Although this is the 2nd anniversary of the release of the you-know-whats into the Fetid Lake of Doom (and after reading the link, you'll see why Capitol Lake is covered with so much gunk lately), I'm going to focus on something else today-- My adventure with an anonymous private corporation. So I guess it is sort of related to the you-know-whats.

I had a problem with this particular company (not named for legal reasons) and sought a resolution. So, I took some time off work and visited their headquarters, up in Seattle. Their waiting room was filled with people like myself, perhaps 30 of us. Behind the counter, there were about a half dozen company employees doing paperwork, not one of them looking up, not one of them helping any of us who were waiting in little roped lines.

After several minutes of this, a woman who carried an air of authority walked into the room and called out my name. I raised my hand, she told me I needed to see "Mr. Myers," but he was asleep right now. He was expected to wake up within the hour, if I wouldn't mind waiting. Before I could react, she wheeled around and quickly walked away.

Well, it was more than an hour later when my legs got tired and I finally just sat down on the floor and started to read a magazine they had on hand. It was some news mag featuring an article about "Deadeye" Dick Cheney shooting another rich white guy in the face, which should give you an idea of how current the reading material was. Then I heard a low, raspy, nicotine stained voice ask me, "Sir, have you been helped?" There stood a very small woman with thick glasses, "If you need help, Sir, I can help."

But as I started to answer, the original power-dressed woman who had called my name more than an hour before quickly walked in, bent over my new little company friend and asked in a very slow, condescending lilt,

"Gretchen, just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm helping this gentleman with his problem."

"Now Gretchen," her voice began to develop an edge at this point, "We know what happened last time, don't we? We don't want that to happen again, do we?"

"But I promised I wouldn't do it again. I said I was sorry. Don't you trust me?"

"Go." She pointed to a doorway where I could see a little honeycomb of cubicles. "Go back now." The command was stern but evenly delivered.

Gretchen balked.

"I said," and this last word was given through clenched teeth, "NOW!"

Gretchen looked right at me, raised her eyebrows and her shoulders and sighed, "Well, I tried. Good luck." Then she walked away.

Ms. Supervisor turned real sweet and told me Mr. Myers was asleep right now. He was expected to wake up within the hour, if I wouldn't mind waiting. Before I could react, she wheeled around and quickly walked away. Wait. Who hit the "repeat" button?

I never did see Mr. Myers. I fell asleep myself in the waiting room, and when I woke up the place was closed and everyone was gone, except the security guard who kicked me out.

Next time I go up I'm bringing a video camera.