A few of my coworkers looked over and snickered when they saw me packing my toys. I guess they saw the failure on my part, and the corresponding victory on their own, as clearly as I did. At least until the message from HR hit our inboxes, stating that since we had shown we couldn’t be respectful of one another’s things, we could no longer keep any personal items in our cubes. This included family photos and office supplies brought from home. Boxes would be distributed by the end of the day.

The snickers stopped then. So did the smug looks, replaced by glares. I wanted to tell them this wasn’t my fault, that if they had left me alone—if they had shown me the simple courtesy I was expected to show them—we would all be able to keep our nice things where we wanted them, and no one would be able to take them away. I didn’t say a word. Anything I said would only have made things worse, by proving I was smug about getting my way.

This wasn’t my way. This sort of passive, sneaky backstabbing wasn’t my way. I had always been open about what I was and what I wanted, and I had at least tried to make friends. I had tried.

The end of the work day is always nice, but I don’t think I’d ever been so glad to see the clock tick over. I grabbed my bag and my box of personal effects and hoofed it for the door, hoping to avoid confrontation with any of my coworkers. That was the last thing I needed to make my day truly terrible.

Home. Yes. Home, and Seymour, and a big bowl of buttered popcorn while I put some terrible movie on the TV and stopped dwelling on how much I was coming to hate the human race. Moments like this, I truly hoped I was right about my origins, because the invasion couldn’t come fast enough for me.

A few people were already at the bus stop when I walked up. They were all from different teams or different offices, and so there was no active unfriendliness in the air, just the tired distance of people who really didn’t want to talk to a stranger. I appreciated that. Tomorrow, and the yelling at me for ruining their desks, would come soon enough. I put my headphones on and tuned my iPod to one of my best “hate the world a little less” mixes, trying to let the music soothe my soul.

Bullies are bullies, no matter how old they are, and they always find a way to blame the bullied for the consequences of their own actions. I was weird. That was reason enough for everything to be my fault, and it always would be. It always will be.

Humans are awful.