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Bow ties were big in the twenties, hand-painted hula dancers in the forties, neon daisies in the sixties, and anything that wasn’t in was out. But now all of the above are in, along with bolos, bandannas, and the ever-popular no tie at all. Bennett’s tie wasn’t any of those—it was just ugly.
    “What are you looking at?” Gina asked.
    “Dr. O’Reilly,” I said, wondering if he was old enough to have bought the tie new.
    “The geek down in Bio?” Elaine said, craning her neck. “Bad tie,” Gina said.
    “And those glasses,” Sarah said. “They’re so thick you can’t even tell what color his eyes are!”
    “Gray,” I said, but Elaine and Sarah had gone back to discussing stair-walking.
    “The best stairs are up on campus,” Elaine said. “The engineering building. Sixty-eight steps, but it’s gotten pretty crowded. So I usually do the ones over on Clover.”
    “Ted lives on Iris,” Sarah said. “He’s got to acknowledge his male warrior spirit, or he’ll never be able to embrace his female side.”
    “All right, fellow workers,” Management said. “Do you have your five objectives? Flip, would you collect them?”
    Elaine looked stricken. Gina snatched the list from her and wrote rapidly:
     
    Optimize potential.
    Facilitate empowerment.
    Implement visioning.
    Strategize priorities.
    Augment core structures.
    “How did you do that?” I said admiringly.
    “Those are the five things I always write down,” she said and handed the list to Flip as she slouched past.
    “Before we go any further,” Management said, “I want you all to stand up.”
    “Bathroom break,” Gina murmured.
    “We’re going to do a sensitivity exercise,” Management said. “Everybody find a partner.”
    I turned. Sarah and Elaine had already claimed each other, and Gina was nowhere to be seen. I hesitated, wondering if I could make it all the way over to Dr. O’Reilly in time, and saw a woman in a chic haircut and a red power suit moving purposefully through the crowd to me.
    “I’m Dr. Alicia Turnbull,” she said.
    “Oh, right,” I said, smiling. “Did you get your box okay?”
    “Everybody got a partner?” Management boomed. “Now, face each other and raise both hands, palms outward.”
    We did. “You’re all under arrest,” I joked.
    Dr. Turnbull raised an eyebrow.
    “Okay, fellow workers,” Management said, “now place your palms flat against the palms of your partner’s hands.”
    Silliness has always been a dominant trend in America, but it has only recently invaded the workplace, although it has its origins in the efficiency experts of the twenties. Frank and Lillian Gilbreth, the founders of the Cheaper by the Dozen clan, who clearly did not spend all their time in the factory (twelve children, count ’em, twelve), popularized the ideas of motion study, psychology in the workplace, and the outside expert, and American business has been in decline ever since.
    “Now, look deep in your partner’s eyes,” Management said, “and tell him or her three things you like about him or her. Okay. One.”
    “Where do they come up with this stuff?” I said, looking deep in Dr. Turnbull’s eyes.
    “Studies have shown sensitivity training significantly improves corporate workplace relations,” she said frostily.
    “Fine,” I said. “You go first.”
    “That package clearly said ‘perishable’ on it,” she said, pressing her palms against mine. “You should have delivered it to me immediately.”
    “You weren’t there.”
    “Then you should have found out where I was.”
    “Two,” Management said.
    “That package contained valuable cultures. They could have spoiled.”
    She seemed to have lost sight of an important point here. “Flip was the one who was supposed to have delivered it to you.”
    “Then what was it doing in your office?”
    “Three,” Management said.
    “Next time I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a message on my e-mail,” she said. “Well? Aren’t you