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Description

Just three weeks before the Shrinking Virus Outbreak of 2020, a very short and very naive-looking girl named "Penelope" was hired to become only the third woman in the company's history to work on the factory floor. This ended up being great timing for Penelope because her company's order flow and workload during the Pandemic increased dramatically while many other firms (such as retail shops and restaurants) were driven out of business by the Lockdowns. Plus, as the virus disproportionately affected men, she was nearly immune to its effects as dozens of workers each month became unable to work; leaving the factory considerably understaffed and giving the young but ambitious High School graduate plenty of opportunities to volunteer to learn new tasks and improve her skill set quickly. So, for the better part of six months, Penelope shadowed her bosses and worked her way up from station to station until becoming an Assistant Floor Manager for the largest box and crate manufacturer in the State of Florida. An amazing and unlikely feat for such a small and unassuming girl. Penelope may have been only five-foot-tall, but she had spunk and was born to hard-working immigrant parents who came to this country without a dime to their name; perfect role-models for her future endeavors. Of course, Penelope's fast rise from worker to management made some of the old school union guys on the factory floor resentful. In their minds, the reason was clear. Penelope was obviously promoted just because she was a woman and not because of her knowledge or competency.

Out of all of Penelope's coworkers who were spiteful towards her success, none were more vocal than Michael Bianchi. Michael, a blue collar stereotype who was easily six-foot-three, would go out of his way to verbally harass Penelope on the job by sarcastically referring to her as "big boss", even though they weren't technically within the same chain-of-command as he worked on line 2 while Penelope was the supervisor of line 6. Michael would also make rude comments about her short stature constantly; assigning her the degrading nickname of "cocktail shrimp" and using it so often that other workers joined in and started jokingly referring to Penelope as "the shrimp" - sometimes even to her face. On one especially humiliating occasion, Penelope questioned Michael about his safety glasses. Upon being questioned in front of a crowd of other workers, Michael strutted up to Penelope and towered over her. Then he dramatically squatted down to her eye level and proceeded to mock Penelope in a high pitched voice which was meant to represent her own; repeating "where are your safety glasses, Michael". And as the only female manager at her company, Penelope felt too proud to bring up the issue with HR and confirm all of the worst stereotypes about her gender. None of these men could be fired because of their union contracts, and so the company would just give them a written reprimand at best. Meanwhile, Penelope knew that she would get a negative reputation as a tattle-tale and a sensitive woman who can't take a "joke".

All of this changed one day in August of 2022. It was on this day in the middle of lunch break, by the picnic tables across from the loading docks, that Michael Bianchi caught an instantaneous variant of the Shrinking Virus. The process happened so quickly that none of the workers on break saw it happen; save one female manager. She had witnessed the whole thing. Penelope calmly put her turkey sandwich down and casually got up from her seat. She tried to attract as little attention as possible as she sauntered over to the spot where Michael had been standing, a spot near the edge of the lawn that thankfully put some distance between her and the rest of his coworkers. As she approached, she pulled a cigarette from her pocket, pretending that she was moving further away to take a smoke. After a few more paces, Penelope spotted his pile of work clothes with his name-badge resting comfortably atop the pile. It was at that moment when the young manager spotted her tiny pink rival scurrying towards the picnic tables out of the corner of her eyes. Michael's little legs didn't carry him far because Penelope just had to shift her weight onto her heel and pivot her other leg over his position; letting it swing directly into the little man's path. Penelope's enormous steel-toed boot barely tapped Michael, but he felt like he'd just been run over by a truck as the massive shoe pinned him to the grass underneath its deep rubber treads. The giant short woman was careful not to place any of her weight on top of the tiny man as she nonchalantly lit her cigarette and started smoking; patiently waiting for the others to leave the break area and return to their stations.

When they were alone, Penelope flicked her remaining cigarette into the bushes with a flash of spinning ash and flame; lifting her heavy foot off her now exhausted tiny. She didn't need to say a word as she bent down and plucked the quivering little man from where had been tightly pressed into the soft dirt by her unforgiving boot; pinching him firmly by his head between her painted fingernails like she was lifting just one crayon from its cramped packaging. Taking her time in slowly and dramatically elevating the once tall and proud man across the length of her entire body, Penelope finally stood back up to her full but modest height. She then brought the distraught tiny man to her eye level and drew him in close to her face. . . very close. . . so close that the little man's body was pressed against her giantess nose. Penelope then let her hulking brown eyes and substantial gaze burn a hole into the tiny man's psyche; remaining completely silent until she witness Michael's tiny chest rising and falling with dread, signaling the beginnings of a full blown panic attack. Only then did she speak.

"Go ahead. Call me a Shrimp." Penelope said in a tone which left Michael unsure whether she was giving a command or a dare.

"I...I...I'm...." Michael stuttered with fear.

"Go on. Say it. Call me a Shrimp now." She said, this time with a little more venom and thinly veiled resentment.

". . . . ."

"Call me a cocktail Shrimp. I know you want to say it. It's okay. . . go 'head. . . say it." Penelope breathed with decreasing patience.

"p...p...please....ma'am...don't....don't make me....I'm awful sorry....p...p...please," Michael stuttered.

Michael was now a complete mess of regret and terror. He had no idea what would happen to him if he called the giant holding his life in her hand a "shrimp". But he also didn't know what she would do if he refused.

He was so afraid.

Description

Just three weeks before the Shrinking Virus Outbreak of 2020, a very short and very naive-looking girl named "Penelope" was hired to become only the third woman in the company's history to work on the factory floor. This ended up being great timing for Penelope because her company's order flow and workload during the Pandemic increased dramatically while many other firms (such as retail shops and restaurants) were driven out of business by the Lockdowns. Plus, as the virus disproportionately affected men, she was nearly immune to its effects as dozens of workers each month became unable to work; leaving the factory considerably understaffed and giving the young but ambitious High School graduate plenty of opportunities to volunteer to learn new tasks and improve her skill set quickly. So, for the better part of six months, Penelope shadowed her bosses and worked her way up from station to station until becoming an Assistant Floor Manager for the largest box and crate manufacturer in the State of Florida. An amazing and unlikely feat for such a small and unassuming girl. Penelope may have been only five-foot-tall, but she had spunk and was born to hard-working immigrant parents who came to this country without a dime to their name; perfect role-models for her future endeavors. Of course, Penelope's fast rise from worker to management made some of the old school union guys on the factory floor resentful. In their minds, the reason was clear. Penelope was obviously promoted just because she was a woman and not because of her knowledge or competency.

Out of all of Penelope's coworkers who were spiteful towards her success, none were more vocal than Michael Bianchi. Michael, a blue collar stereotype who was easily six-foot-three, would go out of his way to verbally harass Penelope on the job by sarcastically referring to her as "big boss", even though they weren't technically within the same chain-of-command as he worked on line 2 while Penelope was the supervisor of line 6. Michael would also make rude comments about her short stature constantly; assigning her the degrading nickname of "cocktail shrimp" and using it so often that other workers joined in and started jokingly referring to Penelope as "the shrimp" - sometimes even to her face. On one especially humiliating occasion, Penelope questioned Michael about his safety glasses. Upon being questioned in front of a crowd of other workers, Michael strutted up to Penelope and towered over her. Then he dramatically squatted down to her eye level and proceeded to mock Penelope in a high pitched voice which was meant to represent her own; repeating "where are your safety glasses, Michael". And as the only female manager at her company, Penelope felt too proud to bring up the issue with HR and confirm all of the worst stereotypes about her gender. None of these men could be fired because of their union contracts, and so the company would just give them a written reprimand at best. Meanwhile, Penelope knew that she would get a negative reputation as a tattle-tale and a sensitive woman who can't take a "joke".

All of this changed one day in August of 2022. It was on this day in the middle of lunch break, by the picnic tables across from the loading docks, that Michael Bianchi caught an instantaneous variant of the Shrinking Virus. The process happened so quickly that none of the workers on break saw it happen; save one female manager. She had witnessed the whole thing. Penelope calmly put her turkey sandwich down and casually got up from her seat. She tried to attract as little attention as possible as she sauntered over to the spot where Michael had been standing, a spot near the edge of the lawn that thankfully put some distance between her and the rest of his coworkers. As she approached, she pulled a cigarette from her pocket, pretending that she was moving further away to take a smoke. After a few more paces, Penelope spotted his pile of work clothes with his name-badge resting comfortably atop the pile. It was at that moment when the young manager spotted her tiny pink rival scurrying towards the picnic tables out of the corner of her eyes. Michael's little legs didn't carry him far because Penelope just had to shift her weight onto her heel and pivot her other leg over his position; letting it swing directly into the little man's path. Penelope's enormous steel-toed boot barely tapped Michael, but he felt like he'd just been run over by a truck as the massive shoe pinned him to the grass underneath its deep rubber treads. The giant short woman was careful not to place any of her weight on top of the tiny man as she nonchalantly lit her cigarette and started smoking; patiently waiting for the others to leave the break area and return to their stations.

When they were alone, Penelope flicked her remaining cigarette into the bushes with a flash of spinning ash and flame; lifting her heavy foot off her now exhausted tiny. She didn't need to say a word as she bent down and plucked the quivering little man from where had been tightly pressed into the soft dirt by her unforgiving boot; pinching him firmly by his head between her painted fingernails like she was lifting just one crayon from its cramped packaging. Taking her time in slowly and dramatically elevating the once tall and proud man across the length of her entire body, Penelope finally stood back up to her full but modest height. She then brought the distraught tiny man to her eye level and drew him in close to her face. . . very close. . . so close that the little man's body was pressed against her giantess nose. Penelope then let her hulking brown eyes and substantial gaze burn a hole into the tiny man's psyche; remaining completely silent until she witness Michael's tiny chest rising and falling with dread, signaling the beginnings of a full blown panic attack. Only then did she speak.

"Go ahead. Call me a Shrimp." Penelope said in a tone which left Michael unsure whether she was giving a command or a dare.

"I...I...I'm...." Michael stuttered with fear.

"Go on. Say it. Call me a Shrimp now." She said, this time with a little more venom and thinly veiled resentment.

". . . . ."

"Call me a cocktail Shrimp. I know you want to say it. It's okay. . . go 'head. . . say it." Penelope breathed with decreasing patience.

"p...p...please....ma'am...don't....don't make me....I'm awful sorry....p...p...please," Michael stuttered.

Michael was now a complete mess of regret and terror. He had no idea what would happen to him if he called the giant holding his life in her hand a "shrimp". But he also didn't know what she would do if he refused.

He was so afraid.