I shuffle my way down the street, not much more alive than the undead. Earlier I had no idea what to talk about, but after a workday of constant psychological torture, I have a few.
I go over in my mind what topics I want to bring up as I meander behind those walking in front of me on the sidewalk, following their feet. They will guide me to where I need to go eventually.
My job is at risk; I am aware of that. Apana filled Bob’s thoughts with the notion that my dress code was a sign of me closing myself off, being guarded and not receptive to my job, that I am unhappy working at Cornwall & Duggard. My sudden emotional outburst cements it. Every employer wants an enthusiastic employee on their roster, and I have proven that I am not it.
I also have to come across like I am not desperate.
