“And then they had the gumption or maybe I should say stupidity to actually go forward with their plan. I swear, I don’t know how this place makes money.”

Kenneth was on his typical tear at work. He had an opinion about everything and, given his age, had many things to have opinions about. Yet his range of opinions about himself was limited—evidenced by the pleated chinos he won at a conference three years ago.

Framed between his emotive gesticulations, a young girl sat at a distance. Legs crossed under her torso, she leaned over an impractically low, post-modern table with bulbous, mossy-feeling chairs, shaped like a millennial designer’s concept of emotion. The company thought it showed they cared. She was intently coloring.

Bring Your Child to Work Day always seemed like a better idea than the execution. Sandra had justified it as a way to stay connected with her child by showing her what adult life is like, instead of sending her away to the guilt orphanage called public school. However, work needed to be done and the office was not really a playground, so Sandra sat her at the tables no one else used and hoped she wasn’t too bored.

“And then I’m the one who gets yelled at,” Kenneth continued. “I’m just telling them the truth. This stuff needs to be said. But they are way too enamored with the dopamine hit they get blowing smoke up each other’s asses in leadership meetings. Fuck.”

Sandra, used to tuning out his tirades and focusing on her screen, interrupted. “Hey, watch it. My daughter is only seven.”

Kenneth looked toward the child who recognized she was being spoken of. She curiously waited for what he did in response. Kenneth paused for a moment, straightened his worn polo shirt, and exhaled.

“Time to grow up, girlie girl.”