Gemotions

The low, consistent thrum of the engine filled Mark’s ears, a familiar vibration that soothed him. He spent his days in the maintenance bay, meticulously repairing and maintaining the company’s fleet of trucks. The grease on his hands and the metallic tang in the air were signs of his trade, signals of his own purpose. He appreciated order.

He got the message: "You're needed in the customer service department." His hands tightened around the wrench he was holding. He liked the quiet camaraderie of his fellow mechanics, the shared understanding of the inner workings of machines. The thought of dealing with irate customers was not something he felt ready for.

He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the familiar tools, the familiar routine. His heart rate, normally slow and steady, quickened. He imagined the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, the unfamiliar conversations. He sighed and went to the office to see what they wanted.