Chopped

Unbeknownst to me, an older man who worked in the same department as I in an R&D startup company, and who had blatantly sexually harassed me the entire time that I worked there which made my work difficult, had reported me to human resources with an accusation of racism.  However, Human Resources never confronted me on my error of asking my coworker if he was part Chinese.  Apparently my steady, pleasant work as a technical writer of mechanical and electrical processes, with colleagues of many nationalities, spoke for me.  I had asked the unpleasant man his nationality when he showed me his Chinese chop at work, a signature stamp that he used to sign documents, this at the age of sixty and in the year 2000, not the year 1000.

Later, in the turmoil and horror of 9/11, the R&D startup company was reabsorbed back into its parent company but most of the employees lost their jobs, including me.  The unpleasant man smugly kept his job.  I rode around a bit on the back of his motorcycle, and I bedded with him, and he bragged to me of his betrayal by reporting my innocent question.  I did not argue with him.  At work he showed off a half-nude photo of me that I had given him.  He lost his job and his full-time employee retirement benefits because of that—chopped.  I lost my honor and dignity.  He had bragged to me that although we had the same job title, he never produced any work and yet he made significantly more money than I because of his connections.  He was ugly and cruel and easy.

Chopped

by Annmarie Throckmorton, copyright 2026