Today I found out that having drinking water at my workplace is an exclusive privilege that State Street Bank is offering to me and the rest of the floor out of pure generosity, rather than legal obligation. I learned this interesting fact from Angeles, the new secretary on the floor, during a very unpleasant one-minute conversation about the fact that we haven’t had any cups out of which to drink this water for the past two months. She says that she’s worked for companies that haven’t provided water, and I have to admit I was surprised. Was she sewing textiles in Nicaragua? If she were working in a sweatshop, she definitely wouldn’t be the one toiling away at the sewing machine, but rather the one illegally locking the bathroom. Our lives here are certainly under lock and key, and the thought of having to talk to her just to get paper for my morning reports gives me a stomach ache. Oh wait, that’s just dehydration.
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