I've been wanting to tell you about Steven, my old boss back at CACC, where I taught financial literacy to women in shelters. When Steven wasn't hopping around the office hollering 'CLINER', one of his pet names for me (the other was RC), he was hovering outside my office door, excitedly rambling about the newest breakthrough he had in psycho-therapy that week. Every morning, he would yell for me to come sit in his office under the pretense of an 'office meeting.' He would keep me prisoner there for hours, alternating between rants about the newest motorcycle part that he was using to fix his Ducati and his long-distance relationship with a girl he never failed to mention was two years my junior. As if that wasn't creepy enough, every Wednesday we took an hour long subway trip to the Bronx together to do our outreach work. These hours were typically filled with his innocuous chatter while I politely endured his halitosis. Our "conversation" always included at least 20 ego-stroking minutes in which he explained how, one day, he would be a millionaire, like his brother. Once, though, he really offended me. He gestured to a women and her children sitting across from us and said under his breath, "Poor people shouldn't be allowed to have so many children." ...she and her beautiful children happened to be of African American descent. I quit two days later.
I find these memories somewhat amusing now that I don't deal with him every day. This is a good rendition of how harried I looked on a day to day basis there.