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  • I was in high spirits as I walked to my office in the city of London. I was only eighteen but had landed a job in a company magazine; as an editorial assistant, planning the layout of the magazine with the two female commercial artists Angie and Kate. I had high hopes of making my way up the ladder to become a journalist.

    I entered my office, flung my coat over a hook and turned to my table. What the hell! There was a used condom full of white liquid on my chair.

    What sort of message was someone sending me?

    I screwed up a piece of newspaper and scooped the condom. Bearing it aloft I walked into the editor’s office.

    “I just found this on my chair,” I quavered.

    “Oh,” he said, “You found one. There’s been one there every day this week. I’ve been removing them before you came in each day.”

    My head reeled. “Did you try and find out who did it?” I asked.

    “How could I?” he asked me shrugging his shoulders.

    How could they treat me like this? Was I going to be attacked?

    In tears I walked over to Angie and Kate’s office and explained what had happened. They thought it was highly amusing.

    “You wouldn’t think it was funny if you found it on your chair,” I told them.

    I was afraid. There was a huge print room down the corridor with at least twenty men working their.
    It could be any one of them.

    I returned home shaking all over and locked myself in my bedroom.

    My father knocked on the door two hours later:
    “Your boss is on the phone.”

    “I don’t want to talk to him!”

    “You’ve got to talk to him, Diane and sort it out.”

    “Please come back tomorrow, you are the only one who is trained to finish the magazine this week.”

    “I can’t go back,” I sobbed.

    “You are sensitive, aren’t you?” he replied thoughtfully, “I suppose I should have done something about the situation earlier.”

    “I’m not going back to that building, I could be attacked.” I told him and slammed down the phone.
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