It is such a joy to come to work and receive calls from people like you. You're part of a small group, one of rare intellect who when facing insurmountable problems, circumvents the chain of command most people would find obvious and jumps right to the person least likely to be able to help you, the person with no involvement in your problem whatsoever, and then starts yelling. I feel so blessed to be that person today. My extended pauses, as you attempted to wither me with sarcasm and accusation, were merely a measure of my deep respect for your no-nonsense problem-solving abilities.

Thank you, Mr. C, for telling me all about your extensive wealth--I understand that makes you a superior human, and I bow before you. Thank you for pronouncing my name with the maximum scorn possible, and suggesting that if I was "having a bad hair day," I shouldn't take it out on you. I understand now that my polite tone and repeated offers of assistance were mere crumbs before your great majesty, and that I should have offered you free blow jobs from the entire staff, to make up for any inconvenience you had experienced.

I understand that your yelling might put some people off, but not me, for I know that I am lucky just to talk to you on the phone, for that represents the gift of your time. I apologize for my request that you refrain from yelling in my ear, and I will treasure the gift of your sheer volume.

I have come to understand and appreciate the following facts:

• You travel. You mentioned this repeatedly, for no apparent purpose. Yet just the mere mention of it imbues my day with the glamorous air of your jet-set lifestyle, and my eyes are glittering, thinking of the luxury.


• You are rich. You can't see me, but I am prostrating myself before you, shredding my clothes and rolling in dirt, that your glory might shine that much brighter in comparison.


• You view sarcasm as the ultimate form of wit. My soul has withered in the face of your genius. It takes brilliance to make unfounded personal accusations of essentially a glorified secretary who is paid to be polite to you, and you sir, possess that brilliance.


• You think my name is stupid. How right you are, sir. I could hear your lip curling in contempt as you repeated my name, and understood my name's significance in my failure to become as rich and powerful as you. Even though you did not tell me your first name, I have faith that it is strong and representative of your status. Something like Wellington, or Christ. If I ever do learn it, I will never pronounce it aloud when I'm alone, watching Springer in my trailer, nor put it into writing. You shall be like G-d to me.

I appreciate your wisdom in terminating the phone call before I termed you "verbally abusive and claimed to be traumatized." That shows your sensitivity, as well as your understanding that it is your right in life to say whatever you wish to anyone at any time, as it is my position to absorb your wrath, without holding you responsible.

Thank you for allowing me to understand that my college education, my vocabulary, my skill as a painter, my caring friends, my love of small animals--like squirrels, for example, or maybe a bunny with a black ring around one eye, that's always cute--mean nothing in the grand scheme of things, and that my failure to amount to anything in life can be attributed to my first name and my propensity for "bad hair days."

I bow before you, powerful, sarcastic landowner. I will pray nightly that the size of your bank account increases in inverse proportion to the length of your shriveled genitals, and also that I will have the strength of character not to distribute your name, address, and telephone number to every unsavory social organization beneath the sun.

Thank you, Mr. C., and God bless you.

Sincerely,

Ann (formerly Violet)