The fluorescent lights in the break room are like tiny pinpricks to my eyes. Last week, during one of my daily coffee ritual visits, I tried to impress my coworker Emma by ordering our drinks in a smooth, coffee-shop kind of voice - I mean, not smooth, but I tried. As I confidently said, 'Venti iced caramel macchiato for me, and... extra shot, 1/2 and 1/2 for Emma', I felt an odd, awkward jolt in my chest and stumbled over a nearby chair leg, nearly dropping my coffee. Emma simply laughed and corrected me to order just a half sweet. Today, Emma playfully asks if I need help with our drinks and I sheepishly mumble, 'just... no, it's fine.'
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