Scary.

I cannot enter your office without an official escort.
I cannot look you directly in the eye as we ride the elevator together.
I dare not sit at the same table as you in the cafeteria on the 20th floor.
I feel really tense when we pass each other in the hall. You sorta, scrunge up against the wall so I don't brush the fabric of your shirt that probably costs more than the rent I pay.
You would rather talk about me, than to me.

Is this who I will become when I get an office with my name on it?