The Summer Deal

One - Public bathrooms should be soundproof for women.

"Sarah, you're exhausting yourself. When was the last time you took a vacation?"

There was only one thing in this universe that I despised the most—and sadly, it was not my neighbor's Rottweiler, James Bond—it was that forbidden word that began with the letter v.

Vacation: a period of time spent traveling and resting away from home.

Resting. Relaxing. Not working. My skin crawled at that thought. My 6-weeks-old manicured nails tightly gripped the white coat resting on my lap as I resisted the urge to scratch Patty and Betty, who arrived only this morning, on my chin. I could feel the air conditioner drying a sheen layer of oil on my face, my temporary and permanent residents partying along with germs and dirt. It was time for me to wash and cleanse my face, but this meeting with the HR manager was unexpected and took too much time.

"Sarah, are you listening to me?" The manager knocked on her desk to grab my attention, and when I finally snapped out of my skin concerns, I saw her scowling. "Lack of concentration. Now you see what I am talking about? You need to get away from here."

This was a nightmare for me. I could not leave the confines of my lab when I was only months away from making a breakthrough in cancer research by introducing a virus that would slow the generation of cancer cells, giving more time to the patient to live their lives fully. There was no cure, yet. But my research was a start.

"I believe my time can be utilized more efficiently here," discreetly, I checked the manager's nameplate on the desk, "Simmons. Mrs. Simmons. Wait—what happened to Ms. Dane?"

"I got married. A year ago." My face turned red in embarrassment. "Looks like your lack of concentration also accompanies a lack of basic gossip knowledge."

"That's not true," I grumbled, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me, "I know the latest gossip. I attend those alternate Friday bar nights at Pubsville."

"Because Derrick, the night guard, forced you to attend those in exchange for working after-hours without permission." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Sarah, the institution really appreciates your contribution and hard work to the society, but you need to get a life. Take care of yourself."

"But that does not mean I have to take a vacation!"

"The last time you took a leave, which was only for two days..." Mrs. Simmons flipped some pages of her file, "... was five years ago. Reason - pet goldfish died. To be honest, I expected more of these absurd reasons over the years. Do tell, what do you do on Sundays, and let's ignore how you work overtime as well as after closing hours on Saturdays here."

"I read." I meekly mumbled.

"Read? That's good." Mrs. Simmons hummed in approval. "What do you read?"

"Journals and research papers."

The manager shut her file and tossed it on her desk with a loud thud. I flinched. "You want to know what I do on Sundays, Dr. Grant? I go shopping. I spend time with my husband and my friends because that's what normal people do on Sundays. They don't work or think about work."

"But I—"

"Working hours are from Monday to Friday, 9 to 6. Try to follow that when you come back from your vacation, Dr. Grant. It is my job to make sure that everyone here is happy with their jobs."

"But I am happy," I said, trying my best not to raise my voice.

"Let me finish. My job is also to make sure that people working here are taking care of themselves for this facility's major productivity. You, Dr. Grant, happen to be one of those people, and you also happen to come under the list of important scientists working here in Collingwood Center. Many young interns look up to you. Even your colleagues do, but you're not looking after yourself, Sarah. Just like you, I take my job very seriously too."