Nude Men

She makes a big noisy kiss.
    “Me too, me too too.”
    I hang up the phone and go to my boss, the head researcher, hoping he has some fact checking for me to do.
    “No, I don’t have anything right now,” he says. “But maybe Annie has some filing for you.”
    Of course, as usual, maybe Annie has some filing for me. I am twenty-nine years old, I am a fact checker, and maybe Annie has some filing for me. A fact checker is what I am. I’m not a filer, I’m not an editorial assistant. I’m a little better than that, which is normal because I paid my dues for many years, I worked my way up. I’m a fact checker, hoping to be a writer. I would like to be a journalist, a writer of magazine articles, an interviewer. The glamorous people I would write articles about would then know me, be my friends, and perhaps even marry me.
    Three years ago, when I started my fact checking job at this magazine, I let my superiors know that it would please me greatly to write little articles once in a while. Sure, they said. The only thing they’ve given me so far is a small, unimportant story on the little boy who played in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. That was a year ago. Since then, nothing. The other fact checkers, and even the editorial assistants, get to write articles all the time. I, on the other hand, file. For hours at a time, I file. They give me mountains of it. Sometimes, when I’m filing, I almost cry. I get tears of rage in my eyes. Why, I wonder, must I do this? Why am I the only one? They know I want to write. How many times must I tell them?
    I walk toward Annie and stop in front of her desk. “Hi, Annie. Is there any filing?”
    “When there’s filing, it’s on the file cabinets as usual, Jeremy,” she says without looking up.
    Condescending! People at work are often condescending to me, especially the lowly editorial assistants. I should not pretend I don’t know why, just as I should not pretend I don’t know why I don’t get articles to write. It’s because I am mushy. I am a mushy man. I reek of mushiness and meekness. People at work have always been condescending to me. They talk to me with excessive self-confidence. When they’re in a group, talking together, and I pass by, one of them might say very loudly, “Hi, Jeremy!”
    “Oh, hi,” I answer cheerfully, pretending I am a normal person who did not notice the mocking loudness of the greeting. Then I think that perhaps they mock me because I don’t say hi to them often enough.
    I try to think of new ways to act, ways that might make people respect me more. For example, one day I came in and talked very loudly to everyone.
    I said, “Hi, Annie!” very loudly, and then I went to John, the head researcher, and said, “Hi, John! Do you have fact checking for me today?” Very loudly.
    I did not notice any increase in their respect for me.
    Another day I tested a new technique, which was to not pretend I liked them, to not pretend I liked my job, and to not pretend I was in a fine mood. I even decided to not hide any anger I might have.
    “Hi, Jeremy,” Annie said.
    “Yeah, hi,” I answered. I sat at my desk, took my time, ate a banana, and slowly made my way to the head researcher’s office. “I’m here,” I said glumly.
    “Hi, Jeremy,” said the head researcher. “I don’t have any fact checking right now, but maybe Annie has some filing for you.”
    I left his office without answering, went back to my desk, ate another banana, and said to Annie, “Any filing?”
    “Yes, actually there’s quite a lot of it today. I put it on the file cabinets.”
    Another time I tested the technique of being extremely nice to everyone.
    “Hi, Annie,” I said sweetly, happily, tenderly. “How are you?”
    “Okay.”
    “If there’s any work you need help with, just tell me and I’ll give you a hand.”
    “No thanks. There’s just the filing on the file cabinets.”
    “Sure, I’ll do that, but first I have to go ask John if there’s any fact checking he might need help with.”
    “Hi, John,” I said. “How are you today?”
    “Fine, thanks, Jeremy.”
    “I hope you’re not too overloaded with work. Is there any fact checking or anything else I can help you with?”
    “No, thanks,” he answered, not really paying attention because he was working at his computer. “Everything’s under control. Ask Annie for some filing.”
    I am not a mean person. I have never been mean to any of these people. I get a feeling of