Because it’s Saturday night and there are (and soon will be) so many new faces around here, I feel the need to remind y’all of who I am and why I “matter.” I welcome other authors to do the same. Point being, I’m an urban legend whose improbable tale just happens to be true. It all began one day back in November 2005, when I dropped by my office on the way to a literary journalism staff meeting:
ME: Do do do do WHOA!
HALF-NAKED COUPLE IN MY OFFICE: GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!
HALF-NAKED FEMALE: DON’T YOU KNOCK? (putting shirt back on)
ME: Before I come into my office?
HALF-NAKED MALE: GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! (buttoning pants)
ME: (starting to enjoy this) I have a student coming in two minutes. Finish up.
HALF-NAKED, BLUE-BALLED MALE: GO ALREADY!
ME: (closes door, waits one minute, knocks) Are you decent?
HALF-NAKED MALE: GO THE FUCK AWAY! THIS IS PRIVATE! WE’RE BUSY!
ME: (holding the door half-open) I’m coming in.
HALF-NAKED MALE: STOP HARASSING US YOU PERVERT OR I’LL REPORT YOU!
ME: (still holding door) You’ll report me for your having sex in my office?
HALF-NAKED MALE: GO THE FUCK AWAY!
ME: (still holding door) That’s it. Put your clothes back on. You can’t have sex in my office.
HALF-NAKED MALE: DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE COME IN HERE!
MY STUDENT: (walking up) What’s going on?
ME: (still holding door) Some people are trying to have sex in my office. I keep interrupting them.
MY STUDENT: Are they really having sex in there?
HALF-NAKED MALE: THIS IS SEXUAL HARASSMENT!
ME: (props open door with rubber stop) They’re trying.
This continues for a couple more minutes. He shouts profanity, she starts crying. Two minutes later the couple emerges and I receive nasty looks. Who am I to stop them from having sex in my office?