ABSTRACT
“Anna, can I talk to you for a minute?” asked Tony, as he led me to an empty cubicle at the edge of the large office space partitioned by dingy, gray-brown panels that seemed to have been there since long before I was born. It was the first week of my first job after college. Having suffered through a drawn-out job search and a year working my way up through temporary gigs, I had finally landed my first “real” job as a document reviewer at a university-affiliated, government-sponsored science and research institution. My excitement was tempered with relief and hope that my English literature degree had not been a waste of time and money, as I had feared. I was in my early twenties, and Tony, a short and stout journalism major a few years my senior, had been designated my trainer. As he addressed me, I sensed from his apparent gravitas and attempts to temper friendliness with authority that, in true Napoleonic fashion, he had decided that he was not just my trainer but my mentor as well.
