Dear Playboy poster,
I pity you, Playboy poster. How very sad to be imprisoned in that expensive picture frame and hung upon the wall in Tom’s office, right beside the door, so that when the door stands open (as it always does), you cannot be seen.
Of course you were shocking, initially. The first time I saw you, I had entered Tom’s office to steal quarters out of his desk drawer. I shut the door, so as not to be observed in my thievery by Annette, the “payroll specialist,” and there you were, Playboy poster, right there on the dirty wall in all your pornographic glory, smirking sulkily from under a pane of smudged glass, your hair all wet and sexylike; you holding some fluorescent-pink dice over your pointy nipples.
I’m sorry I never mentioned that I thought you were beautiful. I should have paid more attention to you. I wish now that I had taken the opportunity to get to know you, Playboy poster. You might have liked the company, since all you ever get to look at is the fake-oak office door or, worse yet, Tom (who, parenthetically, is a very bad boss). I wonder what will happen to you when, someday, some other secretary does the right thing and sues Tom for sexual harassment. Godspeed, Playboy poster. I wish you luck.
Former assistant office manager