I do my job like always for the rest of the day. At five exactly, I'm out the door, temporarily free. Until now, I've been on auto-pilot, working to minimize the damage, aware of how I come off, manipulating the situation in my favor. Only now, away from the office-- when I'm actually myself, instead of in my corporate drone mode-- can I start to reflect on these past few hours.

I smoke a leisurely cigarette, walking down 8th Ave. to meet my girlfriend for Beyond Rangoon. I feel relieved, no longer having to guess what's going to happen. The only worry I have left is the memo, and the apology.



     

     At this point, I feel a surge of contempt for Patti for the way
     she handled her complaint.
     

     

     
My position on this is about to change. 
     Starting now,
     and continuing all weekend, the harassment shit begins to sink 
     in.
     I tell my girlfriend everything that was said in the 
     meeting,
     boasting a little about my subtle manipulations.
     

     

     

     

     
     

     

     When I finish, and throughout the next three days, she
     keeps repeating, "I don't think you feel as bad as you should. I worry
     it'll happen again. And next time you may really damage your career.
     I don't think you understand her reaction."
     
     

     Here's a woman whose respect, opinions and affection
     are important to me-- possibly the most important things in my life. 
     Hearing her, as she takes Patti's point of view, it hits me:
     

     


     
Not on Friday, not altogether
     on Saturday, but slowly over the course of the weekend, this notion 
     builds.
     I've never much cared for change, and I resist it, as I resist
     any challenge to my character. I test it by creating excuses for what 
     I did,
     trying to recall what it was I reacted to so strongly, and one by one 
     the
     excuses fail to hold up.

     


     
     
I start to hear it from the opposing side.
     My girlfriend and I keep revisiting the issue: I keep bringing it up.
      I pull back when I start to sense that she 
     resents
     being Patti's stand-in, as I try out various arguments on 
     her.
     But with her help, I figure out why my arguments are unsatisfying: 
     they are beside the
     point. It's only after a solemn effort to rebuild my position, to get 
     back
     the arrogance I'd felt just a few days earlier, that I start to feel 
     remorse.
     

     


     
Granted, it's a remorse shaped by fear of 
     rejection: by this woman I care
     for, by an employer, by other people whose respect I value. But 
     surprisingly,
     that doesn't make it any less genuine.