Yo-Yo Boing!

— Those were the puritan fanatics that England rejected. The harmless ones stayed home. We said, go fanatics, go to the wilderness of monkeys. And look at the mess they created. You call that Multiculturalism. They obliviated the Indians. And they continue to do so in the name of Big Mac. Eighty, ninety languages a day. Poof. Gone. Look at Toni Morrison, Maxine Hong Kingston, and Amy Tan — writing about their lost culture — long dead. No wonder the bloody Americans celebrate them — because now they are no longer black or Chinese, they’re all GAP. Fifty years ago this was unheard of. American soccer players on the Brazilian team. French players on the British team. They sell themselves to the highest bidder. Is that diversity? No, now all the teams are the same!

— Y entonces my boss Ian, with the gap between his teeth — said to me:

— Can you picture Homar banging Kinney in Madrid. Repulsive, isn’t it. I like to picture Kinney bent over the kitchen sink in flannel slippers. How do you like to picture it?

— I prefer not to—I said.

And then, Kinney brings me back a lesbo porn magazine. Joanie told me to report it to personnel — it’s sexual harassment.

— Kinney—I said—I’m not a lesbian.

— I didn’t say you were—he laughed—but you can’t deny you’re a raving feminist. Ian and I thought this magazine would help you find yourself.

— No, no thank you—I answered, and Joanie told me:

— File a grievance. I’ll testify I saw the magazine.

— But I don’t know, what can happen to you. You gave Russell my book, and pasted a Playboy pin-up inside.

— I was teasing my Russell. It’s not the same. Did I fire anybody with only two weeks pay, two weeks before Christmas? It is insane, inhumane, don’t you see, if the guy hates New York why is he the head of the New York practice. Firing people with only two weeks pay, while he spends five grand on a Christmas party after Mr. Madonna sent a memo to the entire staff saying there should be no Christmas party this year, and then he spends the rest of what would be my compensation on Mont Blanc pens for all the clients, kiss-ass, but he wouldn’t even lend his secretary a Bic. I have a major problem with that. And when Kinney told me:

— Come to the Village with me and my boyfriend Homar. We would like you to be frank about your sexual preference. Why don’t you wear skirts to work?

— I wear them—I said—in the summer. And if you keep harassing me, I’ll sue you and the firm for sexual harassment.

Ian used to bellow from one hall to the other: Get me more coffee! Is that a way to treat your secretary. Nothing is ever enough.

— And it should never be enough. If they can keep pulling bunnies out of your hat. There was a moment when you should have put your foot down.

— I tried to transfer to another unit, but they were scared I would squeal. I saw what they were doing with the drug addict.

— A double standard — treating you so bad, while the coke-head was snorting nose-candy off the desk — dick privilege, coño, what an injustice.

— And you remember when they wanted to fire Joanie. They told me to testify that she distracts other secretaries by talking on the phone all day.

— No way—I said—she’s a typist. All she has to do is type. She can talk on the phone as long as there are no typos.

I am planning to tell La China:

— Keep trying to be white, they will always see you as yellow, and someday, they’ll fire you too, and you deserve it.

And Charlie, who said:

— What an unfortunate case! Why didn’t anyone tell me she was a perfect employee? I would have saved her job.

Why didn’t he check my personnel file himself. I have a problem with that. I told him:

— Promise me you will investigate their files. They have a long history of harassing women. I’m not the first.