The week drags on, each day blurring into the next.
The health evaluation looms ahead, a specter that haunts my thoughts.
I’ve practiced what I might say, rehearsing my lines in the mirror.
But each time, the words feel hollow, insincere.
As the day of the evaluation arrives, I find myself in the break room, staring at the vending machine.
The usual array of chips and candy stares back, a testament to the practicality my manager so values.
I slip a dollar bill into the slot, selecting a bag of pretzels with a resigned sigh.
It’s not what I want, but it’s what’s available.
As I turn away, a coworker catches my eye.
“Nervous about the evaluation?”
