Wasn’t Being Funny

“What are you doing?” she says, coming around the corner into the stockroom where I’m typing numbers into one computer and writing the descriptions of shoes that come up into a spreadsheet on another computer, an activity that really gives me a chance to think about the choices I’ve made in life that led me to this point.

“The reject report - I own it now,” I say.

“Oh, I love Scott. He has such a dry sense of humor,” she says, laughing to another co-worker as she walks away.