Wednesday, March 22, 2017

A Thousand Cuts

In the middle of the meeting, my boss grabs her mug, which she usually keeps filled with water. It's empty though, and she puts it back down without skipping a beat, or even changing expression.

The guy from HR drones on, talking way in the back of his throat so that it sounds like he's trying to swallow his thoughts before they get out of his mouth. I know my boss has been having a long day, and for just an instant I can feel her momentary disappointment, so slight that it probably barely even registers for her, the thirst that is unassuageable, but easily forgettable; a small injustice, one of a thousand that everybody faces every day, tiny, but still a little painful, like a paper cut.
One year ago: Manners
Two years ago: Delicate Gentlemen
Four years ago: At Least I Didn't Get My Initials Engraved On It

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