Meg has a soap opera at work: the company changed the manager of Meg's department, the girls from the department don't like the new boss woman (they say she's disorganized and sloppy) and are teaming up against her. It looks like they want to start a revolution. The problem is, there's no room for democracy in the corporate environment, and someone may soon end up on the street. Meg doesn't want any part in this and as a result she spends her lunch breaks wandering alone through the neighborhood, to stay away from the gossip and scheming, which usually happens in the dining room. Then she comes home hungry, having left her lunch untouched to avoid the dining room at all cost.
The politics within the department divides the girls against the boss, and Meg is expected to take a side, what she refuses to do. As a result she belongs nowhere and feels utterly alone.
In the morning, as we drive to work, I see the dread in Meg's eyes. This morning she reminded me of a student first-grader, who is terrified of frogs, but is forced to dissect them in the class. Her eyes were teary, her lips were trembling, her voice unsteady. Yet, she swallowed her resentment and managed the strength to walk unfalteringly into the building and get on with the day. I can tell the whole situation is taking toll on her, and it breaks my heart to see her so unhappy and not being able to help her. The whole week I've been trying silly jokes, I goofed around, tried to elicit a smile, but never got more than a half-smile. Her mind was always somewhere else.
Tonight we went for sushi (Meg's all-time favorite dinner), topped it with a beer (me) and an alcoholized lemonade (Meg) in our local pub. She's now smiling and even singing. I'm not sure is it because she finally got over the situation (unlikely), or because of the drink and the weekend break from work. In any case, it's nice to see her smile again.
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