Standing in line at the grocery store deli counter with a neat little basket hooked over her arm, SCW Bombshell, better known in her wrestling persona as the “Messiah of Manners” Miss Manners, shifted her weight with dignified patience.
Directly in front of her, an older woman was practically fused to her cell phone, chattering loudly about something concerning her daughter’s bad grades in school and how it is painfully clear her “gifted child” is being targeted by unfit teachers. Miss Manners sighed audibly at the offense.
Miss Manners: On the phone in public. As if Kroger is her personal parlor.
The deli clerk, a young man no older than twenty with an awkward smile and the faint shadow of stubble, stepped forward, clearly just trying to make it through his shift.
Clerk: Hi there, what can I get for you today?
The woman didn’t even glance at him. Instead, she held up a finger directly in his face. The clerk froze for a moment, then glanced helplessly at Miss Manners.
Clerk: Ma’am, I can help you if you’re ready.
Before Miss Manners could even part her lips, the phone woman suddenly clapped her palm over the receiver and snapped.
Entitled Customer: Excuse me! But I’m next!
The clerk blinked.
Clerk: Uh… sure, what would you like?
The woman rolled her eyes so dramatically it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck.
Entitled Customer: Are you as simple as you look? I’m on the phone. I’ll answer you when I’m finished.
He turned back to Miss Manners, awkwardness etched across his young face.
Clerk: Can I help you then?
Entitled Customer: No! I was here first! You’re supposed to help me first!
Miss Manners straightened to her full height, tilting her chin ever so slightly.
Miss Manners: Madam, look around you.
The woman blinked, then glanced behind her. Sure enough, a line of five weary customers stretched back toward the produce section, all tapping their feet and glaring daggers.
Miss Manners: Do you seriously expect every one of these people to stand here twiddling their thumbs until you deign to finish a phone call you should never have been making in public to begin with? If you had even a shred of common sense, you would recognize the discourtesy.
The woman bristled, clutching her phone tighter.
Miss Manners: Despite what you think, you are not the center of the universe. Either order your food now, or step aside and let civilized people be served.
The woman gawked, as though struck. She turned to the clerk for backup.
Entitled Customer: Are you going to let her talk to me like that?
The young man gave a little shrug.
Clerk: I can’t tell other customers what they can or can’t say.
The woman’s face flushed crimson. With a huff loud enough to startle the cold cuts, she threw up her nose and stormed away from the counter.
Entitled Customer: Your manager will hear about this!
Miss Manners exhaled slowly, smoothed the sleeve of her blouse, and turned back to the clerk with serene calm. The clerk half-smiled in relief, picking up his notepad.
Clerk: So, what can I get for you?
The camera faded in on a modest one-story house with white siding and a neatly trimmed yard. A pair of wind chimes tinkled softly in the late afternoon breeze. On the porch, seated in a sturdy rocking chair, was SCW’s Miss Manners, sitting with a glass of peach tea in her hand.
She took a slow sip, placing the glass delicately on the table beside her, and folded her hands in her lap before addressing the camera.
Miss Manners: Sin City Wrestling has once again blessed me with the opportunity to instill civility into the uncouth, to bring refinement into a world that so desperately lacks it. And this Sunday, my unfortunate subject will be the debuting Zenna Zdunich.
Her lips curled into a smug smile.
Miss Manners: Now, I will admit, truth and honesty are virtues that I know next to nothing about this harlot. Nothing, except for what I have gathered through idle gossip in the locker room or the questionable display she insists on sharing online. Hardly a reputation worth protecting, wouldn’t you say?”
And of course, one cannot mention Zenna without addressing her familial tie to Crystal Caldwell. A sister-in-law who has already failed her family so miserably, one wonders why anyone would willingly follow in her footsteps. Truly, poor judgment must run deep in that household.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon as if searching for decorum in the distance.
Miss Manners: Then there are the tattoos. Ink stains, blotting what might have once been a lovely female form. Each one nothing more than a scar; self-inflicted, permanent, vulgar. And her hair… Oh, the hair! Such obvious fakery, dyed and processed until the very heritage of her homeland is hidden. As if she were ashamed of who she is. Then again, if I were related to Seleana Zdunich, I suppose I’d want to hide who I was as well.
She paused, lifting her glass again and taking a sip before returning her gaze to the camera with an expression of serene finality.
Miss Manners: This Sunday, Zenna, you step into the ring for your very first match in Sin City Wrestling. And when I am finished with you, when I have wrung every drop of false confidence out of you, you will not simply lose. No. You will be so drenched in shame, so humiliated by your failure, you will be begging to join the witness relocation program just to escape the embarrassment.
A faint smile spread across her lips.
Miss Manners: Consider it a public service.
She leaned back in the rocking chair, the sound of its creak mixing with the gentle clink of ice in her glass as the camera slowly faded to black.
