Author's Note: This is simply for entertainment, and has nothing to do with canon whatsoever, except for character names, and blatant, unapologetic misuse of Starfleet equipment and ship names. But there are alien species…which I make no effort to explain their presence in this story.

Just take this as a multichapter story of a series of anecdotes, making our fearless crew struggling to deal with the frustrations, joys, hilarity, and strife of working the dead-end minimum wage type of job. I hope that if anything, this is entertaining for some readers.

And for the record, just about 90% of the anecdotal incidents are based on real events in my own experience of this type of employment. Having recently found my notes for this little story, I decided to get it out there for preservation's sake. (Also, I am in need of writing something a little lighthearted.) Enjoy, everyone. ~ RK

Wanted: Something New

Chapter 1 – Job Hunting

James Tiberius Kirk needed a new job. After ten months working in a personally and professionally unfulfilling position as a women's perfume sales associate, he simply needed something new. He really could only take the normal clientele for so long before he needed to move on. Not that his customers that he'd encountered were not entertaining, sometimes, because they were certainly entertaining. But after a while he was able to recognize their stereotype on sight.

There were the girls that used the wrong perfumes no matter how hard he tried to politely convince them of their purchasing mistake by suggestion a much better choice, but they still purchased the awful-for-them perfume because they were right and he was just the stupid sales person. There were the women who wore the worst scent possible for their body chemistries because they didn't understand how perfumes actually worked nor did they have any interest in his explanation of this scientific phenomenon if their wandering "I-just-want-to-leave-now" eyes and twitching hands shoving their credit chips in his face were any indication. The girls that never once bought anything but insisted on leaning suggestively all over his counter – which he compulsively cleaned immediately after they finally left – who were under the delusion that they were worth more attention than the woman a few feet away trying to decide between two perfumes, and trying to be discreet looking at the credit chips she brought along, mentally trying to budget herself to pick the perfume she'd be easier able to afford. Sorry, honey, but he James T. Kirk always went where the money was flashing. More often than not, he'd convince the indecisive girl to go with a third option she hadn't even been considering, which outpriced both of her final two choices. She'd even thank him for convincing her to spend more money than she should have. There were ones that were clueless, and ones that were desperate to get laid, pinning all their hopes of a good date and a better night on his recommendations of what perfume would guarantee an explosive evening.

He was good at persuasion and they all liked his blue eyes and charming smile…

…except the men, mostly. Some came to his counter to talk about the game last night or the game that was going to happen that night, or about the new bar down the road. But most of them came to beg for his help in picking out the perfect perfume for their wives, girlfriends, or just plain lovers – whether illicit or otherwise. Hell, Kirk probably knew those women better than the men that bought them perfume.

But his favorite type of customer was definitely the precise ones. The women who knew precisely how perfumes work, knew precisely which scent notes complimented their bodies the best, were able to pinpoint their purchase in precisely one minute, and – when they handed it to him – their credit chip contained precisely the price of the item they bought. It was efficient and damn impressive in every way that would ever intrigue James T. Kirk. Only one woman had ever done it multiple times, from the first time she came to his counter to the last time he saw her. And he only had the last name on her empty credit chips to identify her by.

But! The fact remained that it grew monotonous at that perfume counter, and that Kirk needed a new job. He'd been gathering applications the entire day, the old-style paper applications! Some places apparently still relied on the antiquated methods. He suspected it had something to do with the quality of the applicant's handwriting. Good thing his writing was an excellent example of penmanship. He needed something, though, to give him a tiny bit of boost of energy after using most of it job hunting. And he knew just what he needed.

A coffee.

He passed off the burger places, the health cafés, and that new chic coffee place that boasted "Superior Blends mean Superior Business." The motto made him snort. It reeked of arrogance. No. If he wanted a coffee, there was only one place for him to go. His favorite place.

He drove his bike around the front of the building to the little mounted, motion-sensing comm. unit outside. Kirk couldn't help it; he loved antiques and sometimes he just loved what was once called 'drive-thrus.' He waited for only one second before a male voice sounded from the comm.

"Welcome to Starfleet Coffee. How may I assist you?"

He looked right at the outside camera and smiled. "Yes. A mocha Enterprise, two sugars, and extra cream."

"Are you in need of additional items to complete your order?"

He looked at the comm. as though it had offended him. "What?"

A new voice took over then. It was a woman, who did not seem happy nor amused. "Anything else?"

"Oh, um…no. Thanks?"

The male came back. "Very well. Please proceed to the window."

That was certainly new. Kirk drove his bike to the pick-up window, his credit chip ready for the necessary transaction. Then, the window opened and a woman in red stood there.

It was her. The precise perfume shopper! He knew he probably looked ridiculous as his mouth hung open in complete surprise. Her expression, however, was decidedly displeased. "You!"

"Hi!" he said, brightly. He strained to get a glimpse of her nametag. It had to have her first name! It had to. But she had already spun sharply and left the window, leaving it wide open. Was he bleeding? Was there something in his teeth? He had to make sure in his mirror.

When he looked back into the window, Precision-Perfume-Girl's place had been taken by a different girl also in red, but where her predecessor was all dark beauty, this one looked like temptation in the flesh. Her skin was Emerald City green, and with her red uniform, Kirk knew he would always feel like it was Christmas around her. Not to mention that curly hair! Too bad it was up like it was. It had to be sinful when it was down. "Hi, handsome. Don't know why she ran from you, though. She usually only runs from the creepy perverts."

"Maybe she pegged me for one."

"Are you?"

"What?"

She tilted her head. He knew the expression. 'Are you stupid?' "Absolutely not, and not a pervert either. Promise."

She smiled her bright white teeth at him. "In that case…" She held out her hand for his credit chip which he gladly surrendered. She returned it a moment later, and passed him his coffee with her other hand. "There's your Enterprise. And—" She presented the old-style slip of paper to him with a flourish. "Her name's on the sheet at the top of your receipt, so if you fill out the survey you can tell her that she's hot." He looked at her in surprise. Maybe she was the pervert and not him at all. "Trust me, it pisses her off, but it's funny for everyone else."

He smiled. He liked her. "And your name?"

She pointed to her nametag. "Gaila."

"I'll mention you, too, Gaila."

"You better." Then, the window closed in his face. It was only then that he finally noticed the sign stuck against the glass.

'Now Hiring, All Shifts. Apply Within.'

It hadn't been one of his choices. Hell, he only wanted a coffee to give him some energy to actually do the applications he'd gathered. But…He looked at the receipt. He'd be able to drive Nyota insane if he worked with her.

And be paid for it!

Decision made, Kirk parked his bike in the front of the building and strolled inside. He spoke to a pretty blonde name Janice, who gave him his requested application. Only after three or four minutes of filling out the first application of the pile a shadow stood over him. He glanced up and then around at the other tables. There were five other tables free. "Can I help you?"

Then, he really looked up. This man wore a yellow uniform shirt, with a nametag reading 'Christopher, manager.' Oh. Okay, then.

"You looking for a job?"

Kirk nodded to his pile. "Obviously."

The older man extended his hand. "Chris Pike, store manager."

Kirk took it. "Jim Kirk."

"Kirk? You related to George Kirk?"

He didn't exactly want to admit it. "Yeah. I'm his son." Seriously, how did he manage to walk into and apply to the one store in the entire region where the manager knew his father.

"How about that?" mused Pike. "Me and George graduated high school together." As far as Kirk was concerned, so did a few hundred other people. "I need a shift commander. If you want, I can start training you for the position immediately. You'll be a regular crew member until you're trained, but once you get to commander, you'll have a pay increase and longer guaranteed hours. You interested?"

Kirk narrowed his eyes at this man. "You don't even know me, sir."

Pike smiled kindly at him. "I know you're George's boy. That's all I really need to know."

He hated that – being compared to his father. But more than that, he hated nepotism. He'd rather his own talents and abilities get him places, not who made up half of his genetics. But it seemed even after leaving home far, far behind your family's ghosts still followed you. And he did want a new job. "Yeah, I'm interested."

"Good. You busy tomorrow?"

"Not…really." He actually sort of was, but he'd be able to cancel it.

"Be here tomorrow at 8:00 am. On time. Make sure you have black pants on. I'll give you the shirt and nametag then." Without waiting for a response, Pike turned and went back behind the counter, immediately barking at some poor thing in a red uniform to clean the counter.

Kirk sipped his coffee and gathered his papers. On his way out of the building, he slipped them all into the trash. He needed to get some rest for his new job tomorrow.

He smiled to himself as he started up his bike. Mission accomplished.