Gemotions

He’d put in eight years. Eight years of late nights, missed lunches, and dealing with *this*. Now, they wanted Mark to show some fresh-faced kid the ropes? He slammed the instruction manual onto the table. The paper rattled. “Alright, Timmy,” Mark began, voice tight, “Here’s the deal.”

He launched into the explanation of the company’s archaic filing system, deliberately omitting crucial shortcuts. He moved with a speed that felt to him like slow motion, letting Timmy struggle to keep pace. Each task was described in excruciating detail, a pointed demonstration of the hoops Mark had jumped through. He caught Timmy’s eye once, and found the boy's brow furrowed, but quickly glanced away. Mark cleared his throat, pushing a stray hair from his face.