The choice is often simple.
The consequences aren’t.
The next morning, I woke up with a headache, a stiff neck, and the grim little mission of going back to my office to clear out my desk.
There is something uniquely humiliating about returning to a place that has already decided it doesn’t need you.
I shaved anyway.
Ironed a clean shirt.
Drove there just before eight because I wanted to get in and out before the office got busy.
The parking lot looked the same as it always had.
Same cracked asphalt.
Same sad landscaping rock around the sign.
Same dented sedan from accounting.
Same delivery truck idling near the back.
I sat in my car for a minute with the engine off and stared at the front doors.
Then I grabbed an empty cardboard file box from the backseat and went in.
I barely made it through the lobby before the receptionist stood up.
