the place for almost two years, and she was just coming in for the first time. No, in her mind, he was wrong, and nothing would convince her otherwise. He still had to try.

               “We sell suits, ma’am. That means we have shirts, pants and jackets. We don’t have shoes or socks. We do have a small selection of belts, but that’s about it.”

               “You’re lying.” She said, eyes narrowing to slits. “I know what you have in stock. Take me to your shoes now.”

               Dave took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “Fine. How about this, I’ll show you every bit of the store. If you see a single pair of shoes for sale, I’ll give them to you for free. Sound good?”

               The woman gave a self-satisfied smirk. She obviously thought she had won. Dave did just as he said he would. The tour lasted all of ten minutes. When it was done, the woman looked confused for a moment before her glare returned. This time she was obviously trying to develop pyrokinetic abilities just so she could light him on fire.

               “Well? Where’s the rest of it?” She asked.

               “That’s it. That’s the entire store. The only place I haven’t taken you is the employee only areas. And well, you’re not an employee, so I can’t take you there.”

               “You’re lying. There has to be more.” And then she said it. The hallmark of her kind. The words that all service workers fear. “I demand to speak to your manager.”

               Dave sighed. He longed for the day when he could tell such a person that he was the manager. But, that was not this day. All he could do was grin and bare it. He went and got his manager, Jack. Jack had been on break. Jack was not happy to be interrupted.

               “Is there something wrong, ma’am?” Jack asked.

               What ensued was a glower-off. A duel of stared daggers. A glaring contest between two people whose hatred for the other could make people wonder if fighting wars was worth it.

               “Your extremely rude employee won’t show me where the shoes are.” The woman said. Her words were so cold they made dry ice seem warm.

               “That’s because we don’t sell shoes. The only shoes you will find in this store are on our feet.”

               Dave saw something pass behind the woman’s hate filled eyes. She knew she was wrong. She knew she had come into the wrong store, and that she would not find what she was looking for. But she was far too proud to admit that. She would not go down without a fight.

               “Well then, you had better order some.” She said.

               “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Jack said. “We don’t place special orders, even on items we regularly carry. I’m afraid you’ll have to take your business elsewhere.”

               And there it was. The cous de grace. The final blow. It was a slightly more polite version of “get out of my store” and could not be denied without causing a scene.

               “Fine.” She spat. “But nobody in my family will ever shop here again. You just lost a lot of customers.” She said, flipped her hair and stormed out of the building.

               Jack turned to Dave. “Dave, next time that happens, don’t bother me if I’m on break. It’s not worth the aggravation.”

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This, ladies and gentlemen of the internet, is what you call a Karen. A Karen is a  woman with a sense of entitlement so strong it warps her perception of reality so that it all revolves around her. Now, it should be noted that not all Karens are actually named Karen, nor are all women named Karen a Karen. I know it can get confusing to newcomers, but once you've spent some time on the internet, you too will know a Karen when you see one.

Word: Unctuous

unctuous

[ uhngk-choo-uh s ]

adjective

characterized by excessive piousness or moralistic fervor, especially in an affected manner; excessively smooth, suave, or smug.

of the nature of or characteristic of an unguent or ointment; oily; greasy.

having an oily or soapy feel, as certain minerals.

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              Ben did not like his mom’s new boyfriend. At first, he was not sure why. There was just something about the guy that rubbed him the wrong way. Could it be the way he always seemed to be smiling? Or the lame pick-up lines he threw her way? Or maybe the hollow and cheap compliments? The way he thought he was smooth, and suave?

               No, those were all bad, but they were not what really got under Ben’s skin. He had seen so many guys like that at school that they really did not bother him too much. Then it came to him. It was the guy’s hair.

               The guy wore his hair slicked back and meticulously styled. As a guy who also paid close attention to hair, Ben could tell that they guy probably spent at least an hour making sure every strand of hair was in the exact right spot. He probably thought it made him look like James Bond or something. Ben could definitely say that the style did not look like anything any charming spy should wear.

               Plus, it was just so greasy. The guy put enough oil in his hair that Ben swore if he wrung it out, they’d be able to fry a Thanksgiving turkey in what they collected. It was even a little hard to where the hair ended, and the oil began. How anyone could put that much effort into something so horrible defied explanation.

               And it all distilled into the essence of what this man his mother chose to date was like. On the surface, he put in a lot of effort. He acted charming, and enjoyed the company of his mother. But once one really looked at it, they could tell it was just a layer of oil making everything look nice and shiny. Ben could tell he did not really care for his mother.

               He complimented her, but it sounded like words from a dating advice website. The dates the two of them went on sounded like something from “how to score” book. Even the way he interacted with Ben sounded like they came from someone else.

               When Ben saw the two of them looking at each other, he saw very different things. In his mother, Ben saw a woman who wanted to love. Needed to love. And this man was a fine outlet for that need. In her boyfriend, Ben saw a man looking for his next meal. A hunter preying on a lonely widow and her son. He did not care about them beyond what he could get out of them.

               Everything about him, from his manners, to the way he dressed, to his hair, was the same. Charming, engaging, and covered with enough oil and grease to set the ocean on fire. And what was worse was that his mom was falling for the trick. She was being blinded by the slick, shiny disguise he put on. She was falling for the hairdo.

               And Ben knew he needed to end it. 

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Yeah, I got nothing today. Sorry.

Word: Jawbone

jawbone

[ jaw-bohn ]

noun

1. a bone of either jaw; a maxilla or mandible.

2. the bone of the lower jaw; mandible.

verb (used with or without object), jaw·boned, jaw·bon·ing.

3. Informal. to attempt to influence or pressure by persuasion rather than by the exertion of force or one's authority, as in urging voluntary compliance with economic guidelines: The president jawboned the steel industry into postponing price increases.

adjective

4. Informal. obtained by or resorting to such a practice: jawbone controls.

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               Dr. Franklin examined the odd stone structure critically. It looked like nothing he had ever seen before. It was large, standing around six feet, and was oddly regular. Jagged on one side, smooth on the other, and tapering up into a point with a slight curve towards the top.  What was perhaps the strangest thing about it though, was that it was not alone.

               It stood along with hundreds of others in a parabolic line that spanned over twenty feet at the widest. Some of them were taller, with two that were almost ten feet tall. A few towards the front were shorter, but not by much.

               The geological team Dr. Franklin lead had been examining them for two days and had come up with almost nothing. All they could tell was the rough composition of the stones.  They were made up of a mix of minerals and were densely packed. What they were was a mystery that was driving the man up a wall.

               “Uh, doctor?” A timid voice from behind disrupted Dr. Franklin’s concentration. He turned quickly to find one of the younger members of the team. A grad student that had yet to really find his footing in the geological community, despite his skills.

               “Yes? What is it?”

               “I just. I…” The young man wrung his hands nervously.

               “Well? Out with it already. I’ve got work to do.”

               “Yes, Doctor, it’s just that I have an idea. About what these are.”

               Other scientists had ideas as well. Most of them were that this was a hoax of some kind. What the goal was remained a mystery.

               “What is it?”

               “Well, it’s just that…looking at the structure of the stones, it…it remined me of something. I, I don’t think these are stones. At least, not really. I think they’re fossils.”

               “Fossils?” Dr. Franklin said with a raised eyebrow.

               “Yes, sir. I mean, look at them. Step back a bit and look. Don’t they look like teeth? A-and the way they’re arranged? It looks like the lower jaw of, of something.”

               Dr. Franklin looked around and saw what the young man was talking about. Once he began to think about it, he could indeed see that they did look like the teeth of some truly massive predator. But that simply could not be.

               “Impossible. Something this large would never be able to sustain itself.” Dr. Franklin said. Even though animal biology was not his field of expertise, he knew enough to know that. “It would collapse under its own weight. And even if it could support itself, it would never be able to find enough food.”

“Yes, but, what else could they be?”

“Most people here think it’s a hoax.”

“Well, if it is, it’s the best hoax I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen the chemical composition and looked up what fossils are usually made of. It’s a match. A perfect match to what we’re seeing here. Right now, it’s either the most elaborate hoax in history, or it’s the jawbone of something larger than anything we’ve ever thought possible.”

Neither thought was comforting. And he was not sure which idea was worse.

“Doctor? What do we do?”

“I…I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

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Yeah, this is definitely a dragon's jaw. I mean, I haven't written it, but that's totally what it is. I mean, come on, what else could it be?