In the fluorescent-tinged monotony of the office, my feet move as if on autopilot, navigating a maze of cubicles that all bleed into each other in my haze of coffee-fueled half wakefulness. The constant din of keyboard clacking and stilted office chatter grinds against my eardrums like fingernails on a chalkboard. My job title still feels like a joke, an inside punchline I'm starting to get tired of hearing every time I'm stuck in these pointless team meetings. The highlight of my day usually ends right after lunch, when our department's accountant always microwaves this pungent odor of what I've come to assume might be spoiled broccoli – I haven't dared ask him yet, my face would betray my confusion. I just hope I'll make it through the afternoon.
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