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Cort sits in a taupe/beige/eggshell/ office (with unenthusiastic teal carpet) belonging to OCW’s silent boogeymen, the powers that be, the men behind the men, the ghostly fist of social justice… human resources. Chairs are arranged so that Cort is alone facing a panel of four HR personnel, each with varying states of resting bitch face. The atmosphere is oppressive. On the wall, a clock ticks. The roman numeral for 4 on it is written as “IIII.” Some believe this room to be purgatory incarnate. To Cort, it is an early circle of hell. He has been there for two and a half hours.

 

One of the HR people taps a pen on his clipboard.

 

HR 1: Next question. A minority applies for a job at a workplace you manage. He has equal qualifications to other applicants, who are white. Whom do you pick?

 

A single bead of sweat slides down Cort’s forehead.

 

Cort: If you think I’m going to hire some do-nothing green-card...

 

He coughs.

 

Cort: I mean, I don’t know? If they all have equal qualifications it’s not… an easy decision?

 

The man taps the pen again, harder.

 

HR 1: Wrong! If they’re a non-white american, they’re a HIRED american! If we want to vanquish the sick, pervasive, festering disease that is white supremacy, we must always give everyone else a chance first!

 

Cort looks at the committee.

 

Cort: But… you’re all white?

 

A woman raises her shrill, strangled bird of prey type voice.

 

HR 2: AKTUALLY, I am descended from the great Jewish tribes of Northern Antafrica, and I am VERY offended that you would seek to marginalize me this way!

 

Cort: I’m sorry, I should have expected this.

 

She raises an eyebrow. The silence is palpable.

 

HR 2: ... Why? Because of my--

 

Cort is completely oblivious.

 

Cort: Because of your nose, yes.

 

She screams.

 

HR 2: No, no, no! Assuming makes a gluteus maximus out of you and me! Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. Many gluteus maximuses are vibrant and creative contributors to society and should be celebrated…

 

She trails off.

 

The man speaks up again.

 

HR 1: We’ve been at this for hours and you’re still not grasping the basics. You have to let go of your internalized prejudices and see everyone on a basis of being equal. And then you have to apologize for what your great grandfather did in the crusades.

 

Cort: My great grandfather was a potato farmer in the 1900’s.

 

Another man on the right with frosted tips who looks like Guy Fieri after 3 years as a POW begins to speak.

 

HR 3: And I bet he voted republican too! See! It runs in your family, Cort. But we can help you. We’re not your enemies! If you want that match… you have to face an even tougher test. The test of letting go of your hate.

 

HR 3: Let’s try a little exercise. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. Mmmkay? Now. Imagine the person you hate most in the world. A hypothetical combination of everything you dislike.

 

Cort frowns.

 

Cort: ... It’s just H2O.

 

Cort: Wait…

 

Cort: Nope, he turned into Al Gore.

 

Frosted McTips sighs.

 

HR 3: Really? Al Gore. Al fudging Gore. Not, like, Hitler or something? Al Gore was worse than Hitler?

 

Cort: Well, Hitler didn’t run for president… but now that you mention it, I can give Gore a Hitler ‘stache.

 

HR 3: That’s not the point!

 

Cort: Well, what is? I’m liking it already. I can imagine beating him up and taking his lunch money and filling a sock with marbles and…

 

The third man is getting frustrated at this point, his voice strained.

 

HR 3: No! Wrong! You’re supposed to imagine that person and make peace with them. Accept that your ideals and their ideals are different, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re wrong.

 

Cort: Isn’t that what you just did to me?

 

HR 3: ... No! Are you stupid!

 

He gasps and claps a hand over his mouth.

 

HR 3: I’m sorry, so sorry! I meant “are you developmentally disabled.” That was very un-PC.

 

Cort opens his eyes.

 

Cort: So I’m supposed to… somehow… imagine… that not all liberals are wrong?

 

HR 3: Yes.

 

Cort: But that’s the default state of a liberal! It’s like positive and negative electro-thingies! You can’t be right and a liberal!

 

HR 3: Don’t use words like “can’t.” Instead use words like “seemingly unlikely from my current point of view!”

 

Cort: But that’s not a word. That’s a phrase.

 

HR 3: And you don’t want to be phrase-ist, do you?

 

Cort stares.

 

HR 3: DO YOU!?

 

Cort: N-no?

 

HR 3 nods.

 

HR 3: Thank you. Maybe we are getting somewhere!

 

The previously-silent last member of the committee speaks.

 

HR 4: Regardless… we don’t have all the time in the world, Mr. Marshall. After all, we are very busy people. And there are many peoplekind in OCW who do not respect others! Why, just today I had to reprimand a certain Paul P. about his outbursts against rookie wrestlers! Just because they decide it’s a good idea to stick their members into an electrical socket does NOT mean we should hamper their freedom of sexual exploration!

 

Cort interjects.

 

Cort: Didn’t they go to the hospital? What was it… Frankie something?

 

She responds,completely serious.

 

HR 4: He died. Anyway, here is your “homework.”

 

She hands Cort a massive, hardcover textbook. The cover is a simple black, and inset in gold leaf are the words “The PC Bible.” Over the word “Bible,” a piece of tape has been placed, and it reads “Nonspecific Religious Text.” It has to be at least 900 pages, and as she drops it into Cort’s hands, it lets out a puff of dust.

 

Cort exhales.

 

Cort: Dear god in heaven.

 

Guy Starvieri pipes up again.

 

HR 3: Or valhalla! We do have a nordic superstar under our employ.

 

HR 4: Regardless, you are now free to leave. But do not neglect your studies… the test will not be easy. And it will be televised.

 

Cort: It what!?

 

HR 3: Yeah, it’s our hot--but not TOO hot because we don’t want anyone to feel bad--new game show called “Are You Nicer Than an SJW?” See you then!

 

Cort: Oh-kay...

 

Cort gets up, uneasily after so long sitting down.

 

Cort: Oof. Man, what are these chinese plastic chairs you guys have here? Makes my ass feel like a San Francisco fa--I mean, uh. Yes. I will book. I mean read. Read the book.

 

Cort backs away slowly from the unamused committee until he reaches the doorway, where he turns around and full sprints out of there.

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