In the corner of the tiny waiting room is a huge machine to weigh yourself on. The TV is running non-stop promotional ads for weight loss products. There is a wall of brochures for people to take. I pick up the one which promises that exercise is a “silver bullet” for fatness. Silver bullets are more expensive versions of regular bullets. They are used not because they are cheaper (they’re not) or more effective against regular targets (they’re not), but because the magical silver is the only thing that can harm werewolves and other fantastical hard-to-kill monsters.
My fat body is a fantastical hard-to-kill monster which requires a magical solution to kill. My employer wants to kill my fat body with a silver bullet. I don’t even cry in the car. I just feel numb.
Need I say more?