(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The fluorescent lights of Nexus Tech hummed over my head as I clocked in for yet another shift. For three years, this big-box electronics purgatory had been my domain, and between the buzzing lights, the stale air of the break room, and the mind numbing questions from the customers, it was also the primary driver of my frequent headaches. I was Quinn, the resident guru of graphics cards and solid-state drives, and having graduated during a, shall we say, rocky economy, this was the best gig I could land right out of college. At least it kind of put my computer science degree to good use. Kind of. I mean, I had a reputation in the store for being the best at troubleshooting, and my product knowledge was extensive. I was also, unfortunately, a twenty-four-year-old woman with a reasonably symmetrical face and a body that my ill-fitting red polo shirt couldn’t entirely hide. This combination made me a magnet for every lonely tech enthusiast and condescending mansplainer in a fifty-mile radius. And today’s shift was going to be a double, open to close, since I was covering for Kathryn who was out sick with the flu.
My main defense mechanism in this line of work was a finely-honed blade of sarcasm, a sharp wit wielded with a surgeon’s precision. I wasn't mean exactly, just… occasionally scathing. Okay, maybe I’d walk right up to the line of mean from time to time, but only for customers who deserved it; the Karens who thought they owned everything, or the frat guys who thought they could flirt with any service worker with a pulse. I didn’t have time for the guys who thought asking about the refresh rate on a monitor was foreplay. My intelligence was my armor, and my cynical sense of humor was the visor I kept firmly down. Whether the bullshit was coming from our customers, or from corporate, I generally knew I was only a couple of snarky remarks away from making my coworkers chuckle. That’s what got me from clocking in to clocking out.
“Team huddle!” Mr. Harrison, our store manager, clapped his hands with the forced enthusiasm of a man whose favorite hobby was mainlining corporate self-help podcasts. His tie was always slightly too tight, his collared shirt buttoned to the very top, making him look perpetually on the verge of either a brilliant idea or an aneurysm.
We gathered near the registers. I glanced over, smirking at my coworker Cody already looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. We both braced for whatever fresh hell was about to descend the corporate ladder. “Alright, team,” Harrison began, beaming. “Corporate has rolled out a fantastic new initiative to enhance the customer experience. It’s called ‘The Customer Pulse’! It’s marketed as the next big leap in adaptive customer service.”
He gestured to a newly installed tablet mounted by the exit doors. “After a customer interacts with one of you, whether at the registers, the support desk, or on the sales floor, they can use this terminal to leave specific, employee-tagged feedback. It’s a real-time system designed to help us adapt and provide five-star service, every single shift!”
I felt a cold dread snake its way down my spine. An instantaneous, digital comment box for the Chads and Brads of the world to critique me? This was going to be a nightmare.
“This is gonna be great,” I muttered to Cody under my breath. “Can’t wait for my first performance review from a guy who smells like BO and thinks RAM is a type of goat.”
Cody snorted, then quickly tried to disguise it as a cough.
The rest of the day was the usual parade of mundane frustrations. The highlight, if you could call it that, was a guy with deliberately messy hair who wanted to build a “sick gaming rig.” He had a budget of four hundred dollars and the technical knowledge of a head of lettuce. I patiently walked him through the reality of his situation, explaining that he couldn't get a top-tier graphics card for the price of a mid-range toaster. I was professional, I was informative, and I didn’t once roll my eyes, which I considered a monumental act of self-control.
At the end of the shift, Harrison gathered us again, his face glowing with the light of the Customer Pulse tablet. “Alright, time for our first round of feedback!” he chirped. He read a few blandly positive comments about Cody and a few other teammates before his eyes landed on my name.
He cleared his throat. “From a customer named ‘Tyler94’ for Quinn,” he read. “‘She knew her stuff, I guess. But she was way too serious. Kind of a downer. She ought to lighten up and smile more.’”
I felt my jaw clench. Smile more. Probably the two most infuriating words in the English language. I’d just saved him from wasting four hundred dollars on incompatible parts, and what was my reward? A critique of my facial expression. So typical. I was fuming.
“Well, something to work on,” Harrison said with a weak smile, clearly trying to soften the blow as he observed my less-than-enthused reaction.
I drove home in a cloud of silent rage, fell into bed, and dreamt of throwing flatscreen monitors at grinning, disembodied heads with messy hair.
The shrill beep of my alarm clock abruptly shook me from sleep. 6:30 AM. Time to get up, put on the soul-crushing red polo, and do it all again. But as I sat up, a wave of vertigo washed over me. The room seemed to shimmer for a second, a dizzying lurch like a skipping record. I shook my head, smiling to myself, and blaming the sensation on a bad night’s sleep, plagued by work dreams.
Walking into Nexus Tech was… weird. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why, other than it felt exactly like the day before. Harrison gave the exact same speech about the Customer Pulse, word for word. Cody made the same coughing snort next to me when I joked about it. A creeping sense of déjà vu seeped into me. I tried to shake it off, telling myself that retail was just inherently repetitive.
But then, I felt it. A strange, alien impulse bubbling up inside me. The corners of my mouth kept twitching upwards. When the first customer of the day asked where the phone chargers were, I beamed at him.
“Aisle four, sir!” I chirped, my voice an octave higher than usual. “Let me know if you need any help picking the perfect one! Have a super day!”
My brain was screaming. What was that? Who is this person? Why am I suddenly talking like a cartoon bluebird? But I couldn't seem to stop. It was like I was a passenger in my own body, watching this bubbly Stepford-wife version of myself go through the motions. It was as if someone had remote downloaded a brand new UI, overlaying my interface with an entirely new personality skin. And I hated it.
Around noon, as if it was programmed, he walked in. Tyler94. Same messy hair, same clueless expression. “Hey,” he said, approaching my section. “I wanna build a sick gaming rig. I've got a case, but I'm pretty lost on everything else. Any advice?”
In my head, I knew I should have given a curt nod, and explained the unavoidable limitations of his budget. Instead, this new me lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Oh, that sounds like so much fun!” I gushed, clasping my hands together. “Building a custom PC is the best. It's like putting together the ultimate puzzle for adults, right?”
I scanned the rows of parts, a rush of confidence and positivity hitting me. This was my jam. “So, let's start with the CPU. That's your central processor, the brain of the whole operation. You'll want a 7th gen unit at the very least to handle high-end gaming and multitasking without bottlenecking your system.”
He grinned. “Sounds good. What about the memory? Is that important?”
I nodded emphatically. “Crucial. For gaming, you'll want at least 16GB of RAM, but I'd recommend 32GB if you plan on doing any streaming or multitasking. The faster the MHz, the better, but anything over 3200MHz is solid. It's what lets your PC run a million things at once without getting hung up.”
He grinned. “That makes perfect sense. You're a natural at this.”
“I try,” I said smoothly. “And then for the graphics card, that's what renders all the visuals. You're looking for a good GPU. Generally, the bigger the number in the name, the better the performance.”
“Bigger numbers, got it,” he said. He looked at the price tag on a very high-end card. “I’m guessing this one would be enough then?”
“I’d say you’re on the right track, but you don’t need to get the top-of-the-line if you don’t want to. Anything on that shelf should do the trick,” I promised. “But seriously, if you need any more advice, just let me know. I can walk you through the power supply, motherboard, and cooling options too. I'm here to, you know, talk tech and help people out. It's kind of my thing.”
He looked a little dazed at all the options. “Well, thanks for all your help! I’ve got a lot to think about.”
“Anytime,” I said, unable to stop a smile.
I spent the rest of the afternoon giggling at customers’ dumb jokes and using words like “super” to describe processor speeds. Inside, I was rattling the bars of my own mental cage, but on the outside, I was a walking, talking embodiment of customer-facing cheer. I still knew all the tech specs, but the information came out coated in a thick, sweet glaze of unrelenting positivity.
At the end of my shift, Harrison held up the tablet again. “Great feedback today, team! Let’s review our first round of customer comments. Here’s one from Tyler94 for Quinn: ‘She was so friendly! Super helpful. But… she seemed a little condescending. You know, like she thinks she’s smarter than everyone else.’”
My forced smile froze on my face. Condescending? I had spent twenty minutes with that guy, acting like a golden retriever on its first trip to the park. What the hell?
“Just a little constructive criticism,” Harrison said gently.
I clocked out and drove home, like… before. Why did this all feel so familiar? I wanted to scowl, to fume. I practically felt like screaming. But for some reason I couldn’t shake the benign smile that now lived on my face. I tried to contemplate the strange day, the repetition of events, why nobody else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary, but I found the stressful thoughts just slipping through my mind. Eventually I just flipped on my car’s radio, tuned to some upbeat pop station. I smiled, humming absentmindedly to the tune as my thoughts drifted. I was dead tired when I finally arrived home, so I stripped out of my work uniform, threw on an old worn T-shirt, and fell into bed.
And then, as my alarm noisily interrupted a deep sleep, it happened again. That same sickening lurch. As my eyes fluttered open, my mind’s eye swam with a smear of fluorescent light and red polos, then snapped back into focus just as I slammed my eyes shut.
I opened my eyes again. I was in my bed. My alarm clock read 6:31 AM. I looked at my watch, noticing for the first time that the date hadn’t changed since yesterday. Or the day before.
This time, the panic was immediate and sharp. This wasn’t just a feeling of déjà vu. This was real. I was trapped in some kind of time loop. For the first time in about 24 hours, my smile faltered. I got dressed in a fog, my mind racing. I almost put my work polo on inside out. What was going on? It seemed to have something to do with the feedback. The new system. Maybe it wasn’t just collecting data; it was enforcing it? Somehow? It was magically, terrifyingly correcting me based on the whims of idiots. But that seemed ridiculous. An iPad can’t change reality. Can it? I tried to process this theory, considering how it might work, whether it could even happen, but my mind felt uncharacteristically sluggish.
I walked into work determined to fight this… whatever it was. But the moment I stepped through the automatic doors, a strange fuzziness settled over my brain. I looked over at the front display, showcasing a high-end laptop, a model I could once recite the specs for practically in my sleep, and my mind was… blank. I knew it was a computer. It had a screen and a keyboard. Probably some kind of webcam. But the technical details, the nuance, how it compared to the other models, all the knowledge that I had prided myself on; it was all gone, hidden away behind a brand new mental firewall.
I stumbled through the now familiar morning routine. I clocked in as usual. I listened to Harrison give the spiel about the “new” customer feedback system. This time I didn’t even crack a joke, leaving Cody zoning out instead of his previous chuckle slash cough at my snark.
The same first customer arrived right on cue, asking about charging cables. Despite my internal disbelief, I beamed at him, just like before.
“Aisle four, sir!” I chirped, my voice still ringing out at that new chipper pitch I couldn’t seem to shake. “They have so many different kinds these days, it can be so confusing to tell what one you need. Let me know if you want me to send someone over who knows that stuff! Have a super day!”
Someone who knows? I was the someone who knows! I tried to think through the different cable types, what ports they used, but Lightning, USB-A, USB-C, all of them were starting to blend and blur together in my brain, their technical names being overwritten by “the flat one” or “the one that’s like a little oval” or “the one I alllwayyys seem to put in upside down haha”. I wasn’t just a passenger inside my own body anymore. Whatever nightmare this was seemed intent on rewriting my inner code, not just my UI. My memory banks were being actively purged somehow.
By the time Tyler94 showed up, I was already feeling a genuine sense of helplessness. I watched him walk toward me from behind the laptop display, and I instantly straightened up, putting on my newly instinctive retail-employee smile.
“Hey, I wanna build a sick gaming rig,” he said.
For the first time, I noticed he was actually kind of good-looking, with his messy haircut and a genuinely friendly face. He gestured toward a wall of graphics cards. “I've got a case, but I'm pretty lost on everything else. Any advice?”
“Oh, absolutely!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm, stepping closer to him. “Building a custom PC is the best. It's like... putting together a super complicated puzzle for adults, right?” What did I just say?
I scanned the rows of parts, trying to recall literally anything I had learned from my degree and pretty much drawing a blank. “So, the most important thing is... umm… the processor,” I said, pointing vaguely toward a section of CPUs. “That's like the brain of the whole operation. You want a really smart one. Like, a super smart brain. Maybe one of the ones that have all those little... circuits? The more circuits, the better, I think.” I nodded emphatically, like I was trying to convince myself. Inside I was mortified.
He just grinned. “More circuits, got it. What about the memory? Is that important?”
I nodded confidently. “Oh, crucial. You want lots of that. You know how when you're doing a bunch of things at once and your brain feels full? It's like that. You need tons of memory so the computer can do, like, a million things at once without getting confused.” I held up a finger as I tried to remember the difference between megabytes and gigabytes, before just giggling and shrugging shyly. “I mean, a million-ish things.”
He chuckled softly. “A million-ish. That makes perfect sense. So, a smart brain and a million-ish things of memory. You're a natural at this.”
“I try,” I said, groaning internally as I winked at him. “And then for the graphics card, that's what makes the games look all pretty and super fast. You want to get like the shiniest one. I mean, the one with the biggest numbers. The bigger the numbers, the more it shines. So, you can see all the explosions and dragons and stuff.”
“Biggest numbers, got it,” he said, and I could tell he was trying to keep a straight face. He looked at the price tag on a high-end card. “I'm guessing this one shines a lot, then.”
“Oh, it's totally a disco ball in a box,” I promised. “But seriously, if you need any help, just let me know. I'm here to, you know, point at things and say they're cool. It's like kinda my thing.”
He leaned in a little, a mischievous look in his eyes. His eyes raked over me, practically leering despite my simple work-standard polo and basic khakis. “Well, you're the best guide I've had so far. Thanks for all your help!”
I felt my cheeks flush, and for a moment, I completely forgot about CPUs and graphics cards. “Anytime sweetie!” I said.
The horror was profound. I could hear how stupid I sounded. I was aware of my own incompetence, but I was powerless to access the information I knew was, or at least should be, in my head. The only silver lining I could muster up to reassure myself was that there was no way I came across thinking I was smarter than everyone else. Not in a million-ish years.
End of shift couldn’t come fast enough. Even with Mr. Harrison and the tablet looming, ready to trigger the next iteration of this time loop or whatever this was. I held my breath, dreading what was coming.
“Here’s one from a Tyler94,” Mr. Harrison announced. “‘Quinn was really sweet today! A little clueless about the tech stuff, but super nice. My only thing is, that uniform is so drab. A girl that pretty should dress nicer.’”
Harrison looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, Quinn, I know that last part is not really your call. Plus, it’s kind of out of line. You don’t choose the company dress policy. I’ll see if I can refile this one as a positive response…”
I barely took in what my boss was saying. I felt my mind go numb, registering the latest wave of nausea-inducing sexism by sinking into a stupor. Dress nicer. I clocked out, drove home on autopilot, humming along to the same upbeat radio without really thinking about the lyrics, or even the songs. I got ready for bed, already feeling in my bones what was coming next. The lurch. The reset. The loop.
6:30 AM. My alarm blared. But this time, something was already different. I wasn't in my usual sleep-shirt. I was wearing a silky nightgown. On the chair where my red polo and khaki pants should have been laid out, there was… another outfit entirely. A cute, form-fitting red crop top that scooped low in the front, and a light tan pair of short shorts that ended mid-thigh. A pair of stylish ankle boots sat on the floor next to the chair.
When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My hair, normally completely unstyled or thrown into a messy ponytail, today fell naturally in perfect, soft waves around my shoulders. My face had a full application of makeup: smoky eyeshadow, flawless foundation, a glossy pink lip. My nails were manicured, a deep, shimmering crimson. I noticed they matched my top perfectly.
A part of me, the old, sarcastic Quinn, was horrified. This wasn't me. I looked like some kind of doll. But another, unfamiliar part of me felt a flicker of something else. A thrill. I looked… good. Really good.
Walking into Nexus Tech felt like stepping onto a movie set where I was the star. Cody couldn’t help but gawk his way through the morning huddle. Harrison just blinked, looking flustered when I flashed him my usual smile. The effects of the loops were definitely stacking. My “chipper” UI was still in full force. The “dumber” programming was still in place too, my tech knowledge seemingly long gone, but it now hardly mattered to my salesmanship with this new, polished exterior. Looking around, I realized I wasn’t alone. The few other female employees were dressed similarly, like we were a matching set of Best Buy Barbies. It dawned on me that this must just be the new women’s uniform. Nexus Tech was changing too. Did anyone else notice? When did the change happen? How long was this reality the reality in this new reality’s version of reality? Ugh, I was making my own head spin.
Phone charger guy’s eyes spent way more time lingering on me this time through, and I couldn’t exactly blame him. I was practically on display as much as the merchandise. Laptops. Smartphones. Boobs. Is this what Nexus Tech was going for?
When Tyler94 arrived right on schedule, his eyes widened too. “Whoa,” he breathed.
“Hiiii!” I chirped, leaning against a display counter in a way that made the new top do interesting things. “Anything I can, like, help you with today?”
In this new stylish package, my ditziness was now even more charming, my ignorance undeniably endearing. I couldn’t tell him about processor speeds, but I could flutter my eyelashes and pout my glossy lips, twirling my hair whenever he asked a hard question. He was putty in my hands. I clicked my new heels from shelf to shelf, aisle to aisle, and ultimately talked him into blowing his whole budget and then some on a pre-built machine, plus a ridiculously expensive warranty and a gaming mouse I recommended purely because it was “such a pretty shade of blue.”
Before he left, he leaned in close. “So, uh… can I get your number?”
The old Quinn would have laughed in his face. The current Quinn felt a jolt of panic inside, which translated to demurring awkwardly outside. “Oh, I’m not allowed to do that at work,” I stammered, my cheeks flushing.
End of shift. Finally. We had our team huddle yet again, and Harrison looked more uncomfortable than ever. “Okay, let’s see. Some feedback from someone going by Tyler94,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with me. “‘Wow. Just, wow. Quinn looked amazing today. A total knockout. I tried to ask for her number but she got all weird about it. She shouldn’t shoot guys down like that.’”
Panic surged inside of me. It must’ve even shown on my face for a moment, cracking through my now omnipresent smile.
Harrison looked over at me, his expression pained. “Look, Quinn, that’s… that’s completely inappropriate feedback. I’m going to delete this and report the user.”
I gave a chipper, “Thanks, Mr. H! You’re, like, the best!” Smiling brightly once again. Like always.
But it was already too late. Deep down I knew. I could feel the magic of the system churning, cosmic gears turning, latching onto the latest critique. The next loop was already on its way. She shouldn’t shoot guys down.
I was so freaked, I couldn’t describe my drive home even if I tried. By this time tomorrow, what would be left of me?
6:30 AM. I woke up feeling… strangely vibrant. The internal screaming was gone. The old, cynical Quinn was now just a faint echo, a ghost in the machine. I stretched in my favorite silky chemise, a slow, deliberate movement, feeling the fabric slide against my skin. I looked at the hot work outfit on the chair and felt a surge of genuine excitement to put it on.
Everything seemed the same so far, but my reaction was different. I met my own gaze in the mirror and winked. I looked like such a babe! I spared a thought for poor Kathryn, stuck time looping in bed with the flu. At least I got to go to work and have some fun!
At work, I moved with a new, fluid confidence. I laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that turned heads. I was still totally clueless about the products, but I had become an expert in people, especially men.
Not long after I was done winking and flirting with phone charger guy, Tyler94 arrived as per usual, walking around the front laptop display, eyes glued to my figure, just like… yesterday? Last time? Whatever… I greeted him with a bright, eager smile.
“Hey there! Did you need help finding anything, or are you just admiring the view?” I said, cocking my hip to the side, my voice a low, playful purr.
He was so flustered. It was adorable. “I, uh, I think I need help finding something,” he said, running a hand through his messy hair. “I'm a little overwhelmed by all the... options.” He glanced around the store, his eyes flickering away from mine for a second before he looked back, a sheepish smile on his face. “Yeah, definitely need help.”
I giggled. “Well, you totally came to the right place!! I usually know exactly how to help guys out.”
He was mine from that moment on. I didn’t just flirt with him; I orchestrated the entire interaction. I touched his arm when I laughed. I leaned in close to tell him about a sale like I was sharing an intimate secret. When he asked for my number, I batted my eyelashes, took his phone, typed my number in, and saved my contact as “Quinn ;).”
“Text me,” I said, handing it back with a wink that promised everything.
He stumbled out of the store in a daze, clutching the most expensive gaming laptop we had, a purchase he absolutely couldn’t afford. I didn’t care. I felt fantastic.
The end of the shift arrived before I knew it. The team gathered yet again. My heart, for some reason, was pounding with anticipation, not dread.
Harrison held up the tablet, reading off review after review. “And… here’s another one. From a… Tyler94. For Quinn.”
He took a deep breath.
“‘Five out of five stars on everything! Ten stars! A hundred stars! Quinn is the perfect employee! Hands down the best customer service experience of my life! She’s beautiful, she’s fun, she’s so friendly and helpful, and she even gave me her number! Whatever you’re paying her, it’s not enough! She is an absolute goddess!’”
He stared at the screen, then at me.
A sound bubbled out of my chest. A genuine, unrestrained giggle of pure delight. “Yayyy!” I cheered, clapping my hands together and bouncing with glee. “I knew he liked me!”
Cody stared at me, grinning as my chest gradually stopped jiggling. Harrison just looked awkwardly bemused.
I stood there, beaming, as Mr. H continued reading off more and more comments from the tablet, waiting for the familiar, sinking feeling of the impending reset. One second passed. Then ten. Then a full minute. The clock on the wall kept ticking forward. Nothing happened.
Of course. There was no negative feedback this time. There was nothing to correct. The system had achieved its goal. It had sculpted me, sanded me down, and polished me into the perfect, five-star employee.
The old Quinn was gone. Completely. I didn’t miss her. In fact, I could barely remember what it felt like to be her. All I felt was the warm, pleasant glow of validation.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new text.
Unknown number: Hey it’s Tyler ;) Drinks tonight?
I smiled, a wide, bright, perfect smile, and began to type my reply.
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