You ever just… feel like a lab experiment? Like the world is actively trying to provoke a specific response, just to see if you’ll break? I swear to god, that’s what today felt like. 3:17 PM. Lady comes in with an expired 20% off coupon for a brand of organic, artisanal... *something*. I don't even remember. Expensive, though. Obscure, too. It expired last Tuesday. Our policy, printed CLEARLY on the coupon, on a sign right by the registers, and on the website—no exceptions for expired offers. Standard retail stuff. But she just… refused to accept it. “Are you even listening to me?” she says, like I’m the one with the cognitive deficit. “This is a *premium* product. I don’t just *buy* these willy-nilly.” As if I care what her shopping habits are. You know, you stand there, smiling politely, 6 hours into a 10-hour shift, little Liam is home with a fever and I’ve already had two calls from my sister about Mom's blood sugar readings, and this woman is explaining, in excruciating detail, how a 20% discount on a single jar of glorified marmalade is somehow a fundamental human right. She called me "obtuse." Me. Who spent half the night explaining quadratic equations to a teenager and then spent the other half trying to remember if I’d remembered to order the new prescription for Mom’s glaucoma. She went on for EIGHT minutes. I timed it. Eight minutes of increasingly personal insults about my intelligence, my ability to comprehend basic English, my *attitude*—all while I’m maintaining eye contact, keeping my voice even, reciting the policy for the third time. “I can’t believe they hire people who can’t even understand a simple request.” A simple request. To violate store policy for her perceived convenience. What do you even call that? Not entitlement, exactly. More like… a complete inability to process information that contradicts her desired outcome. A kind of selective reality, maybe? It’s fascinating, in a terrifying way. And the thing is, I didn’t snap. I didn’t even raise my voice. I just… kept the smile. She left, huffing, threatening to call corporate. Fine. Let her. And you’d think I’d feel good about that, right? About maintaining professionalism? About not letting her get to me? But I don't. I feel this weird… emptiness. This profound fatigue that isn't just physical. It’s like, my ability to feel anything except this flat, dull acceptance is just… gone. You know that feeling when you're just running on fumes for everyone else, always, and then someone just pushes you, and pushes you, and instead of exploding, you just… collapse internally? And then you're just left wondering what part of *you* is left after you've given everything to everyone, including to the woman who thinks you’re too stupid to understand a coupon expiration date. It’s 2 AM. Liam just had a bad dream, Mom’s monitor beeped twice. I'm staring at the ceiling, thinking about that woman's face. Not in anger, not even annoyance. Just… wondering. What is it? What's wrong with me, that I don't even feel angry anymore? Just this quiet, persistent dread. It's like my rage response has been completely… de-activated. Is that even healthy? I don't know what it is. I really don't.