The Department of Justice gave me a Dilbertian perspective on office types. Creatures unknown in my museum/ archaeology/ academic/trailer park past. I liked the gay paralegals and the kooky clerks with their CAMH-worthy inspirational posters and philodendrons. Others, like my boss and her bloaty merlot-soaked cronies, I could do without. Once in the elevator, a corner-office QC imitated me: “Like Laurie, like are you like going like home like now?” I couldn’t answer. I was entranced by how the halogen lighting turned his synthetic wig into a lurid pink possum. Perched coyly atop his livery head, it dared me to say something. Image: Wayfair.
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