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lengthy case histories of clients long since deceased and sorting them into meaningless piles and attaching gummed labels that tasted like dead socks.
    Suddenly, one afternoon, he appeared in the doorway, his face drawn, his eyes filled with tears. “I read Frain last night,” he said. “All night. Why—I—You should have told me. Oh God, oh God! What have I done to you? How can I make it up? You want my job? Take it.”
    â€œNo, thanks. That’s all right. No problem,” I said. “I’m quitting.”
    He begged me to stay. “I can’t live with my conscience if you won’t let me do something for you. Let me at least take you to lunch. There’s a terrific little seafood place a block from here that I’ve been keeping to myself—”
    â€œDon’t bother,” I said. “Come five o’clock you’ll never see me again.”
    I was true to my word. I’m a vice-president of Yakamoto now, where I’ve designed a remorse program for assembly-line workers to build stronger emotional responses to poor workmanship, tardiness, false sick days, and excessive lunch breaks. The job is challenging, the people pleasant, the fringe benefits outstanding, and the salary is three hundred and ninety-five thou a year. The Japanese place a high premium on shame. You don’t see them treating other people like dirt. They even feel contrition for things that someone standing next to them did! They treat me like a prince. I’m a lucky man. I’m extremely happy here.

THE PEOPLE VS. JIM
    Q: JIM , I’D LIKE YOU TO LOOK at this magazine article entitled “The Twenty Best Hash Browns in Town” and tell me if you wrote it.
    A: Yes, I did.
    Q: How about this? “Fifteen Great Ideas for Putting New Life in Those Dingy Stair Treads.” Was that the second “list” article you wrote for a magazine?
    A: No, that was my tenth. That was after “Eleven Restaurants You’ll Remember the Rest of Your Life,” “Ten All-Time Greatest Half & Halfs,” “My Ten All-Time Favorite Racquetball Partners,” “Ten Ways to Lose Four Pounds in Two Days,” “Ten Celebrities Show Off Their Basements,” “Eight Methods of Beating a Midlife Slump,” “Seven Terrific Marriages,” “Six Meaner Dogs Than You Ever Saw Before,” and “Five Kids Who Make Your Kids Look Sick.”
    Q: What happened, Jim? Why couldn’t you quit then? You knew it was wrong.
    A: I know, but look at it my way. First of all, I think that—
    Q: “Thirty People Who’d Like to Be Your Friend,” “Ten Famous People’s Breakfasts,” “Eighteen Best Red Things,” “Six Best Tops of Things,” “Twelve Biggest Unnoticed Things,” “Twenty-one Places Where Famous People Were Seen Doing One of Two Things”—the list goes on, Jim.
    A: I had a house, I was married, we had two children, pets, a summer place, a boat, a membership in a health club, and a good investment program. But more than that, I found it satisfying. I was a child of the forties, and through the fifties, sixties, seventies, and into the eighties my life seemed confused, purposeless, ill defined. Lists helped to center me a little, calm me down. I took out a clean sheet of paper, numbered it from one to fifteen or twenty—I got a feeling of accomplishment.
    Q: You went crazy, Jim. You wrote for sixty-eight different lifestyle magazines, including Des Moines, The Boisean, The Orlandan, The Albuquerquer, The Wichitan, Los Angel, The Quad Citian, The Bethesdan, The Hobokener, The Duluthist, The Renoite, Oakland, The Queenser, Bismarck, The Baton Rougist, The Omahite, The Pittsburghast , and you wrote lists of best artists, best music videos, best hamburgers, quiet restaurants, noisy restaurants, bourbons, aluminum foils, dining-room sets, wallets, American novels, cheese snacks, hotel lobbies,