Chapter 3: Bureaucracy by the Numbers

I went back to my desk, revised the reimbursement amount, and brought the form to finance again.

My cubicle felt more like a holding cell. I tried to drown out the tap-tap of my neighbor’s keyboard and focused on the numbers, shaving off anything that might get me flagged again.

“Ms. Carter, how about this—just reimburse me according to $15 a night for hotels and $3 a day for meals.”

Rachel Carter glanced at my form, nails tapping the plastic company-branded water bottle on her desk, then tossed it back.

Her nails were painted a steely gray, matching her mood. “Can’t reimburse.”

“I’m already agreeing to the company’s rules. Why not?”

I couldn’t keep the impatience out of my voice. My head was pounding, and my hands were shaking from too much caffeine and too little food.

“The receipt amount doesn’t match the reimbursement amount.”

I stared in disbelief. “It’s fine. The receipts are higher than the reimbursement. Just process it according to company policy. IRS regulations allow it.”

I’d Googled this during one of my sleepless nights, convinced I was missing something obvious. But apparently, logic wasn’t part of the process.

“The IRS may allow it, but the boss doesn’t. He wants the amounts to match exactly.”

I lost my temper.

My voice was rising, echoing down the hallway. I could see people peeking over their cubicle walls, eager for a break from their own boredom.

“Ms. Carter, I haven’t been reimbursed in almost a year. I’ve advanced over $7,000 for the company, and now I’m only asking for $6,000, according to these absurd rules. Can’t you just process it?”

She just blinked, unfazed by my outburst. “Manager Sam, this is the boss’s requirement. If you get his signature, I’ll reimburse you anytime.”

Seeing her stubborn face, I had no choice but to go back to the boss.

I could feel my nerves fraying with every step to his office. The fake motivational posters on the walls did nothing to calm me down.

“Boss, finance says the receipt amount is too high. They need your signature to process it.”

He saw the form was over $1,000 less than before and smiled.

His smile was the kind you see on game show hosts when they know you’ve just lost the grand prize. “Sam, you know, a big company can’t run on personal favors—it needs rules. Think of this as a lesson you’ve paid for. Normally, the company wouldn’t allow this, but I’ll make an exception for you, just this once.”

He signed the form, more than happy to pocket over $1,000 from me.

I watched him sign with a flourish, like he was doing me a favor instead of bleeding me dry. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret.

With his signature, I dashed back to finance.

I sprinted down the hallway, heart racing, only to find Ms. Carter sipping her iced coffee and scrolling through her phone.

The accountant tossed the form back again.

“Can’t reimburse.”

I could feel my blood pressure rising.

The world seemed to go red for a second. I gripped the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles ached.