I was just a tyke, 5, maybe 6 years old, the last time I had been to the U.N. I was there with my folks, on a guided tour, and I distinctly remembered being wowed by the cool, translucent blue look of the place, and the sheer enormity of the great halls. I also dug seeing all the little plaques with the names of countries. Best of all was tapping into the translation feed of whatever was going on at the time via these bulbous headsets with rubber tubes sticking out of them. There was a dial one could switch to hear English, French, Arabic, Chinese, you name it. Very exciting stuff.

I've been wanting to go back to the U.N. since I moved to New York in '92. A few months ago I finally made it. I had a meeting nearby, and it was raining something awful. Rather than walk all the way to Lexington to get on the subway, I crossed First and figured I'd kill a few hours at the U.N. while waiting for the downpour to stop.

It was a horrible gray day. The triumphant ring of all the nations' flags stood bare due to the weather. What should have been proud and harmonious looked like a collection of dying branches. Inside, I was taken instantly by the late 50s signage and typography. Two thoughts: how great, they've left it the way it was built. Followed immediately by: Jesus, can't they clean up around here?

After waiting a good thirty minutes in a holding pen filled with bored schoolkids, I was eventually led to my mini tour group. We met our tour guide, an earnest, eager kid from Zimbabwe. He was a short guy with a smart suit and a big smile--imagine a black Robert Downey Jr. He came on full-force, explaining what it meant to be standing in the U.N. As he walked us through the halls, pointing out the artwork from all five continents, he had facts and figures at his fingertips. He eventually led us to one of the lesser meeting rooms, where we sat down.

I instantly noticed the jacks for the headset gizmos I saw as a child. I poked around, but couldn't see any attachments. I was then told by our guide that we were sitting in the former spectator's section. In fact, there was no longer a spectator's section in the U.N., for both expansion and security reasons. Expansion, right . . . I looked around . . . the place didn't look as big as I remembered. But then this wasn't the main hall.

It was actually some sort of finance distribution hall--a conference room, really, where the annual budget was laid out for different U.N. programs. We have conference rooms at our office, too, I thought.

Since we were sitting, the guide went through the group asking where everyone was from. England, Ireland, Italy, two young guys from Poland, a family from Ohio, and, as fate would have it, I came last. I had an opportunity to chuckle the group up when I said I lived about ten minutes that way, pointing at the 59th Street Bridge.

Before we moved on, our delightful guide asked if we had any questions. One of the two Polish kids had a question. In a deep, gutteral mutter he asked, "Is it true . . . American States pay less for each individual for U.N."

The guide may've dealt with this line of questioning. "Different nations pay different U.N. dues depending on their population," he noted. "The country of San Marino pays four times what the U.S. pays per person, but then they're population is tiny compared to the U.S."

One of the Poles whispered something to the other Pole, and he laughed. He spoke in full voice in Polish and then added, "They pay more than American States . . . that is . . . when American States pay their U.N. dues. Why do American States have so much . . . uh . . . how do you say . . . influence in U.N. . . .when American States do not even pay U.N. dues?"

The family from Ohio was shifting to see the faces of these two guys. Very calmly, and with his legs still crossed, our guide from Zimbabwe, who had a perfect Ox-bridge English accent may I add, said that "The U.S. and the U.N. are working toward an agreement on the issue of overdue dues."

With that we collected ourselves to look at a mini-pavilion dedicated to disarmament. Children's drawings of Hiroshima. Very nasty. EPCOT center meets a primary school display case. We had a few minutes to snoop around independent of the guide. I immediately stuck my head around a corner I wasn't supposed to go down. It was an entrance to some of the real bureaucracy. I saw some of those fabled translation devices. It was a tangled mess of chaotic cables, like backstage at a no-budget theater. I didn't see any computers. I did see stains on the carpet. No, I'm not making this up.

And then we made it to the main hall. Nations' seats in alphabetical order, the first one picked randomly out of a hat at the beginning of every session: this year, South Africa. So in the back, where we sat, we saw Somalia, Senegal, Samoa. The hall itself did have that green carpeting and black and grey marble podium. It looked less like the intergalactic space station of my memories, more like an intergalactic bus station, if that means anything.

Our guide ran down the list of all the great men who had spoken there, as well as the important votes. He explained how the U.N. is meant to be the conscience of the international community, not to create laws. And then opened the floor up to questions.

There was silence, broken again by the guttural voice of the young Pole. He asked, point blank, "Why do American States bomb Serbia . . . and U.N. does nothing!?!"

I wasn't exactly sure if this was a question, but I finally got to see our tour guide, this nice kid from Zimbabwe, probably only here for a year, blanche. "Um . . . uh . . . well . . . I'm not quite sure what your question is."

"American States bomb Serbia . . . American States do not ask U.N. to bomb Serbia, but American States go and bomb Serbia . . . and U.N. does nothing. Please explain."

There was now murmuring from the other Americans on tour, as well as their allies.

The second Pole helped out. He spoke very poor English. "My friend means to say . . . U.N. is tool of American States . . . U.N. can never say no to American States."

Now this was just as much as I could stand. I'm no John Wayner, but I wasn't going to let these two Slavs spit on my childhood memories of the U.N. And as it happens, I knew a few things.

As the guide just sat there, smiling and looking beautiful in his suit, I turned to face these two guys (by the way, they looked like soccer players, and their hair was still wet from the rain) and told them that their allegation was false.

"That's not true! Year in and year out, the U.N. always votes in a near-unanimous voice for the U.S. to stop its embargo to Cuba. The only countries who vote in favor of the U.S. is the U.S., Israel and Micronesia!"

There was stunned silence. Was this true? (It is.)

So that's how I stood up for my country. Whereas most people would have told these two clowns that if they so hated "American States" they shouldn't have come to New York in the first place, I defended the land of my birth by proudly reminding its enemies that the U.N. consistently frowns on its questionable economic treatment of a rogue, Communist nation.

So there.

As the tour ended, we were led to, surprise, a gift shop. It was still raining, so I bought a United Nations cap. I saw my two Polish friends in the shop, pointing at brick-a-brack and giggling.