“What are you doing?” she says, coming around the corner into the stockroom where I’m typing numbers into one computer and writing the descriptions of shoes that come up into a spreadsheet on another computer, an activity that really gives me a chance to think about the choices I’ve made in life that led me to this point.
“The reject report - I own it now,” I say.
“Oh, I love Scott. He has such a dry sense of humor,” she says, laughing to another co-worker as she walks away.
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