![]() It’s frustrating, squinting at the fine print where all the type jumbles together. I pause, forgetting my place on the long list of transcribed names. The scroll bar gets a little longer with each addition. ![]() Today, I’m cataloging potential hosts for our next gala, alongside an estimated budget for the event. I have become deaf to the nonstop clacking of the keyboard, accustomed to the eye strain from the blinking cursor. ![]() But I’m good at it, and it pays, so I swallow my gripes. I don’t love my job my hands cramp up by the end of the day, becoming stiff, awkward instruments I can barely hold a fork in. Dodging eye contact, we have interchangeable conversations with cookie-cutter responses. In passing, I usually end up running into Basil from Accounting, or Sheila in Public Relations. The white walls and bright lights keep me from falling asleep between visits to the break room coffee machine. ![]() I punch dates, dollar amounts, and names into spreadsheets from 8:00 AM to 6:00 PM, sitting in a cubicle surrounded by other cubicles. I am a happy, happy drone at Hartway & Burrough LLC, a for-profit charity with headquarters in Baltimore. ![]()
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