Gemotions

"So, what do you think?" Michael, his new supervisor in the customer service department, asked. Michael, always brimming with optimism, bounced on his heels. Michael had moved Michael from the quiet, structured world of the warehouse, to the front line, the customer's domain.

He looked at the telephone, a coiled menace on his desk. He'd done the training, memorized the scripts, but his heart still thrummed an unhappy tattoo against his ribs. The endless stream of complaints, the unreasonable demands, the sheer volume of negativity… it felt like being trapped in a washing machine set to high.

He wished he could go back to the predictable rhythm of the warehouse, the methodical stacking, the quiet satisfaction of a job well done. He stared at the name tag that read "Michael," a name that felt unfamiliar on his chest. He felt like an imposter.