Once upon a time, in a land ruled by caffeine and petty tyrants, a woman dared to ask for her paystub — and the paper crown cracked.
No dragons were slain.
No swords were drawn.
Just one letter — A. — standing tall against a paper queen.
Short for "absolutely not here to be exploited."
Short for "actually, I deserve better."
Short for "anyone who thought they could play me just got played."
It started with a paystub she wasn’t allowed to see.
A., working for a chiropractor named Karen, asked for something simple: proof of her wages.
Karen refused — clutching the numbers like state secrets.
Because why have transparency when you can have control?
The unspoken decree read:
"You should be grateful to be here. Don’t ask questions."
A. asked anyway.
And in Karen’s tiny kingdom, that was treason.
Karen, in her infinite wisdom, responded by assigning A. more work.
Tasks not in her contract.
Stress not in her paycheck.
Anxiety generously gifted, benefits excluded.
A. asked for a raise — politely, reasonably, like someone who still believed in professionalism.
Karen, upholding the finest traditions of Bad Boss Academy, pulled out an endless string of excuses.
And when a raise finally came?
One dollar.
Coincidentally, about the same amount of dignity Karen left on the table.
After that, Karen’s attitude turned sour — the kind of sour you can’t even bake into a pie.
Thin smiles. Tight shoulders. The lingering scent of resentment.
Eventually, Karen attempted one last act of emotional sleight of hand:
"Don’t you enjoy working just for the sake of work?"
Which is basically like asking a drowning woman if she enjoys swimming.
A., standing taller than every excuse stacked against her, simply said:
"I’m tired of being used, manipulated, and exploited."
No tantrum.
No scene.
No second-guessing.
Just the facts.
And then she walked —
out of their story, out of their reach, and straight into her own legend.
But of course, petty monarchs don’t abdicate without throwing a tantrum.
When A. returned to pick up her final paycheque, it wasn’t ready.
Naturally.
We set up base camp at Tim Hortons — the official Embassy for the Overworked and the Underpaid —
while her former coworker fed us spy reports from inside the crumbling regime.
Karen made her wait almost an hour.
Not because she was busy.
Because pettiness costs nothing — and she was broke on every other currency.
When A. finally got her cheque, it was missing the vacation pay.
Karen dusted off the sacred 4% Rule — a real law, sure,
but somehow it never worked in her employees’ favor.
Math begged to differ.
Meanwhile, Karen wasn’t just withholding money.
She was holding secret tribunals.
She called in A.'s former coworkers, one by one, for a royal gossip session:
"She changed after she didn’t get into medical school."
"She’s not the culture here."
"She’s not someone you should follow."
Imagine being fifty-one
and still throwing slumber parties for your insecurities.
Elections were held.
Karen won by a landslide — no competition, no applause, no point.
But what Karen didn’t understand — what women like her never do —
is that real power doesn’t whimper behind closed doors.
Real power laughs freely.
Walks taller.
And doesn’t need a club to prove it.
While Karen whispered to ghosts,
A. built new ground.
While Karen clung to petty crowns,
A. gathered witnesses.
While Karen obsessed over loyalty,
A. practiced freedom.
And me?
I had front row seats.
Spell checker.
Note-taker.
Proud founding member of the I Love A. Club.
🌸 Things About A. That You Should Know:
She’s confrontational — in the way the world needs.
She'll give you the benefit of the doubt — once. Maybe twice.
Cross her, and you’ll get honesty — direct, cutting, unwrapped.She feels safe.
Being around her is like standing behind a hurricane shield — calm inside, chaos deflected.She loves my weirdness.
She doesn’t try to flatten me out. She laughs louder because of it.We share the same values.
Even if our tastes in men, clothes, and life plans sometimes make us blink at each other.She’s supportive.
In a world that often offers empty applause, she shows up with a whole marching band.She’s honest.
Ruthless when necessary. Tender when possible.She’s a warrior.
I smile when I’m scared, anxious, happy, or lost.
A. sees it all.
And with just one look — that "try me and die" expression —
she keeps the wolves at bay.
✍🏽 Closing Words:
Not everyone gets the imperial stamp of approval.
Not everyone earns a front row seat to a woman choosing dignity over survival.
Not everyone gets to watch a woman torch the smallness built around her — and walk away without flinching.
A. did.
And this?
This was just her first fire.
Karen should probably invest in fire extinguishers.
It’s going to be a long century.
Signed, Sealed, Unbothered. The Women Edition.
“Some women carry purses. Some carry matches.”
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