Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, Night at the Museum, Bluetooth, Tag, Axe, Transformers, Tylenol and . . . what else did I mention . . . oh yeah, Heelys. Don't own them, either. You know what? From now on, I'll list the things I do own. It would be a shorter list.

He had been poisoned. Of this he was sure. It came as a great surprise. After all, he was a poison master, himself, and the substance flowing through his veins had a tendency to protect him from other poisons. In all of his existence, he had never come across a substance that could cause him harm. Until now.

Sesshoumaru lay on his couch in his darkened living room. One leg draped over the arm of the couch while his other foot rest on the floor. His left arm dangled limply off the edge of the couch. The bracelet used for his illusion lay on the floor next to his hand. His other arm was draped over his eyes to block out what little light there was in the room. His head was killing him and it seemed like every little irritant made the pain worse.

Yes, he was dying. He must be. If he wasn't, he certainly wished he were. As he lay there, waiting for his humiliating end, he thought over the events of the last few days that brought him to this point. . .

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Interview . . .

After the initial test-run of his disguise, Sesshoumaru and his tormentors returned to the apartment complex. Shippou took the be-spelled bracelet and disappeared, promising to return the next day with all of the adjustments in place. In the meantime, Miroku had further annoyed him by relaying many stories of his days working in one place or another.

He attempted to get Sesshoumaru to act more friendly. Even in his disguise, the daiyoukai was not what one would call . . . approachable. At one point, Miroku decided that Sesshoumaru simply did not have the acting abilities to carry off the personality of a customer-friendly salesperson. He suggested that when Sesshoumaru did apply at MegaMart, he should try for positions in the stock room or on the overnight stocking crew – positions that required minimal contact with customers. Sesshoumaru scoffed at the idea. He was fully confident in his abilities to work on the floor, be helpful to customers, and resist the urge to kill anyone. Besides, working in closed-off areas defeated the purpose of the experiment.

On the day that he did apply and interview with the human resources manager, Laura was the name she gave, he learned that Miroku may have been right about his behavior. The first few questions were the basic ones similar to the ones Miroku had asked. He had thought ahead about how to answer them. Perhaps that was why they seemed so rehearsed and he appeared so robotic in delivering them.

Laura did not seem all that thrilled with his unemotional responses. She expected to see someone who looked eager for a job, or someone who may have been nervous about the interview. The man before her acted as if he did not really want to be there and that he could care less whether he got a job or not. Probably some kid whose parents were forcing to get a job instead of sitting around all summer, doing nothing. Already, she was beginning to think that he would not fit in well in this atmosphere, but she continued on with the interview.

Sesshoumaru noted the expression and body language of his interviewer. He was skilled at determining what another person was thinking by observing the signs they unconsciously showed. He knew that he was not performing well in this interview. That would not do. Throughout his life, he had failed at nothing, and he was not about to start now, especially when he had barely begun this experiment. He had observed humans for centuries and had been posing as one ever since youkai went into hiding. He could change his behavior enough to convince this woman that he was capable of working here.

Thinking fast, Sesshoumaru tried to adapt a more nervous appearance – fidgeting with his hands, like he had seen humans do, and giving what he hoped looked like a nervous smile. Who ever said he couldn't act if he put his mind to it? This change in his behavior seemed to put Laura at ease. At least, now, she knew she was dealing with a person and not a statue. The next questions she asked were answered with more hesitation and did not sound so rehearsed.

When asked about his work experience, Sesshoumaru answered using some of Miroku's stories of when he worked at an amusement park and at a grocery store, showing that he knew how to be customer-service oriented. He may have looked like he wasn't listening to Miroku at times, but the fact of the matter was that his mind was like a sponge. He remembered what people tell him, even if it was not particularly interesting to him.

He was pleased to see that Laura seemed satisfied with his work experience. Especially the bit about working in an amusement park. Apparently it takes a whole different kind of person to deal with the hordes of vacationers who demand they get everything they want, including being allowed to take their three-year-old toddlers on a roller coaster. Working in retail is a cakewalk compared to that. What a pity that he did not actually have that experience.

"Tell me, Ichirou, if you have a problem with a co-worker, how do you handle it?"

After a moment of considering the question, Sesshoumaru, fidgeting a bit, replied, "Well that depends on the nature of the problem. If it is merely a personal issue that has nothing to do with work, I can ignore the problem and be civil and professional when working with this other person. If it is a problem directly related to work that I feel needs to be brought to the attention of a supervisor, I will do so."

Not as much fun as decapitation and disembowelment. Definitely not what he would have done in his own company, which might have involved firing said person and ensuring the only jobs that person could get involved wearing his or her name on a shirt. Oh, well hello, Irony, how nice to meet you.

Unaware of Sesshoumaru's thoughts, Laura nodded her head, appeased by the answer, "Have you had any problems with management in past jobs?"

A tricky question. "No real problems," he replied, knowing that this was the desired answer. "Sometimes I felt that my managers were not always on the same page, but they were very good at resolving such problems." Enough of the nervous rambling act. It was an act, right?

"Why did you leave your last job?"

"I left only so I could come to America to attend a university here." That was the story they had decided on. He was a young college student, spending the summer in the area before he started classes in the fall.

"Do you plan on staying with the company after classes start?"

"That would depend on whether or not I would be needed here." No need to tell her that he had no intention of staying with the job for more than a month.

Laura laughed, "Oh, believe me, the closer we get to the holidays, the more people we will need."

What had started off a little rocky turned into something more steady. Laura still seemed a little unsure about him, but offered him a job none the less. That was, of course, pending the obligatory background check and drug test. The background check he had been prepare for. The drug test was unexpected and would be the first of new experiences involved with working in retail. At least nothing was found that would be considered unusual or potentially illegal.

After a day of orientation, Sesshoumaru was given his first week's schedule, during which he would train with various other employees. He was officially in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

First Day . . .

His first day of training focused on cashiering. The task was fairly simple and, luckily, he had done enough business in the US that he was familiar with the monetary values of American currency. Another cashier had walked him through the process, telling him how to handle different situations. Naturally, he was a fast learner and it took only one explanation for him to catch on to any process.

That is, if it required any explanation at all. Most of it was common sense and the registers were set up so that even a three-year-old might be able to operate it. Maybe the little animated pictures on the screen were for the employees who had not yet learned English that well. Maybe they existed to make the operation of the register idiot-proof. Or maybe they had entertainment value for the cashier and the person who had created the program in the first place. Who knew?

After his initial training, the cashier went back to her own register, stating that he could ask for help any time. As if he would need any help for this task. And he made his thoughts on the subject quite clear. Perhaps he could have seemed a little more appreciative for the cashier's help, judging by her reaction to him. Oh, well.

So far, he had no complaints, except that it was extremely dull. There were times when business picked up, but for the most part, he stood around with nothing to do. Ideally, cashiers were supposed to spend their down time cleaning their conveyor belts and straightening up the candy and impulse-buy items that were located at their check-out lanes, but there were only so many times he could do that before there was just no more room for improvement. Besides, the spray cleaner the store provided irritated his nose.

Finally, it did get to a point in the day where there was a steady stream of people checking out. Even then, the process was monotonous. In an attempt to act the part of Friendly Cashier, he at least greeted the customers with a "Hello, how are you?"

Most of the time, they responded with friendly greetings of their own. Every once in a while, he became irritated with the people who would come through his line with cell phones plastered to their ears and didn't have the decency to put the conversations on hold while they finished their transactions. It was as if they were not even acknowledging his existence. As if he were too low in the social hierarchy to require any form of courtesy.

Didn't they know who he was? Oh, right. They didn't. But that shouldn't matter anyways. It's about having manners. Even one as powerful as himself had better manners toward people who were providing him with quality service.

It was an even worse shock the first time a customer came through, talking on a bluetooth ear piece. Sesshoumaru had not taken a close enough look at the man before starting to scan items.

"Can you repeat that?" He heard the man say.

"I didn't say anything." Sesshoumaru replied, looking up to see that the man was not even looking at him as he carried on a conversation with himself. Sesshoumaru immediately thought that the man was not only rude, but also crazy. Then he saw the little device on the man's ear and mentally cursed such inventions as the bluetooth headset and the cell phone. Cell phones are wonderful for emergencies, but is it necessary for people to carry on personal conversations in public? Strangers don't want to hear about that suspicious rash or the strange growth on Aunt Martha's foot. And really, why should anyone want to broadcast such things?

Such were the thoughts that ran through Sesshoumaru's head while he waited for the end of his shift. Fate, however, had decided that he would have one more encounter before the end of his day. Yes, he got to meet the Obnoxious Teenage Customer. Close to the end of his shift, a group of teenage girls came through his line. At least, he thought they were teenagers. It was difficult to tell because of the layers of make-up they had plastered on their faces. The clothes they were wearing seemed far too mature for them, also. And they didn't appear to have anything to purchase.

One of the girls grabbed a fifty cent packet of gum and whispered to the other girls, "Watch this."

She handed the gum to Sesshoumaru. After he scanned it and told her the total, she handed him a $100 bill. Now, he had no idea what possessed the girl to do this. Was she trying to show off her wealth, or more likely, Mommy and Daddy's wealth? Or did she think counting out the change would be a difficult task? Oh, he could make it difficult.

Without showing any kind of reaction to the girl's intended joke, Sesshoumaru took the proffered bill, opened the cash drawer and began counting out her change. He placed each bill in her outstretched hand, slowly and carefully. After a few moments, the girl realized what he was doing.

"Don't you have anything bigger than ones?" She asked, seeing her joke backfiring.

He feigned an apologetic tone, "No, sorry." He continued counting, "Oops, out of ones. Don't worry. I have plenty of quarters."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Second Day . . .

After being trained on the cash register, Sesshoumaru was passed off to another employee who would train him on the floor. This was where he would usually work. Every day, he may find himself in a different department, but he was expected to be flexible and help where ever help was needed.

By coincidence, although she didn't know it, Sango was his trainer on this day. She took him through the store, showing him where to get equipment and where to find other items he would sometimes need. She showed him what was expected of straightening up the aisles of merchandise and how to use the hand held devices that many of the employees carried.

It was a wonderful gadget that could give an item's location on the floor, in the stockroom, and state how many were in stock. It could perform a plethora of other functions, most of which he would never need to use. They were also very easy to use. That is, they were easy to use when they were actually working or didn't have a dead battery.

After all of this initial instruction and a listing of various company policies, Sango left Sesshoumaru to work in the furniture department, claiming that she would be back to check on him and if he needed any help, he should feel free to ask. He was beginning to feel that the MegaMart method of training was something like, "Can you swim? Show me." Then you get kicked into the deep end of a pool with a twenty-pound weight tied to your leg, which would be the hand held that refused to work. Only the strong ones are able to stay afloat and learn as they go. Sesshoumaru was sure that he would be one of the strong ones.

Or maybe it was just him. Sango did seem eager to get away from him. Okay, maybe he had not been acting like Mr. Sunshine, or anything like that, but he thought he had been pleasant enough. Maybe he had seemed a little condescending over the use of the hand held. Really, it wasn't that difficult to use and he had gotten a little annoyed with how slowly Sango was going over its use.

At any rate, Sesshoumaru stayed in his department for the rest of his shift. It was during this time that he began to understand the tougher aspects of this job. It wasn't just about straightening things here and there and answering customers' questions. It was about actually knowing some things and, in some cases, being able to read a customer's mind. As if he knew what a duvet cover was. And he had no idea if they carried a movie called Monster Museum.

Though he hated to admit it, it was times like these that his radio was his best friend. Most of the time, several co-workers knew the answers to his questions, and he was amazed when he heard one girl respond that maybe the customer was looking for Night at the Museum. The customer's eyes lit up and exclaimed that that was exactly what he was looking for. How did she read the man's mind through a walkie-talkie?

Although he never asked the same question twice, he was beginning to fear that his co-workers viewed him as stupid for having to ask so many questions. That would have to change. He would make sure that he knew every little corner of the store and all of the products within it. And he would learn how to decipher what a customer was looking for when they, themselves, did not know what the item was. That one would be tricky.

Later in the day, he walked to the stockroom, passing by the cashier counter in the electronics department. There he saw Sango and Kagome chatting as Kagome struggled with a package of some sort. When he had passed out of their sight, he heard Sango whisper, "That's the new guy, Ichirou. Kind of looks like Ichabod Crane."

Kagome smiled benignly, "How's he doing so far?"

"Okay, I guess," Sango shrugged. "He gives off this weird vibe. Kind of a I'm-better-than-you-are feel. He seems quick enough, though. Probably some kind of super nerd that spends all of his time in front of a computer."

"Now that's not nice," Kagome stated. "You've known him for how long and you've already passed judgment?"

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em."

"Well, if he's some super nerd, do you think he would like working in electronics?"

"I don't know. Does anyone like working back here? The real question is, would customers like asking him for help?"

"I don't think they pay much attention to who helps them," Kagome answered with a distracted air. "I feel like I have met him before, but I can't remember where."

Sesshoumaru walked into the stockroom, not caring to hear any more of the conversation. If that is how he was perceived so far, he may have to work on his "people skills" as well. But then again, did it really matter? No one said anything about him having to make friends with people. He just had to stay with this job for a month. That was all.

He found the piece of furniture he had come to retrieve. Placing it on a flatbed cart, he began to push it toward the stockroom's exit. Somewhere farther down the great cave that was the stockroom, someone was climbing a ladder. The ladder shifted and the ear-piercing shriek of metal on metal echoed throughout the cavernous room. One would think that all of the cardboard boxes would have muffled the noise a little. Perhaps there is no muffling sounds of a pitch that high.

It took all of Sesshoumaru's will not to fall to his knees, cover his ears, and whimper like an injured puppy. As it was, he did wince at the pain the horrible sound had created and he left the room with one ear ringing as he tried to direct the cart through the store, running into the bottom shelves of several aisles in the process. And Kagome had controlled one of these monsters with one hand. All of the ones he used must be defective.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Today . . .

Alright, so he was beginning to gain a new perspective on the life of a MegaMart employee. It took more skill than just knowing where things were and such. It took someone with quick reflexes. For instance, he was beginning to believe that he was, somehow, a child magnet. So far today, four children had come barreling around a corner, or out of an aisle, and nearly ran into him. They would have if he had not been fast enough to avoid the collision. And, was it him, or did they all seem to be the perfect height that, had they run into him, their hard, little skulls might have caused some serious damage to one of his favorite parts of his anatomy? It didn't matter if you were youkai or human. If you were male, injuries like that hurt.

And don't even get him started on the kids rolling around on those stupid shoes with the wheels in the heels. Those things should be banned from all department stores. Yes, he could imagine that: Sorry Ma'am, your son needs to leave those shoes at the door. Oops, no shoes, no service. Ma'am, you'll have to leave your son at the door, too.

He was only thankful none of them had nearly run into him . . . yet. A good-sized kid on wheels could get some real momentum going. Every once in a while, he thought about throwing something on the floor that would trip them up. Then again, he would probably get caught on camera. That is, unless he used his youkai speed. He had never tested to see if he could beat the speed of a camera. It was something to think about.

Another thing that was getting to him . . . he believed he was suffering from culture shock, or something of that nature. The people around here seemed overly friendly and comfortable with complete strangers. They could start up conversations with someone as if they were old friends, despite not knowing each other less than a minute ago. Maybe it was that Southern charm and hospitality he had heard mentioned. As far as he was concerned, they could keep it all to themselves. He was having enough trouble trying to understand the plethora of accents and dialects in this area of the country.

He had been straightening an aisle in toys when a woman approached him, lay a hand her hand on his arm to get his attention and said in a Southern drawl, "Excuse me, Sweetie. I wondered if you could tell me where the Transformers toys are."

Sesshoumaru was frozen in a state of shock. What issue was there to address first? That she had touched his person without his permission? Or that she had called him "Sweetie?" He couldn't think of a time when anyone called him "Sweetie." Not even his mother when he was a pup. He was anything but sweet. It did not fit his personality at all.

He began to speak in what was supposed to be a threatening tone, "Woman, remove your filthy hands from my person."

The woman drew back in surprise and was about to give an indignant reply when Kagome appeared at Sesshoumaru's side. He had not even noticed she was near.

"Hello, Ma'am. How are you today? Might I be able to help you?" She gave the woman a dazzling smile and spoke with her best I'm-a-sweet-country-girl accent, two oddly powerful weapons that disarmed the situation immediately.

The woman calmed a bit and glanced at Sesshoumaru, then back to Kagome, "Y-yes, I was looking for the Transformers toys."

"Oh, they're right down this way. I'll take you to them." As she led the woman a few aisles away, Sesshoumaru could hear her speaking, "You'll have to excuse my friend for his behavior. He has a terrible phobia of germs. Goes through a bottle of hand sanitizer a day."

"Well, if he's afraid of germs, why is he working here?"

"Part of his therapy. He's trying to conquer his fears."

"Oh, that poor dear."

Sesshoumaru sighed inwardly. What was worse? Being called "Sweetie" or "poor dear" because he was afraid of germs?

Kagome returned a few minutes later, slowly shaking her head as she regarded Ichirou. That could have turned out ugly. She was thankful she happened to be passing by at the right time to run damage control. Not that it should have mattered to her, but she did hate to see the new kids start out on the wrong foot. Telling a woman to remove her filthy hands would be a bad start if she ever saw one.

Besides, she had remembered where she had met Ichirou. He was Miroku's cousin, and new to this country, if she remembered correctly. Maybe he was unfamiliar with people in little towns like these. Maybe he was unfamiliar with the customs, as well. She felt a need to help the poor kid out.

"In the future, you should remember that you need to be nice to customers."

Sesshoumaru felt that he was justified in his earlier reaction, "She touched me and called me 'Sweetie.'"

Kagome shrugged, "That's the way people are around here. So long as it's nothing inappropriate, they don't mean anything by it. Just trying to be friendly. And when they start calling you 'Darlin'' and 'Baby Doll,' then you and I can compare stories." With that, she walked back to her department.

The rest of his shift passed with little event and soon it was time for him to leave. As he walked toward the break room, he cut through the health and beauty department. Maybe his mind was on other matters. Maybe there were too many scents masking the faint ones beginning to escape the deodorant aisle. He had no explanation for why he didn't sense it beforehand or why he didn't find it suspicious that a herd of children had just left the aisle.

In the end, why it happened didn't matter. What mattered was that as soon as he rounded the corner to walk into the aisle he was nearly knocked on his ass. The concentrated stench of a half dozen Tag and Axe scents lingered in the small space, sprayed too recently to have diffused into the air. He got a big whiff before clamping a hand over his nose and trying to breathe through his mouth. That didn't help. He could practically taste the stuff and it burned his throat. He pulled the collar of his shirt up to try to use it as a filter over his nose and mouth as he escaped the miasmal aisle. But the damage was already done.

And here he was . . . awaiting death. Oh what a humiliating way for the great Sesshoumaru to die. To think . . . humans actually spray that stuff on themselves. Madness. Sesshoumaru almost preferred humans' unwashed stench of centuries past compared that noxious vapor.

He stifled a groan as he heard his front door open and a light came on in the living room. Miroku had let himself in to update the daiyoukai on the latest developments with the plant, "Sesshoumaru? You here? I have some papers . . . what happened to you?"

"I've been poisoned."

A surprising answer, "With what?"

"Body spray."

"Oh," A knowing smile spread across Miroku's face. Yep, he had been there. "The headache will pass."

"Hn." Sesshoumaru didn't believe the headache would ever go away.

Miroku's smile grew wider as he feigned a concerned voice, "Would the well-trained monkey like a Tylenol?"

Sesshoumaru's response was to throw the first object he could reach at Miroku. Well . . . they were called throw pillows for a reason. He would be one of the few that could turn the fluffy bit of décor into a deadly, accurate projectile.

Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews, especially to Time On My Hands and dangitsesshoumaru, who offered some suggestions of what they wanted to happen to Sesshoumaru. Oh, I plan to make him run into a rude woman with children, though it may not be the same one he encountered before. Really, it would be inevitable. There are plenty of rude women with bratty children to go around. Sometimes they travel in packs. Heh, that makes me sound a little like a person on a nature documentary. Ooh, that gives me a whole new idea. **Starts humming the National Geographic theme song.**

And making a little girl cry? I like it. I'll see what I can do.

An anonymous review (haha) had suggested making Sesshoumaru a checkout chick. Well, I had always intended to have him on a cash register at least once, but I think he will have enough problems without throwing gender confusion into the mix. And I don't think my brain could handle the extra confusion, either.

Regarding Angelicatt's question of whether or not Sesshoumaru would know who Master Chief is . . . well, at first I would have said that you would have to live under a rock not to know the main character of an extremely popular video game. Then I thought better of it because I have run into a number of people who know next to nothing about Halo, or any other video games, for that matter. My own father would be on the top of that list. So let's just say, Miroku is a gamer and has a tendency to bore Sesshoumaru with details about the games he plays. Also, Sesshoumaru is not completely oblivious to modern technology, but Miroku's prattling about video games and electronics may become useful for Sesshoumaru in the future. As for other questions. They will be answered in later chapters.

By the way, I believe a couple of readers would enjoy the benefit of a drawing of Sesshoumaru in disguise. Unfortunately, stick figures are about the extent of my drawing skills. If anyone feels inspired, I would love to see how you imagine Sesshoumaru, and I am sure others would love to see it, also.

And By the by, the bit with the girl at the cash register is based off an actual experience. A friend of mine did have a customer like that and he did count out her change in ones. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Until next time.

~CW