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m assaulted dozens of times a day. In so many ways, I'm forced to view, to listen to, to consider, the absurd, the ugly and the flat out disturbing. These assaults come in various forms. There's Phil from the appellate group who leaves at least one 5mm day glo bright whitehead on his face at all times. You've got Ed from the copy room who smiles broadly - his teeth littered with chunks of roast beef and cheese - while you fill out his copy forms. There's Melvin the mail room assistant who's never heard of deodorant. Oh, and Kathy, the secretary down the hall with emphysema, coughing, then swallowing, then re-coughing back into her mouth the same slug of phlegm all day long. I can't forget Tim, the quiet, lanky, pubescently acned associate down the hall who's perpetually picking his nose. And back in the golden age of corporate casual, before they banned the office sweat suit look, there was Gladys and Delores, the dumpy, lazy, 45ish gave-up-on-life-at-19 200lb assistants who sat outside my office. Gladys, a/k/a "Cameltoe," wore pink or green stretch pants which, strained far beyond the capabilities of state of the art polyester, frequently exposed, as though they were body paint, the outline of the gaping crevice in her udder-like genitals. Dolores, a/k/a "Double Ass," wore pleated women's Dockers three sizes too small, which highlighted an amazing "gunt" that protruded as much in front as her ass did in the back - basically, Homer Simpson's body with a set of tits. With the wrong eyes, on a rough morning after a long night out, you couldn't tell from a modest distance whether she was coming or going.