ABSTRACT
Around noon, the dry, odorless, conditioned air in the fifth floor of the office building where I work succumbs to a faint whiff of French fries and Chinese food that makes its way up the elevator shaft from the cafeteria on the ground floor, or from the communal microwave ovens in which penny-pinching assistants heat meals hand-carried from tiny apartments in the outlying suburbs of Washington, D.C., or from the sandwiches that some of us purchase and bring to our desks to munch in front of multicolored computer screens. Often we eat alone, oblivious to any kind of social nicety, or the weather outside, totally immersed in our work, as if eager not to lose a moment in our efforts to advance the cause of poverty alleviation in the poorest coun-
tries of the world, which is the daunting mission of the international organization where we work.
