There was something terrifying about a beautiful woman who smiled like a reptile. Daphne Greer had the aura of someone who practiced yoga not for peace, but to summon demons with flexibility. She walked into the room like it was her ancestral estate, wearing a pastel pantsuit and clutching her tablet like it contained both the cure to cancer and everyone's browser history. I didn’t stand up when she walked in. I didn’t smile either. I just sat there, blinking at her like I had been hit with a metaphorical truck. Which, in this case, was a very real press release with a paragraph that low-key called me irrelevant, easily replaceable, and—in my favorite phrasing—“an intern-adjacent liability.”
And the worst part? The formatting was clean. The grammar was tight. The insult was grammatically
