I rearranged another woman’s desk once. I did it, and I’m not proud. Let me tell you the story. Following graduation, I temped in a postgraduate admissions office. My two colleagues, Moira and Margaret, existed in constant, absolute disarray. I quietly gaped at the inefficiency with which they dispatched information to applicants from all over the world. Chinese students mostly, but also Italian, American, . . .
A story from oh comely issue eleven. I was a lousy office temp, the despair of my agency. I'd blundered my way through several positions, leaving a trail of botched account books and frozen switchboards in my wake. As a result, they sent me to the worst places on file. I'd just spent a week answering the phone in an office that smelled like ham, and . . .