10:30 in the morning, and I’ve already been awake for three hours, and working for an hour and a half. I think I’m getting the hang of this working thing. Pretty impressive, considering that on average I used to sleep about ten hours a day, and sunrise was that mystical part of the day either seen as the end to a long night of partying, or not at all.
Umm…yes. I’m sorry; there is no point to this post. Earlier, I used only to post if I actually had something to say, but of late, I seem to be using this as an excuse to goof off at the office. Not that there is much work, anyway, but at least this way if someone surprises me, I’ll actually look like I’m working (large swathes of text occupying your screen always look impressive, it seems. No matter what it’s actually on; there’s this chap sitting a few tables away who religiously spends a couple of hours a day reading up on alligators, and no one seems to have noticed).
Oh yes, funny story.
The bank at which I work (I’m avoiding naming it to minimize the grievous shame they must already be experiencing for having hired me) has this interesting policy. There are no spare computers in the office – there is one terminal per hired worker, and that’s all. No spares, no extras, exactly how many they need. Admirably efficient, but there’s a crack through which I seem to have fallen – since I’m an intern, I technically don’t come under the heading of hired worker, and therefore, don’t qualify for my own terminal. Therefore, each day at the office begins with me lurking around unoccupied chairs, hoping someone calls in sick (otherwise, they make me write everything out. Bastards).
Anyway, a couple of days ago, the VP of the company went on a week long leave. Much to my excitement, they decided to let me use his office – that is to say, I went and badgered my boss until he came to the conclusion that the shame of him having to sit outside my office was nothing compared to the irritation of having me mooching around his desk asking him what I should do.
So, twenty minutes later, comfortably ensconced in my new office, I’m trawling through the BSE website, looking for annual company reports, when this middle aged man knocks on my door and walks in. I promptly got to my feet, since I’d never met this chap before, and a little bit of caution when dealing with strangers in a bank is preferable to having your brain chewed by an irritable VP whose office you’ve just laid claim to. As I say, he walks in - and promptly starts groveling.
Now that’s shocking enough, when you’re an intern, but after he’d finished ritualistically banging his head on the floor, and calling down God’s blessings on me, he gets up, shakes my hand, and stuns me even further.
“Sir,” he says, “It is really kind of you to stand and greet myself – shaming it is that not so many of today’s young executives are as modest as yourself. Please sir, I have been joined the bank today, and I am *blorbleblurbeglup* Balakrishnan. Pleased to be meeting you sir!”
Okay, his English wasn’t quite that bad. And I’m still not sure what exactly his name is, I don’t think I’d survive asking him for it again. At that point, though, it was all I could do to burst out laughing, and keep a straight face. More importantly, I was having a particularly worrying thought at the time -
“What the fuck is he going to do to me when he finds out I’m an intern?”
Anyway, I bit the bullet, steeled myself for a punch in the eye, and informed him about his mistake. I wish I hadn’t told him there was no need to bow, though, that seemed to really get him cheesed.
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. There’s no need to bow, I’m just an intern – I’m just using this office until another terminal becomes free.”
The honeymoon ended quite abruptly after that.
“WHAT HARE HYOU DOING IN THIS HOFFICE? WHO TOLD HYOU HYOU COULD SEET HERE?”
At that point, Mrora (my boss, that’s how he introduced himself to me on my first day here) hurried over and sorted things out; bless the three hairs remaining on his head. May his loins always contain fruit.
Must stop now, Balakrishnan is making dirty faces at me through the glass walls of my private, Vice Presidential Office.
Umm…yes. I’m sorry; there is no point to this post. Earlier, I used only to post if I actually had something to say, but of late, I seem to be using this as an excuse to goof off at the office. Not that there is much work, anyway, but at least this way if someone surprises me, I’ll actually look like I’m working (large swathes of text occupying your screen always look impressive, it seems. No matter what it’s actually on; there’s this chap sitting a few tables away who religiously spends a couple of hours a day reading up on alligators, and no one seems to have noticed).
Oh yes, funny story.
The bank at which I work (I’m avoiding naming it to minimize the grievous shame they must already be experiencing for having hired me) has this interesting policy. There are no spare computers in the office – there is one terminal per hired worker, and that’s all. No spares, no extras, exactly how many they need. Admirably efficient, but there’s a crack through which I seem to have fallen – since I’m an intern, I technically don’t come under the heading of hired worker, and therefore, don’t qualify for my own terminal. Therefore, each day at the office begins with me lurking around unoccupied chairs, hoping someone calls in sick (otherwise, they make me write everything out. Bastards).
Anyway, a couple of days ago, the VP of the company went on a week long leave. Much to my excitement, they decided to let me use his office – that is to say, I went and badgered my boss until he came to the conclusion that the shame of him having to sit outside my office was nothing compared to the irritation of having me mooching around his desk asking him what I should do.
So, twenty minutes later, comfortably ensconced in my new office, I’m trawling through the BSE website, looking for annual company reports, when this middle aged man knocks on my door and walks in. I promptly got to my feet, since I’d never met this chap before, and a little bit of caution when dealing with strangers in a bank is preferable to having your brain chewed by an irritable VP whose office you’ve just laid claim to. As I say, he walks in - and promptly starts groveling.
Now that’s shocking enough, when you’re an intern, but after he’d finished ritualistically banging his head on the floor, and calling down God’s blessings on me, he gets up, shakes my hand, and stuns me even further.
“Sir,” he says, “It is really kind of you to stand and greet myself – shaming it is that not so many of today’s young executives are as modest as yourself. Please sir, I have been joined the bank today, and I am *blorbleblurbeglup* Balakrishnan. Pleased to be meeting you sir!”
Okay, his English wasn’t quite that bad. And I’m still not sure what exactly his name is, I don’t think I’d survive asking him for it again. At that point, though, it was all I could do to burst out laughing, and keep a straight face. More importantly, I was having a particularly worrying thought at the time -
“What the fuck is he going to do to me when he finds out I’m an intern?”
Anyway, I bit the bullet, steeled myself for a punch in the eye, and informed him about his mistake. I wish I hadn’t told him there was no need to bow, though, that seemed to really get him cheesed.
“Sir, I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. There’s no need to bow, I’m just an intern – I’m just using this office until another terminal becomes free.”
The honeymoon ended quite abruptly after that.
“WHAT HARE HYOU DOING IN THIS HOFFICE? WHO TOLD HYOU HYOU COULD SEET HERE?”
At that point, Mrora (my boss, that’s how he introduced himself to me on my first day here) hurried over and sorted things out; bless the three hairs remaining on his head. May his loins always contain fruit.
Must stop now, Balakrishnan is making dirty faces at me through the glass walls of my private, Vice Presidential Office.
4 comments:
ha, lovely.
HAHAHAHAHA
man oh man!!! brilliant!!...ok first up, i am taking the lazy route by posting my comments for all the articles so far into this one...it's not like the freed up time is used for something constructive...just frees up time!!! anyways...the balakrishnan one was a rocker..especially the parts about you having to scrounge for a comp and "bless his loins!!!)...the impotent indian..i think...is a feeling we all get all day everyday..fortunately (or unfortanatly) we've learnt to turn down our concience meters and numb whatever little bits creep in with large amounts of vodka!! we do this (as we desperately try to console ourselves) to survive in the city... anyways..great stuff..think you should drop the banking stuff (thought you were into construction) and take up writing...or better yet...rob the bank and then take up writing..you can have ol mr fertile mrora keep an eye out!!!
Barmy: Thanks, Pig.
Pranav:
Thanks a lot man - really makes your day when someone likes a post of yours - although, this didn't really start out as much, just an idle bit of nonsense to waste some time - it's strange how the best ones always turn out like that.
Balakrishnan, though, probably wouldnt appreciate it - he's still got that "pond scum" kind of look on his face when he looks in my direction. Bit unfair, all said and done, after all, what VP would be a twenty one year old guzzling coke?
As for the Impotent Indian - that was a crap incident, really got me worked up - it would be nice to be 6'6" and built like a section of brick wall when this sort of thing happens. http://31gasstreet.blogspot.com is all I have to say. Even though I've already violated my promise - these sort of inspirations don't strike too often. Probably will wind up being one post every three to four days.
As for the taking up writing - I'd really, really love to, but I don't think I'd be good enough to support myself unless I got fantastically lucky - perhaps I'll run the bank plan past Mrora sometime...
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