I feel like absolute shit. Like, actually kinda sick to my stomach, and it's not even from the gas station burrito I ate for dinner. It's worse. It’s this… feeling, like a sticky film all over me, and no amount of scrubbing will get it off. I had this interview today, right? For like, a district manager position at the clothing store where I work. My boss, Mr. Henderson, he put me up for it. Said I was "a natural leader" and "had real potential." Blah blah blah. It's good money, way more than I make now, and honestly, we could really use it. My mom's been stressing about bills, and even though I give her most of my paycheck, it just feels like trying to fill a bathtub with a leaky teacup. This job would be… a whole damn bucket. The interview was with some fancy lady from corporate, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my rent. She asked me all these questions about "driving sales" and "motivating my team." And I just… started talking. About how I push the guys on the floor to hit their numbers, how I make sure we beat the other stores in the district for add-ons, how I always know who’s slacking and how to light a fire under their asses. I even told her about that time Mark almost lost us the big quarterly bonus because he was messing around in the stockroom, and how I basically shamed him into actually doing his job. It all just came out, all this competitive crap, like a river of slime. And the whole time I was talking, I could practically feel my friends’ eyes on me. Not like they were actually there, but like ghosts, just floating around the room, making it cold. Like, I said all this stuff about "my team" but I meant Mark, and Chloe, and even freaking Brenda, who’s older than dirt but still busts her ass. These are the people I grab smokes with on break, the ones who let me vent about my teachers, who spot me twenty bucks for gas when I’m broke. And I was in there, basically telling this suit lady how I use them, how I manipulate them, all for my own stupid fucking gain. It felt like I was selling them out, like I was holding them underwater to get a gasp of air for myself. She seemed to eat it up, the suit lady. Nodded a lot, wrote stuff down in her little fancy notebook. Said I had "drive." But I just kept thinking about Mark, who’s trying to save up for a community college class, or Chloe, who’s got a baby at home. And here I am, thinking about getting ahead, and it feels like I’m trampling over them to do it. The air in that room just tasted like metal, like I had been chewing on coins. And now I'm home, staring at my phone, and it feels heavy, like it's full of all the words I said and all the words I *shouldn't* have said. I don’t even know what I’ll say to them if I get this job. How do you look someone in the eye when you feel like you just stepped on their face? It’s not fair. I don't know. My stomach hurts.