It conjured up miserable images of hair in rollers, long afternoons in front of the ironing board in front of the soap operas while hubby was off busting heavies in an anonymous Office; of joining the P.T.A. and then the country club when their income moved into five figures; of pills in circular yellow cases without number to insure against having to move out of the misses' size before it became absolutely necessary and against the intrusion of repulsive little strangers who shat in their pants and screamed for help at two in the morning; of fighting with desperate decorum to keep the n—- out of Kleen Korners, standing shoulder to shoulder with Terri Smith (Miss Potato Blossom of 1975) and Vicki Jones (Vice President of The Women's League), armed with signs and petitions and sweet, slightly desperate smiles.
—Stephen King, Carrie
Karen, the Manager Slayer: My. Name. Is. KAREN!! Get me the manager, RIGHT NOW!
Postal Dude: Oh shit. Is she gonna call the manager?
Postal Dude: Oh shit. Is she gonna call the manager?
White moms with the bowl cut. They have this, uh.. they have a thing called a god complex. They're either yelling at a group of teenagers, or asking to see the manager at a store. Always starting a scene.
—Filthy Frank, "People I Hate"
This is what I find so tragic about these young, pretty conservative women. You're such a Gaslighted demographic, because one of the pillars of the ideology you've bought into is that some people are just inherently superior, and inferior people deserve to be exploited. And sure, you know that women are technically property, but you? You don't have to worry about that. Because you are hot property. Exceptions will be made for you. So you're more than willing to play this needlessly cruel game, because you've been assured that you'll win. And soon, the young winning man of your dreams will look at you and say, "Yes. That is what I'm supposed to want. And acquiring her will make me look like a superior man." And on your way to your superior life together you will become his obedient, righteous, lonely domestic servant. Congratulations.
Until one day, you get a scary mammogram. And you discover that he never signed up to be a nursemaid. And unlike you, the young 24-year-old bleached blonde at the office understands that he's the most important person in any room. And she'll have no qualms about poaching your mate, because he's her ticket to a superior life. And at that moment, when the handle has snapped off the basket that held all your eggs, you might just realize that you were flattered into giving your entire life away in service of a man who only ever saw you as a commodity, because I assure you, that is how these men see you. And being "hot property" won't have protected you from a life of being used up and discarded.
But here's the kicker. You'll have sunk so much of your life into proving your own politics right that you won't be able to direct that rage in the appropriate direction. Because that will mean admitting you were had.
So there you'll be. A middle-aged woman with a pert haircut and great botox, standing in line at Kroger's, making the fact that your life didn't turn out as promised into an assistant manager's problem. Because don't they know that exceptions are supposed to be made for you?!
Good luck, babe. Good luck.
Until one day, you get a scary mammogram. And you discover that he never signed up to be a nursemaid. And unlike you, the young 24-year-old bleached blonde at the office understands that he's the most important person in any room. And she'll have no qualms about poaching your mate, because he's her ticket to a superior life. And at that moment, when the handle has snapped off the basket that held all your eggs, you might just realize that you were flattered into giving your entire life away in service of a man who only ever saw you as a commodity, because I assure you, that is how these men see you. And being "hot property" won't have protected you from a life of being used up and discarded.
But here's the kicker. You'll have sunk so much of your life into proving your own politics right that you won't be able to direct that rage in the appropriate direction. Because that will mean admitting you were had.
So there you'll be. A middle-aged woman with a pert haircut and great botox, standing in line at Kroger's, making the fact that your life didn't turn out as promised into an assistant manager's problem. Because don't they know that exceptions are supposed to be made for you?!
Good luck, babe. Good luck.
— Rebecca Larsen
, Tiktok user
, Tiktok user