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ANNE OF A THOUSAND THORNS

Even though I work at home I have to go to the office once a week to drop off/pick up hard copy, and make the necessary cooing sounds to the payroll clerk for the few shekels they toss my way.

The payroll clerk is a short, stocky, politically-rabid, warrior lesbian who, I think, hates everyone but Gertrude Stein (whom she resembles), Bella Abzug and her two Siamese cats, Blister and Puck, whose pictures fight for space on every unoccupied inch

The clerks' name is Anne, and she never fails to look at me as if I'm something she accidentally stepped in although I haven't, to my knowledge, committed any sin more heinous than being born into her world.

Today, for no reason, she snapped at me as soon as I walked in the door. "I bet you danced a jig when Hillary came in third, didn't you?"

What? I actually did the bit where you look around to see if someone is talking to you.

"No. No jig. Nary an errant toe tap, in fact."

She GLARED at me. "Fucker. Fuckin' Republican warmonger piece of shit."

What, I thought, did I do?

"I'm sorry if the Iowa caucus has offended you, Anne, but - I'm an Independent, and I haven't decided, yet, who I want to screw me over for four years."

She slapped my pay envelope on the desk, sniffed, and turned back to her keyboard. I was dismissed.

Leaving Annes' dark kingdom, I ran into Pam who warned me, too late, that Anne was 'on the warpath and taking scalps."

Next week, I'll take precautions.

Next week, I'll throw in some raw meat before I go in, and take the cattle prod with me.