You walk stoically into the bathroom. You pull your hair into a ponytail and quickly throw on some bare essentials as far as makeup is concerned. You avoid anything that would require you having to face yourself in the mirror. You pull on a black sweater and a pair of black slacks that fit loosely enough so as to not cause further pain to your thighs and waist. You continue, zombie-like out to your car. Your mind wanders aimlessly as you drive. If it weren't for the fact that muscle memory was able to direct you on this route you've driven 100 times you may not have made it at all.
You pull into the parking lot just as the rest of the minions are leaving for lunch. You duck your head down and make your way to the doors. You feel a thousand eyes burning through you as shame slithers along behind you. It must be your imagination, your self-loathing, that is giving you this sense of being in the spotlight. You shrug your shoulders as far up your neck as you can, trying to hide yourself from the world. You almost make it to the orange doors when you are suddenly stopped in your tracks by Mr. McAllister. You are certainly in no condition to meet with the boss today.
"Will you join me in my office please?" He states in a cold voice.
Without saying a word, you follow him to his office. He invites you in with only a gesture and closes the door behind you. He takes a deep breath and again gestures for you to take a seat. He pulls his leather clad office chair away from the desk and sits heavily down, pushing his glasses a bit further up his nose.
"As you know" he begins. "we are an establishment that prides ourselves in the professionalism of our employees both on the clock and off."