The Karens of Middle Management — Episode 6: Every Man for Himself

The Karens circled the conference table, sharp black eyes, heads tilting and twitching as they evaluated one another. There was no real mirth in the room, but a hell of a lot of laughing.

Freddie shuffled the papers on his desk.

He wasn’t supposed to present today. It had been announced as a surprise meeting on projection numbers for the A-plant B-wing (assuming analytics held true) and how they connected to last year’s market performance.

Freddie looked from his papers to the birds of prey.

This was the Karens’ habit. Surprise meetings. Problems that didn’t exist. Numbers that disappeared. The trick to leaving the meeting unscathed was always twofold: offer a sacrifice. But the Karens were known for their bloodthirsty nature. Sometimes the required sacrifice—instead of an arm, a leg, or a firstborn—was your head, if they got excited enough. So Freddie still had to fight. He presented numbers confusing yet technically defensible, something the Karens couldn’t latch onto long enough to pin him down with follow-ups. The meetings were never about actual problems. This was ritual. He had to enter submissive, take enough lashes to bleed upon their altar so they could feel victorious, and if he did it well enough, he kept his head.

A sacrifice of dignity in exchange for electricity and groceries.

Freddie sighed. All the world’s a stage. Specifically, conference room B, eighth floor.

Freddie had grown quite skilled in these performances, and today he would shine. He was certain of it. The Karens would sneer and glitter and hoard their barbs; he would counter with statistics wrapped in jargon dense enough to deflect a lance. But the key requirement (the magic warding spell, if you would) was to look as utterly intimidated, sad, and pathetic as possible.

It wouldn’t be difficult.

So Freddie found himself yet again on a Wednesday afternoon, stomach churning, preparing for battle to preserve the job he hated—the one that accelerated his baldness and gently dissolved any hope of well-being, but paid the rent. And truly, was job hunting preferable? They had their Karens as well. Armies of them.

Freddie wiped sweat from his brow, hoping it was nerves and not the lingering effects of his stomach. He gathered his papers, courage, and intestinal fortitude, praying that none would betray him, and stepped out of his cubicle, his gaze fixed on the conference room door.

Diane leaned into the walkway and offered a half-smile as he passed. Good luck, she mouthed.

A warm flicker of courage settled in Freddie’s chest. They were simply people, after all. Nothing to be truly afraid of. It’s not like they were monsters.

He entered the conference room, pen drawn, and prepared for battle.

Thirty minutes later, he was crying.

He emerged near 3 PM, the worst hour in office civilization. Too early to leave. Too long since lunch, when the sugar rush has faded into a headache, leaving only the fluorescent glare of the overhead lights and a lingering feeling of despair.

His numerical fog had failed him, thanks to the Karen’s secret weapon: Bill from Accounting.

Bill wasn’t a Karen. He was their attack dog. Fed, groomed, and released only when cruelty required accuracy or, in Freddie’s instance, a scapegoat.

It hadn’t been a battle. He had walked into his own assassination. And it was his own damn fault for getting on their radar, for failing to keep a low profile. Likely because Walter still hadn’t forgiven Freddie for the elevator incident earlier—an entirely accidental atmospheric event.

Freddie collapsed into his chair. He could already feel his spirit bleeding out, as well as his bank account.

Diane leaned over the cubicle wall. “That bad?”

“They brought in Bill from Accounting.”

She winced.

When Freddie looked up at her, he saw that look. The one Diane always seemed to give him at one time or another, like he was a shelter puppy she could’ve adopted out of pity, if only she weren’t certain someone better would arrive any minute…

Freddie stared straight ahead of him as if in a trance. “It wasn’t normal evil,” he said. “The numbers were bait. Someone’s shifting money into offshore accounts.”

Diane frowned. “What does that have to do with you? You’re… what exactly do you do?”

“Do any of us know?”

She sighed. “They’re setting you up.”

“Seems likely.” He could survive ridicule. He couldn’t survive blame. Not in this department. He expected the Karens knew that well enough.

“It’s Walter,” she said. “He’s always had it out for you.”

“Jealous of my many life accomplishments, no doubt.”

“More like you’re the easiest dog to kick.”

Freddie frowned. He looked at Diane, a free woman with a future somewhere beyond this sad nest of monsters, then down at his nondescript office-gray desk, the saddest color ever invented, reserved exclusively for depressing office workers.

Did he really want the next decade of his life here, fighting the same battles? The same undefeatable foe who already knew every weak spot he had?

An idea began to bloom in Freddie’s mind. The more he entertained it, the lighter he suddenly felt.

Maybe the best course of action wasn’t to throw oneself into battle, but to remove the battlefield entirely. To run.

Freddie grabbed his coat before he fully processed the motion. So what if he had rent to pay? Living in a box without Karens was still an upgrade.

Diane blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” His feet were carrying him now, before his mind could helpfully catch up and remind him that he was insane.

“Now?” Diane speed-walked to keep up near his elbow. “For how long?”

Freddie shrugged. “Forever, God willing.” He stopped at the department’s double doors and turned to her.

And when Diane smiled, she didn’t look at him like something abandoned. She looked at him like a man worthy of respect.

“Take me with you,” she whispered.

Every part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and bust through the doors. Instead, he smiled.

“Every man for himself.”

He walked out fifteen minutes later, pausing only to devastate the restroom one final time. Just in case Walter needed it later.