Chapter 3 Not Allowed to Human
three
not allowed to human
I’m starting to suspect that being bored to death is an actual medical condition.
It’s not that I hate working in the front of the shop when Mom needs the help, but I am by no means a stationery person.
I hardly know anything about fountain pens or washi tape or the GSM of different papers.
Most of my time working at Ink I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Scones of bloody Ayor not only watched my stream but also mansplained how looting works. Or something. Whatever it was, it was condescending as hell and not appreciated.
And yet I still can’t stop thinking about it after the stream is over, after I’ve done a few more missions on my own to try and clear my head, even after I brush my teeth and get into bed and try to sleep. Sleep doesn’t come easily.
For the past week, Scones has bent over backwards to avoid saying anything about me at all, and now he’s leaving unsolicited advice on my streams. If I didn’t hate him before, I certainly do now.
I finally do fall asleep, trying to envision myself tearing his head off, Steampunk 1877 style, but the last thing I picture before sleep takes me is the guy with the Steampunk shirt in the shop today, looking at me like I was a freak, just for existing.
Just for taking up space where I clearly didn’t belong.
It’s getting harder and harder to figure out where I do belong, though.