Chapter 8: The Power Shift

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and tried to calm down. The cold water stung my cheeks, the harsh fluorescent light making everything look even grimmer. The smell of cheap soap and disinfectant filled the air. When I entered the room, everyone was already seated—Marge and her clique at the front, playing on their phones.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. I caught my reflection in the mirror—red-faced, hair askew. I splashed cold water on my cheeks, straightened my tie, and walked in, head held high.

I found a seat in the corner, but as soon as I sat, the new supervisor said, “Brian, come here. Switch seats with Marge.”

His tone was sharp and commanding, leaving no room for argument. The whole room turned to watch.

Everyone stared in surprise. After all, Marge had ousted several supervisors before and was never afraid.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even Marge’s friends looked uneasy.

She put down her phone, glanced at the new supervisor, and smiled. “Hey, I was wrong to call you big-headed at lunch, but this is just how we’ve always sat.”

She tried to play it cool, her voice light, but her foot tapped under the table and her jaw clenched ever so slightly.

She picked up her phone and kept playing, not moving at all.

She crossed her legs, pretending not to care. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy.

The new supervisor rolled his eyes and said, “Brian, come over and sit in my seat!”

He stood, gesturing to his chair. His voice was steady, unyielding. The power dynamic in the room shifted.

At this point, there was no reason to hesitate. Helping the supervisor meant helping myself.

I stood up, my heart pounding. Every eye in the room was on me. My footsteps echoed on the tile, my palms sweaty as I squared my shoulders and walked to the front.

Without another word, I walked over and sat in the new supervisor’s seat.

The chair was warm, the leather creaking under my weight. I looked out at the room, trying to hide my nerves. The stares felt like spotlights.

I saw Marge look up, her face full of disbelief.

Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide. For the first time, she looked unsure of herself. I made a silent promise: I wouldn’t let her win again. The tables had finally turned.