Will trade forks for sanity (a little?)

B-school is a funny place. And the students who get selected into the top ones are, without an iota of doubt, a weird lot. So, when we at IIMB got to know that IIMC students were being tutored in 'table manners', there were some of us who madly giggled, and then some of us wanted a similar course to be floated in IIMB as well. Thankfully, that never happened.

During my summer internship, I would have lunch with all the other interns from various B-schools. And I noticed with interest that, while the rest of us ate like barbarians with our hands (licking fingers, gravy dripping from our chins, food spilled all over the table), the guy from IIMC would neatly fold his rotis into small cones, take some sabzi in a spoon, fill the cone with the sabzi, and gracefully eat it like a true Banker. That was when I started having doubts about my career in banking. That was also when I realized how too much education can kill all the fun in your life.

But then, if you have been following my blog (get the hint!), you would know that I am not exactly on God's favorite list. So, yeah, it had to all come back to me eventually. So, I was having lunch with my lady boss, and we ordered pizza. Pizza came. I was hungry. I took a slice. Picked it up. Took a bite. My teeth wouldn't cut through the cheese layer. I use my hand to tear the cheese away. So, am kind of trying to tear a bite.. struggling with both my hands.. but enjoying my meal. My eyes dart towards my boss. She had used a knife and a fork to neatly cut a small piece from her slice of the pizza, and was looking at me in horror. I give sheepish grin and pretend that I am not hungry anymore. And hope that the earth would just swallow me up. Imagine! I mean, come on, who uses a knife and a fork to eat a pizza!

I have seen worse.

I have seen people eat dosa with a fork, garlic bread similarly, and a sandwich like it was a small baby being operated upon. A normal person would get into depression, I am telling you, and would seriously start doubting his own existence. But I am stubborn as hell. And I don't even know how to use chopsticks. Die.

So, when a colleague recently chided me on picking the wrong plate for dessert, in another colleague's wedding, I gave him a dirty why-the-fuck-do-you-care look. And later smiled to myself.

I hate you and why

As my wife constantly reminds me, I spend more than half of my day in office, and the other half mostly sleeping. For the time being let's ignore why she painstakingly points this out to me so often - that can be fodder for another blog. Here, I shall talk about the time I spend in office, and the items people I meet there everyday.

In office, I am this sweet little hardworking soul, whose only aim in life is to spread happiness all around. But that is not how others think and behave. This is what they think and do:

You want me to work as well? - He is plain lazy. And he gets away with it too. If you are looking to dodge work, you can learn a trick or two from him, like staring thoughtfully at the computer screen for minutes altogether (doesn't matter what you are staring at), running around the floor talking on the mobile in urgent whispers, give a disgusting look to anyone who offers you work (this one actually works!), tell everyone how you are doing everyone else's work etc.

I am God's gift to himself. Bow to me already - He is always full of stories, about himself and his spectacular achievements. He would tell you how his boss adores him, how his clients drool all over him, how he won the national golf tournament and how he manages to have affairs with all the hot women in office without his wife knowing.

At home I dress like Lady Gaga. At office, I am just myself - She would shove her cleavage in your face at the slightest opportunity. Many mighty men have fallen for her sense of clothing. And things just get better with time.

My hair fall is not the only problem I have in life - She is the cry baby in office. Give her work and she would tell you about how her husband threatened to divorce her because she returned home late. Point out mistakes in her work, and she would tell you how her son doesn't even remember her face because she is always at work. She would make you look like the monster, for all the problems in her life.

I like to Bully. Deal with it - He marks your boss on all emails, and all of them are nasty to begin with. He would give you work that's not yours and then make you do it by throwing hazaar tantrums. He is a man on a mission: to show the world that he can fuck everyone's happiness. Everyone's. And his constipation-induced actions would irritate you to no end.

Do this for me. Don't tell anyone. I am not stealing your thunder, no I'm not - The quintessential credit-snatcher. And without doing any work at all. This variety lurks in the corner, quietly taking in all that you are doing. And the moment something shout-worthy comes up - zing tang bang - it's his before you can blink. He would also come to you often, seeking 'help'. And then conveniently forget to tell people that you did the work and not him.

Everyone (apart me from me, of course) deserves to be sacked - He would keep on cribbing about how everyone in office doesn't work and they should be sacked. For people who work, he would tell you that they don't work enough and don't do it right.

Abe Bh**ch** - He likes to abuse. In every sentence. You got a problem, sissy boi?

PS: Please feel free to replace 'He' or 'She' with each other wherever you like. And don't be disappointed if I have missed out 'You'. I am planning a sequel. Yay!