You would have to wander around the building as extensively as I did, asking people where the 1st Pacific office might be, to get the full impression of the deadly impersonality of the building. If Mussolini or Goebbels had been contemporary nerds, they would have been ecstatic about the building, and, clearly, their contemporary equivalents planned the building. Some movie-maker has a ready-made set for a particular kind of paranoid political fantasy film. Unfortunately, this edifice is here to stay, along with the new police state made official.
As I asked passing residents of the building about the 1st Pacific offices, I was sent to several locations on various floor; told there was no such office in that building; told it was in the federal building on Golden Gate. Wouldn't you know it was only when I returned to that sane and kind old African-American guard at the front door that I got true directions. (You will have guessed that no signs anywhere listed the office, and when you arrived on any floor there was television screens listing what was on those floors, all of them almost inscrutable names for government entities.)
The building is like the set from a German expressionist film, or a nightmare about toothache. And then, appropriately, there is a stairway to nowhere.
When the door opened at 2:10, it was apparent that the single person there had been in the office all the while, and he was alone in a suite of offices, continuing my impression of a place that would seem vast and lonely if any there were alive enough to sense it. How cold is the federal government? The man barely looked at me, was without facial expressions and as void of human affect as the building itself. He barely responded to my curiousity about what 1st Pacific might be, but he let me know that he came and went easily as the F.B.I. had thoroughly investigated him, and I had the sense that he would not respond at all if I were to ask how a commercial enterprise was in the federal building, and was that why it was so secret? It was amazingly easy to withdraw all my funds although I had lost all information on the organization except for a card I showed him that I suppose was a credit card. I was relieved to free my funds from that hateful building. I thanked the friendly old guard at the front door for a third or fourth time, and said, "I have survived the Federal Building, and I hope to never return here again!"