Charles Antin
were to drop to her knees at this very moment, unzip my fly and hungrily welcome me in, I could only utter vague remonstrations re: my wife and/or the boss/intern relationship before giving in to her lust. "HR will process the paperwork. Now go!" I say in my Moses voice. "Go whence you came child, sally forth and prosper mightily." The next day I arrive at the office and am woe to find a dearth of bagels. I seek out the intern and ask her what gives. "You promoted me," she says. "Per my new job description, the bagels are no longer my thing." I hate her so much but I love her at the same time. The Iron Age! Acquisition! The modern workplace! What happened? I thought we had something! Did I not feed her a bagel from my very hands? The Intern-the Senior Administrative Intern-is technically correct, but 1 thought that she was the type of person who takes initiative, who thinks outside of the box. Would it have been so hard for her to do something not expressly outlined in her job description? No. Which is why I can't help but take her civil disobedience as a personal affront. She knows what I think of those bagels, how they are so much more than bagels. She knows how I felt when I placed that everything bagel on her tongue, like a priest giving communion. Why, then, has she shunned me? We ate from the same bagel. We discussed ancient Chinese literature. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Maybe it was too far. What does she care about Sun Tzu? She is an intern, not a warrior. St. Jude, S.O.S., I scribble on my mouse pad, but perhaps I'm too far gone? The next day, I do the thing that I've never done: I pick up the bagels on my way to work. My first thought is that I'll have compromised my authority as Scan Manager if I start doing the work of interns. Then I remember that Gandhi wove his own cloth to unite the people oflndia against the English. I buy the bagels. I segregate those with more aggressive toppings (garlic, salt, everything) from those without (cinnamon raisin, sesame, plain). I have to admit, it feels good. Back at the office, I choose the intern's favorite bagel from the bunch: the cinnamon raisin, toasted twice, with cream cheese. A combination whose elusive charms I could never comprehend. An affront to the bagel eating population? Perhaps. But for the intern, I am willing to go there. I arrange the bagel on a paper plate and bring it to the intern's cubicle. I knock on the wall and she spins around to face me. Suddenly, everything I planned to say is gone. "Here," I say instead, and hand her the bagel. She takes it from me and 54
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