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Don’t Give Me No Lines And Keep Your Hands To Yourself
The subconscious meaning of touch — it’s not the same for everyone
Touch communicates a lot more to me than, I suspect, it does to many people. And, it’s a two-way street.
A long time ago, I was the “intern” at two very different workplaces: the Los Angeles Times Book Review and the San Bernardino County Museum.
At the museum, I was kneeling and painting a display when I felt a big hand on my rear. I turned to see the leering face of one of the museum’s scientists: he was maybe 55 years old. And I was 17.
His wolf-like grin stayed in place right up until I slapped him.
A couple of years later, I’d gotten past 200 other applicants to get hired as the intern at the L.A. Times Book Review. I was absurdly immature but loved this job and my boss, Art Seidenbaum. Other than the commute and having to walk past dead guys on the way to work, there was just one other thing I disliked: I was sometimes asked to carry paperwork to the top-floor office of the section editor, Charles Champlin.
I hated this task because the elevators in the old building were small and there was almost always some creepy guy there who wanted to catch a body feel with the excuse of “Let me help you” or “It’s so…
