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 She wore a dress that was in no way flattering to her figure and a hairstyle that was at least twenty years out of date.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.