Everyone gathered, giving me sympathy. Yuck. I love the anonymity of being an assistant. Mr. Jameson tut-tutted over my foot and told me he would take it easy on me. Even Ms. Evans stopped and patted my head like a sick child. I doubt if anyone believed my story. Fine.
Later, my other phone vibrated. Nobody was around so I took it out. Fingerprint, retina scan and 18-digit passcode later, I read the text message.
“Thanks for making the world safe, once again.” It was the president.
Mr. Jameson had joked that at least I had some excitement.
A few days ago I had a conversation with someone about how it seems that every waitress in every diner, no matter her age, seems to call every male over 20 “Hon”, “Honey” or “Dearie”. She had a few theories, which I won’t repeat, but my comment was about how odd it sometimes felt in the “me too” era. Actually, I always felt it was odd, but worse now! But perhaps they are right, perhaps it does make some people feel at home.