Modern Energy
I sat there in Janet’s office, my mouth slightly open, trying to process what Mr. Daniels had just said. ‘Modern energy.’ The phrase echoed in my head like a bad joke. Fifteen years of dedication reduced to being not ‘modern’ enough.
I watched Mr. Daniels fumble with his tie as he continued, ‘The company needs to appeal to younger clients, Cathy. Becca understands social media.
She’s got… visibility.’ What he meant was that she had 50,000 followers who watched her mock people like me. I glanced down at my sensible shoes and the notebook where I’d written client notes—by hand, because I remembered things better that way.
Suddenly, these habits felt like evidence against me in some trial I didn’t know I was part of. ‘I understand,’ I said, though I absolutely did not.
What I understood was that I’d stayed late every night for weeks while Becca filmed herself pretending to work. What I understood was that I’d trained three supervisors who had all moved on to better positions.
What I understood was that loyalty meant nothing compared to ‘likes’ and ‘shares.
‘
As I walked back to my desk, legs wooden and heart pounding, I passed the break room where several younger employees were huddled around a phone, giggling. They quieted when they saw me. I wondered if I was in another one of Becca’s videos.
I wondered if my entire career had become nothing more than a punchline for people who thought typing with both hands was somehow prehistoric. But what happened the next day would make this humiliation seem like a minor inconvenience.