But that little red envelope glared at me from my desktop, telling me there was more to my boss than what was on his slick surface. Glaring back at it, I whispered, “Go fuck yourself. You’re just a card. What do you know? You don’t even have a brain.” Now that I’d told the inanimate object off—undoubtedly a new low for me—I sat down in my chair and turned on my computer, getting back to work.
