Harley
Today will be a good day.
I woke up to the first rays of sunlight spilling gold across my face, like the universe itself was bestowing riches upon me. And I just knew it—today would be better than yesterday. Yesterday—no, let's not even go there. What's in the past is in the past, and as a firm believer in selective amnesia, I choose to forget it.
"Good morning," I say with a polite smile when I reach reception.
The receptionist is male, which momentarily throws me off. Do we still call them receptionists if they're men? Or is there some fancy corporate title for them? I shake my head. Nope. That's gender stereotyping, and I refuse to be that person.
"Good morning," he replies, flashing a friendly smile.
"Are you the new secretary?" he asks.
He's polite, friendly, and—wait for it—does not give off the mean-girl-energy that most receptionists seem to radiate toward female colleagues. Yes, I'm speaking from experience.
