Catching Karen

#Cunning-Man-Diaries

In the dim light of Café 'Grounded', with the scent of roasted beans heavy in the air, I sit nursing my Hot Chocolate, It's overpriced and it's crap. Grounded is a small, inconspicuous place, perfect for people watching and, on occasion, eavesdropping, given that all the tables are about a Meter from each other. You see, in my line of work, information is currency, and Café 'Grounded' is a veritable mint.

I'm what you might call a modern Cunning Man, though my less charitable clients and some folk who I've mentored have dubbed me the Psychic Villain. A bit dramatic, if you ask me, but then again, drama tends to be the currency of the mystical. The Cunning Folk of Lore were well-regarded for their knowledge, both arcane and mundane. People often forget that besides brewing up remedies and casting spells, we were, and still are, repositories of local lore and secrets. Gossip, that timeless pastime, has always been one of our most potent tools. After all, knowledge is power, especially when it comes to the hidden truths of a small community.

As I take a sip of my drink, I can't help but notice a familiar face on the other side of the room. It's Janet, a local woman in her late 50s known as much for her nosy nature as for her knack for spreading rumors. We've had our dealings in the past. She's approached me before, asking for services that tread the line of ethical ambiguity. Not that I judged; business is business, after all.

Janet is in the company of another woman, her mirror image in demeanor and entitlement, a classic Karen. For those fortunate enough to have never encountered one, a Karen is a term for someone who exhibits an entitled, demanding attitude, often wielding their social position or consumer status like a weapon. They're the bane of retail workers and service industry professionals everywhere, with a penchant for making mountains out of molehills.

As our eyes meet, Janet makes a subtle, yet unmistakable hand gesture to her companion, signaling that I'm someone of note—or notoriety, depending on whom you ask. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head as she leans in, no doubt spinning a yarn about my supposed witchy deeds. It's fascinating, really, how quickly information—or misinformation—can spread. In a way, people like Janet are a modern incarnation of the village crier, albeit with a penchant for sensationalism over truth.

I lean back, a smirk playing on my lips. Let them talk. In a small town like ours, being the subject of gossip can be as much of an asset as a curse. After all, there's no such thing as bad publicity, especially for someone in my line of work. If anything, Janet's whispers across café tables only serve to enhance my mystique. And in this game, mystique is everything.

So, I raise my cup to Janet and her cohort, a silent toast to my unwitting accomplices in the dance of intrigue and rumour. In the world of Cunning Folk, being talked about means you're doing something right. And if a bit of idle chatter helps keep the lights on and the money flowing, who am I to complain?

No sooner had Janet's friend excused herself, presumably to attend to whatever urgent matter Karens find in the mundane, than Janet saw her chance. She made a beeline for my table, her eyes alight with the unmistakable glint of someone who lives to trade in whispers and hearsay. I could practically hear the gears of intrigue whirring in her mind as she approached. Resigned to my fate, yet curious about the potential entertainment value, I gestured for her to take a seat, silently setting a mental timer for the 15 minutes of tolerance I had allotted her before my next engagement.

"Hello," she began, her voice dripping with a sweetness that was as artificial as it was transparent. "How have you been?" The question, posed as though laden with concern, was nothing more than a thinly veiled probe for ammunition she could use in her next gossiping session. I knew the game well and decided to play my part with the minimum effort required.

"You know, the same old stuff... you?" I replied, delivering the line with a nonchalance designed to starve her of any real substance. It was a dance we had done many times before, each step predictable yet necessary.

Her face fell slightly at the lack of juicy details, but she quickly recovered, launching into her own tale of woe. She painted a picture of workplace drama, of a new manager whose behavior bordered on scandalous. "And then he had the audacity to ..." she trailed off, expecting me to lean in with bated breath. But I didn't bite. The faint scent of exaggeration hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of coffee, a testament to the theatricality of her performance.

I listened with half an ear, my mind already wandering to my next appointment. Yet, a part of me was intrigued. The story she spun about her line manager was not new to me; I had heard a version of it before, whispered in confidence by another employee of the same company. However, their account painted a different picture, one where Janet was not so much the victim.

The discrepancy was interesting, not for its salacious content, but for what it revealed about Janet. Beneath the veneer of victimhood, there lurked a player of the game, adept at weaving narratives to suit her needs. It was a reminder that in the world of gossip and small-town intrigue, the truth was often a malleable thing, shaped by the hands of those skilled enough to mold it.

As our allotted time dwindled, I found myself almost regretting the impending end of our conversation. Janet, for all her flaws, was a fascinating study in human behavior. But duty called, and I was a man of my word, even if that word was given silently to myself.

"Sounds like you've had quite the time of it," I offered, standing to signal the end of our encounter. "I hope it all works out for you, Janet."

As I gathered my things, ready to leave, Janet's voice halted me. "Oh, isn't there something you could do to help? You know, a spell or something?" The hopeful glint in her eyes was unmistakable, but so was the underlying manipulation. I couldn't help but let a smile creep across my face, the kind that might unsettle those not familiar with my particular brand of justice.

"I'll tell you what, Janet," I began, leaning in slightly as if to share a conspiratorial secret. "I will do something. Something that I'm sure will cause the bad seed in all this some discomfort. I'll make sure things work out right in the end." The words were deliberate, chosen for their ambiguity and the slight hint of menace they carried.

The effect was immediate. A flash of fear crossed her face, and she leaned in, whispering in a hushed tone, "Oh, what are you going to do?" Her belief in my powers wasn't just a superstition; it was rooted in past observations of my work. She knew I could do something, but what she didn't realize was that her manipulation and deceit had not gone unnoticed.

You see, Janet, like many of her ilk, believed in the efficacy of rumors and manipulation to bend situations to her will. But what she failed to account for was the true nature of her target. Her portrayal of the line manager as some sort of villain was far from accurate. The real reason behind her vendetta? She was being made to work weekends, a demand she felt was beneath her.

I knew the real story, the truth hidden behind the web of lies she spun so carelessly. And in that moment, I decided that the "magic" I would work wouldn't be the vindication she hoped for. Instead, it would be a form of true justice, a mirror held up to her actions, reflecting the consequences of her deceit back upon herself.

"A little warning to those who try to trick a witch, Justice might not always come in the form you expect."

As I left the café, the wheels were already turning in my mind. The spell I had in mind was not one of harm or malice, but of enlightenment. My intention was to cast a light on the truth, to unravel the lies and reveal the reality of the situation. In doing so, I hoped to teach Janet a valuable lesson about the dangers of manipulation and the power of honesty.

As I made my way down Keynsham High Street, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. In a world where words and rumors can cast shadows and distort truths, sometimes the most powerful magic is simply the revelation of reality. And for Janet, the realization that her actions have consequences might just be the most potent spell of all.