19
Atlanta
May 29, 2015
“Hey, new girl.” A woman snapped her fingers at me.
I blinked at her, trying to remember her name. Kristen, Kirsten, Krista? I wasn’t sure, but I forced down my snarky response. I was the new girl after all. I’d done my time, completed physical therapy school, and I was only one week into my new job as an Atlanta Falcons physical therapist and athletic trainer.
“Yes? How can I help?”
“Ferguson wants a coffee. Here’s his order.” She passed me a piece of paper with the coffee order for the head athletic trainer.
And when the boss said he needed something, it was better to jump than ask questions.
So, I jumped, heading back out of the training room and into the main break room with its fancy espresso machine. Three years in physical therapy school, and I was ba
