When I was about 16, I worked part-time as a stock boy and gofer at the central office of a chain of health clubs in Houston.
One of my not-quite-co-workers was Bobby, a big black guy who was the right-hand man of the distribution director. The performance of our duties would normally almost never put Bobby and I in the same room together, but I saw him everyday anyway. Continue reading “The Funny Thing About Sexual Harassment. And Then the Unfunny Thing.”