The Disposable Man

Dear Delyara, I watched them fire a colleague today who had been with the company for twenty years. They gave him an hour to pack his desk. He walked out carrying a box of framed photos and a stapler, looking like he’d been hit by a train. We all just stared at our screens, too scared to even say goodbye. It hit me then: I am just a number in a spreadsheet. I’m giving the best years of my life to a building that wouldn't even notice if I disappeared tonight. I feel like a gear in a machine that is slowly grinding me down to nothing