The bundles go to the various editors.

Michael, 30-something, with a crisp accent (Swiss is my guess). He is the only one here who acknowledges me by name.

David, 30-something, looks the most like the New York intelligencia you would expect to find at the NYT. It takes me three days to stop calling him "Paul." David listens to music while he types. He is the loudest typer ever.

Scott, 40-something, is finishing his last week at the Times (he has taken a position with the UN in France). Scott looks like he should be driving a roadster, wearing goggles and a scarf. There is a glass of unfinished red wine on his desk from his farewell party that will remain there all week. There is also a blue donkey (or dog?) pinata that has been split open, unfortunately, in the rear. Even more unfortunate: it is filled with Hershey Kisses.

Nora, 20-something, who monitors the emailed submissions, and writes the odd book review. She never learns my name, and often does not look up when I say good morning. I overheard her say something about getting Kevin Bacon to write a piece on Scorcese’s GANGS OF NEW YORK. Why? I am not sure.

Terry is THE editor of the department. She is soft spoken and exudes intelligence; her vocabulary is peppered with rare and exciting words that she uses casually, and without a trace of airs. I frequent dictionary.com to look up some word that I have eavesdropped. Nora and Michael talk about Terry behind her back. David gives the appearance that he is not listening (or perhaps cannot hear over the typing?).

After the bundles have been delivered, I check the voice mail. I return a call to a woman in search of our mailing address. I suggest to her that she email the letter and she stops me in my tracks.

I don’t have a computer. Why should I want a computer?
So you could send and receive email?

What’s so great about f**king email?
Well, we could decline your nutty letter today, rather than wait three days. Also, you can't send me anthrax through email.

Since I do not see the emails, I can only assume that the computer-savvy readers are slightly more coherent, and perhaps less inclined to provide brief manifestos on how to solve the problems of the world. Email also comes in a standard format, which levels the playing field somewhat. You don’t, as in posted mail, lose credibility for writing your thoughts on post-it notes, the actual envelope (no stationery whatsoever), or (in the case of one urologist) on a prescription pad:

Where is the Vice President? Why is the media not addressing the disappearance of Dick Cheney? Does anyone even know where he was last seen?

This leads me to wonder: are these questions rhetorical or does he really think that an editor at The New York Times might be privy to inner secrets of the Executive Branch?

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