Our company is the only one in the city that still has a “men’s welfare position.” As the department’s sole employee, my daily job is to chat over coffee with my female coworkers. Then the birth rate falls below the danger line, and the government moves to eliminate all these pointless positions. While drowning my sorrows at a bar, I’m approached by three very different women at once. Suddenly, the icy beauty sitting beside me gets up and says, “Move. You’re blocking my Wi-Fi signal.” The next day, she appears out of nowhere as my direct supervisor. In front of everyone, she announces, “Male privilege ends now.” I’m forced to move my office to the basement, but she keeps “running into me” late at night. In the break room, she suddenly grabs my wrist. “The Fertility Committee’s report is out.” “Your evaluation... is excellent.”
