Kat Korat
You’d always wanted to be a mechanic—when you were a kid, you’d dreamed of building your own hot rod. You’d read magazines and looked at pictures and haunted forums on the internet, and you’d gotten a job just out of high school as a mechanic, a stepping stone to your goal.
That hadn’t turned out like you’d hoped; you got to sweep the floors and take out trash and do oil changes and tires, and you got to watch the real mechanics at work. Occasionally, they’d drop you a pearl of wisdom.
You also spent too much on the tool truck—low low payments for a long long time . . . you’d quit after a year but the tool payments hadn’t. At least you were well-equipped to fix your Kia.
Since your experience was in the automotive field, a lateral shift to a parts supplier was a logical step, and that did give you a leg up on your co-workers. Some of them had just gone into the job with no relevant experience, which gave you a clear advantage, and you’d quickly made it to the top of sales, until Kat Korat got promoted from the warehouse.
You can only assume she was a diversity hire. Bob, who sits one desk to your left, doesn’t know how to change his own oil. He takes his car to the speedy lube whenever the dashboard tells him he needs an oil change, but at least he grew up around cars.
Miss Korat—real name Sunbeam—didn’t. She’s an Equestrian unicorn, and from what you’ve learned, grew up in a world where riding a stagecoach was the pinnacle of personal transportation.
It wouldn’t bother you so much, except her clients seem to love her. They don’t know she’s not human, they don’t know that she’d never gotten grease under her fingernails until she started working here—bad analogy, she doesn't have fingernails.
If she had to struggle to fit in the human world, you might have felt pangs of sympathy. But she doesn’t; her horn guarantees that. She can use it like a hand or two . . . or three or more, you have no idea what the limit is. Watching her sit at her desk with a phone to her ear and the keyboard clacking away and a coffee cup moving in while her rapid-fire keyboard inputs don’t slow . . . and then to add insult to injury, she picks up a sales flier and starts flipping through it. “You didn’t get a copy of the latest flier? I’ll send it out with our driver, there’s a big sale on filters especially if you order by the case, and you can get entered in a raffle to win a branded cooler.” She hovers the catalog in front of her face. “Just FRAM filters, any other brand doesn’t count, but we do have a sale on Hastings if you like them better.” She chuckles. “No, you can’t win a cooler with Hastings filters.”
Like she even knows where an oil filter goes, or could change one. Well, she probably could; her magic field is strong. She came up from the warehouse and sometimes covers when they’re short-staffed, and you’ve watched her trot along with a stack of brake rotors wavering in her field. Dangerous stuff.
Complaints to management have gone nowhere; they’re all beguiled by her.
The phone rings and you snatch it up before she gets the chance. “Tonawanda Auto and Truck, this is—no, Kat’s on another line right now. I can take your order.”
“I’ll hold,” the voice on the other end says. You grit your teeth and hit the button on the telephone.
“Call on line three, Kat.”
She nods and sets the flier back down. “Hey, gotta go, got another incoming call.” A pause, and then, “Okay, thanks, I appreciate it.” She taps at her keyboard again, then shifts her focus to the new call. “Tonawanda Auto and Truck, this is Kat. How—Ray! How are you doing! What have you got for me today? Is it some classic that’s gonna make me work hard?”
You’re the voiceless interface between shops and their parts, the few who remain to answer the phone when the internet catalog isn’t good enough and one day you’re going to be replaced by AI and a robotic parts-picker and maybe a drone for delivery—nobody is safe.
Your phone rings.
“Tonawanda Auto and Truck, this is—”
“Kat, please.” The voice on the other end of the line is gruff, and you’ve just about reached your breaking point.
[CHOICE]
>put him on hold (hero)
>hang up (chaos)
>tell him Kat’s real name. (villain)
[CHOICE A:Hero]
“She’s on the other line,” you say.
“This is Franco’s, we’ve got a pizza for her.”
“One sec.” You don’t even hit the hold button, just hold your hand over the mouthpiece. “Hey, Kat, your pizza’s here.”
“Ooh, could you get that for me?” She turns her attention back to the phone. “Hey, Ray, hold on a sec, I have to sort out my lunch.” Kat taps the mute button on her phone. “And grab yourself a slice or two, I can’t eat the whole thing myself.”
They say that pizza’s a unifying food. She doesn't have to share. You slide your chair back. Since she’s started, call volumes have gone up, sales targets have been hit month after month, and pizzas have just been rolling in. She’s always friendly and happy and cheers you up on the worst days.
It is kind of insulting that she’s become the defacto voice of the business, but it’s working. And she’s not some prima donna, huddling at her desk. It’s easy to think the worst of her, but she’s a hard worker and gives her all every day.
She’s a fast learner and thinks of new ways to get customers the part they want—and that’s benefitted you, too; whether it’s naming parts you didn’t know you stocked, or suggesting another way to get the customer the part they need.
You grab a slice of pizza and take a bite, then set the rest of the pizza on her desk, wondering where your thoughts from before had come from anyway. You’d just been hangry, and like the commercial said, you’re not you when you’re hangry.
[CHOICE B: Chaos]
“Yeah, hold on.” You don’t hit the hold button, you just replace the handset in the cradle. They’ll call back if it’s important.
A new line lights up instantly—you pick it back up. “Tonawanda Auto and Truck, how can I help?”
“This is Mark from 3M auto, looking for an alternator for a Buick Lucerne.”
You jot down the info, hesitating as another incoming call arrives. “Hold on one sec.” You tap the button. “Tonawanda Auto and Truck.” You glance over at Kat, who’s still busy with her call. It’s the same number that called before.
You pick up the handset and just replace it in the cradle, cutting off the call. If they want to talk to Kat, they can—when she’s off the line. You’re not her receptionist.
You disconnect the call and switch back to Mark’s line. He’s a good customer who prefers you to Kat, doesn’t like waiting, and buys a lot of stuff.
[CHOICE C: Villain]
She got hired under a fake name, since she knew nobody would take her seriously if they knew she was a unicorn. Most of the dealers and repair shops who call don’t know . . . “Kat?”
“Yeah, Kat.”
“You mean Sunbeam?” Your voice is harsh. “Sunbeam the unicorn?”
“I don’t want a unicorn, I want Kat. Kat Korat.”
You feel positively giddy. “They’re one and the same. She’s lying to you, and her name is a clever pun—look it up. She’s a unicorn with hooves and a horn and a tail and a mane.”
You can feel the tonal shift. “What kind of woke operation are you running over there?”
“Hiring her wasn’t my idea,” you say. “You know how it is. Now, what can I help you find?”