Friday I didn’t go in. I didn’t call either. I lay in bed smoking and thinking about the office. The more I thought about it the more absurd it became. I couldn’t take all those rules seriously. I started to laugh, thinking of the typists jammed into the bathroom, smoking. But it was my job. Not only that—I was the one person who had trouble with the rules. Everybody else accepted them. Was this a mark of my madness?
