“This is your job. If you let them get to you, if you let them push your buttons, you’ve lost the battle. You are dead. Do you understand me? You’re playing a role, a part in a play. Stay in character.” Charlie stood in front of her, as she balanced on one foot, on an overturned bucket, holding the other foot in her hand. She’d withstood his verbal abuse for almost two hours, now. Today was, by far, the worst. And it was only Friday of the first week. “First of all: who are you? What is your name?” Charlie growled at her.
“Cameron Andrews.”
“What? Who are you talking to?”
“You, sir.” Cam tried to remember the drill she’d just gone through: how to address those with the power.
“You, sir? What’s a ‘you’? Do I look like a ewe? Do I have a white fuzzy coat and lots of t**s? What’s a ewe?”
