Gemotions

"So, you're telling me… I'm moving to the mailroom?" Michael stared at his supervisor, his voice a strained whisper. His jaw was locked. He ran his hand over his chin. He had spent ten years in research. His life revolved around data analysis and statistical modeling. The mailroom?

He looked at the empty mug on his desk, then at the meticulously organized spreadsheets on his computer screen. The familiar comfort of his routine now seemed alien. He felt a throbbing sensation behind his eyes, a precursor to a headache he knew was coming. He swallowed hard.

“Are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake?” he asked, the words catching in his throat.