by Elizabeth Collins
Fresh out of college in 1993, I landed a job with a literary agent. Don’t ask me how.
The job, however plummy it seemed, was actually insane. Every day was a lesson in Real Life.
The first thing I learned was: Don’t let the bike messengers use the bathroom. They’re usually shooting up in there.
I got screamed at, reamed out, when I let the messenger use the bathroom.
“Don’t you know what they do in bathrooms!?” My new co-worker was horrified.
I could imagine it, yes, because it is hot in NYC in summer, and bike messengers must drink a lot of water.
“Heroin!” she shouted. “Smack! They’re junkies!”