A pushover.
There’s this moment—right before Stephanie speaks—when IknowI should walk away.
But I don’t. Because my drawer’s open, I’m balancing $940 in cash, and I need a supervisor override.
Also, because I hate myself a little, apparently.
“Cute blouse,” Stephanie says, not even looking at me. “Didn’t realize that brand went up to… you know. Those sizes.”
I blink. Smile. Tight. Like my molars might shatter.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, because what else do you say to a woman who thinks every interaction is a runway roast?
She shrugs, still typing. “I mean, confidence is confidence. Not everyone can pull off horizontal stripes.”
It’s not even stripes. It’s ribbed. White. But sure, let’s keep inventing flaws.
I stay silent, even though my skin’s gone prickly and hot under my sleeves. I feel like a Pillsbury can someone’s about to pop.
Janice snorts from two stations over. Just loud enough.
And I swear to God, somewhere in the back of my skull, I hear Anton’s voice. That low, controlled, too-close whisper:“Tell me if anyone bothers you.”
Right. Sure. Let me just radio the mafia every time my coworkers act like Regina George with a LinkedIn.
I count the cash. Twice. Then shove the drawer shut before I can throw it at someone’s head.
Stephanie leans in and lowers her voice to a fake whisper. “Oh, and heads-up? HR’s doing surprise evals next week. So you might want to… smile more.”
Smile more.
Okay.
Sure.
Let me just add that to my list. Right betweenstop sweating through anxietyandsuddenly become conventionally hot with perfect boundaries.
“Thanks,” I mutter, scribbling something on the log sheet that might be a number. Might be the wordmurderin cursive.
A client approaches. I straighten. Plaster on the customer service voice.
“Hi there! How can I help you?”
My hands are still trembling.
Stephanie walks off, satisfied. Janice follows, like a poodle who’s learned to heel.
I don’t look at either of them. I just focus on the screen. Focus on the numbers. Focus on breathing through my nostrils and not snapping my pen in half.
Because if I snap now?
If Iactuallysay what I’m thinking?
This entire building’s getting televised.
I’m mid-deposit when I feel it.
That weird… atmospheric shift. Like the air pressure dropped three degrees and the drama gods said,“You’re welcome.”
