She reluctantly dragged her eyes away from whatever enthralled her and said, “Can I help you?”

I repressed a desire to say, “I don’t know, can you?” and to give her a lecture on the difference between “can” and “may,” but that job belonged to an English teacher. I said, “Yes. My name is Professor Lillian Morgan. I would like to speak to Priscilla Estavez.” Mark had given me her name.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“ No. I just need five minutes of her time.”

“What’s it in regard to?”

“I would like to ask her some questions about your sexual harassment policy.” I tried to say that in a positive way.

“She’s in a meeting.”

“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry; I’ll wait.”

“I don’t know how long the meeting will last. You can have a seat if you want to,” she said, doubtfully.

Everybody was always in a meeting. I took a few steps to a chair set against the wall, with thin metal legs and a molded seat and back in one piece. I sat down and noticed that its lack of comfort was not conducive to waiting. I hoped my presence would motivate my helper to contact Ms. Estavez.

After several minutes I heard her talking to somebody on the phone. She spoke softly and the counter intervened so I couldn’t understand what she said. But then her head appeared above the counter and she said, “Ms. Estavez will see you now.”

She directed me down a hallway that started at one end of the counter. I passed several doors until I came to one with a sign beside it that read, “Patricia Estavez, Student Affairs.”

The door was open so I walked in. Ms. Estavez sat behind a metal desk, reading a document, but she looked up and smiled as I entered. She stood and said, “I’m Priscilla Estavez.” She offered me her hand across the desk.