"I called ahead and told you dumbasses that my feet required different shoe sizes!" The furious woman held a pair of custom leather flats in Lindsay's face, and it took all the girl had not to just upend the table and leave right there. "I need to have alterations made before 7:30!"

"Please," Lindsay said, trying to calm the woman, "I just work the counter, my shift just started, I have literally no idea what you're talking about. Just let me get the manager for you, I'm sure that everything will be smoothly handled."

The woman looked ready to pitch a fit. "Yeah, kid, go get the manager," she sneered, muttering an added, "useless brat."

"Psycho mutant bitch," Lindsay responded under her breath. "Not my fault you have freaky feet."

As Lindsay moved to the back room, she adjusted her uniform to make sure nothing was out of place. Mr. Anderson was a finicky, unstable asshole, but he paid decently well and didn't ask for resumés. Perfect first job material. 

The man jolted upright when Lindsay had walked in, but the teenager fully believed in not asking questions you don't want to know the answer to. "What is it now, Lizzie?" 

Lindsay tried to remain calm and polite and not shove her nametag into her boss's face. "A woman came in saying that she needs a fast alteration done, because we didn't follow through on her custom order."

Mr. Anderson stood, sighing again. "Probably because she wanted something impossible. Alright, dipshit, watch and learn how we deal with rowdy customers." He quickly went out to the front of the shoe shop, motioning for Lindsay to follow. She did, if only to watch the inevitable train wreck. 

Sure enough, once they were face-to-face, Mr. Anderson and the customer locked themselves in a shouting match, where they traded insults and increasingly absurd claims that proved neither one had the firmest grasp on law or sanity.

"I altered the order because no human being walks around with feet three sizes in difference!" Anderson screamed, trying to use his greater height and bulk to intimidate the customer into backing down.

"Whatever happened to 'the customer is always right'? Listen, dick, if anyone here isn't a human being, it's you!" The customer screeched back at Mr. Anderson. 

"Just wear them as they are!" Anderson yelled, his stubborn pride factoring in now. "My shoes display excellent craftsmanship, and are the pinnacle of perfection! I altered the order for the bigger size! Now pay and leave!"

The customer seemed to consider this, and Lindsay was simply standing there in shock. Something was going to go down.

"I won't pay unless I get what I ordered," the woman said quietly. She suddenly grabbed one of the shoes in one hand and Anderson's throat with the other. Before anyone could respond, Anderson flopped, lifeless, to the floor, and the shoe noticeably shrank.

"Wait . . . what just happened?" Lindsay asked, seriously confused.

"Well, magic requires an energy source, so to make the shoe fit I had to borrow this man's soul as an energy source," she said calmly, as if none of this was abnormal in the slightest. 

"So, what's going on now?" Lindsay asked.

"Now, this disrespectful asshole is going to be my shoe until maintaining the spell eats up the last of his soul. Then my magic will wear off and I won't be able to wear it anymore." Again, the woman seemed far too used to this, and Lindsay gulped in realization that that had almost been her soul that lived underneath this psychotic businesswoman's foot.

"Will it cause pain?" Lindsay asked, still trying to figure her way into understanding the situation. 

"Probably," she shrugged. "So far, I haven't been used as a magic battery yet. However, from what I understand, someone in that state can see, hear, and feel as if they really were whatever I make them into."

Lindsay found herself excited by the concept of her boss constantly feeling the pain of having this woman step on him, and smiled. "For your trouble, I'll let you use my employee discount card. 10% off."

The customer finally smiled at Lindsay. "Thank you. So, that'll be . . ."

"83 dollars and twelve cents," Lindsay rattled off the top of her head. "And no, honestly . . . thank you."

With that, the customer removed the worn pumps she already had on, and slipped on the new leather shoes. She whistled a tune as she left.

Lindsay belatedly realized that she was no longer being paid for this nonsense, and quickly followed suit.