Monday, June 9, 2008

Bloody hell!

Note : This post was written a very long while back. Didn't really get around to posting it though. So here goes!
Talk about a bad day man!
Statutary warning
If you're of the opinion that its not propah for girls to give vent to extreme emotion by the therapeutic means of using anti-social words which happen to be 4 letters long, then Please; this post is not for you

Today has been the single most lousy day since I joined my new bread-giver. My bus comes in at 8.45 AM by my watch. And the day I arrive running and wheezing with a lung almost near damage, at 8.46 AM, the bus invariably has to turn up at 8.30 AM. I generally enjoy walks, but my 15 min daily trudge to the bus stop is generally marked by an acute sense of racing-against-time and repeated gimme-a-lift-someone gestures. Anyway, today was different. I did get a lift and did catch the bus. I couldn't miss it. I had to wait for a good 10 min. Now the good thing about my company is that it provides bicycles for its employees to reach their respective buildings, thus eliminating the need to walk that stretch of 2 km inside the campus. And the bad thing is, there's NEVER a cycle around when you really need one. So there it was, another 15 min worth walking in the sun. By the time I arrived at my cubicle, I felt like I'd run a marathon.

After a great deal of colourful language about the sweaty start to the day, I settled down. Of course as a person on bench, I couldn't settle down and do something that justifies the company paying me, but I was thankful for the free time anyway. I had some stuff to do and I did. At 2ish, I get a mail from my HR with the subject : Meeting. and a "Please plan to attend" in tow. That's it. No agenda mentioned.

Now, I've come to realise that meetings with agendas are a lot less dangerous than those without and it was with a sense of trepidation that I stepped inside the meeting hall. The meeting was supposed to be anchored by three musketeers (for my own job-safety, lets call them M1, M2 and M3 and M1>(M2~=M3) k?)... biggies in the corporate ladder. I had no idea that a meeting could be molested to such a degree and by jove, molest is the right word, perhaps a trifle euphemistic, but nonetheless right.

M2 starts off with a 'There have been other sessions scheduled before this which some of you have not attended. Now had you guys been in project, it would've been understandable but being on bench (oh glory be!), this kind of behaviour is unacceptable.' Fine. Agreed. But seriously, a day session with a psychologist?!?!?! Puhlease!

How do I put my ordeal into words man???? From stuff like "You should learn to come on time, you might not be in any project but that shouldn't stop you from stepping into the sanctum sanctorum of the campus before the cock crows (this from M3). At least it wouldn't discourage those who are actually working on a project." (Great. Apart from making us feel like S***, he actually managed to give the impression that those stuck to a project actually gaze whimsically at us, praying for a speedy return to that coveted word of corporate IT, Bench.); to "Do you know when the average benchie comes in? At 10.00 AM. (. Surely not! That's the cardinal sin of all eras. Oh and this gem comes in from M1.). In between all this, M2 manages to scrape together volunteers to write some tools and stuff. Stuff that has B.O.R.E.D.O.M written all over it.

Now here's the part that makes the blood (no pun intended) boil. There's recently been the launch of a blood donation drive in the company. I don't know if all the M1s of the company get together at the coffee machine and go 'Hey how much of blood did you squeeze out of your guys ... I got a gallon's worth already'. 'Coz that's the impression I got the way M1 went about the whole thing. For a good 30 min.

Now don't get me wrong, blood donation is a noble thing and I support it totally. That I'm aneamic stops me from pouring the pints but the way our M1 kept at it with a steady drone of "What do we have to do to make you donate blood?" (which was followed invariably with uncomfortable silence) made is sound more like a blood extortion campaign than a blood donation one.

I mean... seriously dude, "'What do we have to do to make you donate blood?" !?!?!?!?!!? what kind of a F***ED Q is that baap? What was he expecting us to say? "Sure...just give them a thousand bucks each or grant them 5 extra leaves in addition to the ones they're due for?!?!?!" The docs would probably have to restrain people physically from donating blood then. Of course comments like 'You'll be given a Frooty and a biscuit packet' didn't yeild much. For a meeting schedule for a half-hour, the damn thing went on for an hour, the major part of it being our bloody favourite topic.

5.30 PM. The buses were about to leave and our musketeers shows no sign of abating. Finally one lady has the guts to stand up and say 'I've got to go now'. All the Ms were disappointed ... for it meant that the benchies would've to be tortured in another meeting and that the opportunity at hand was getting ready to vanish into tiny wisps. I raised my hand too and said "I'd like to leave too ... my bus is on the verge of leaving". And then M1 says sarcastically , "Oh! Are you one of those who comes in at 8.00 AM in the morning?" The bloody F***er. I come in at 9.00 AM every morning and occupy the BENCH and when I justifiably want to go into the world where things actually HAPPEN, he comes up and gives me this sardonism laden S***? I've a temper like a rocket and a not-so-public library of invective at my disposal and I put them to use quite efficiently. An unfortunate aspect of today was that I wore my favourite pair of jeans. And it being wednesday and not a friday, jeans are against the law of the land. So when M1 let go his 'witty' lines on me, I couldn't just walk out from amidst 50 odd folks without letting their eyes catch my wardrobe faux paus. !#@$@#$%@#$%

Of course, I missed my bus and that meant a another hour's wait and a lot more diatribe floating in the atmosphere towards M1. Basically I got the impression that the Ms were starved of an audience who would do them the honour of listening to their dishing stuff out and who's handier than an assorted collection of 50+ benchies sitting on their butts with nothing to do but attend s***ty meetings on "psychology of the average benchie" and "What to do when on bench?" ? I mean, they just wouldn't tire out doling out advise baap! And the questions!!! The lady on my left asks "Will there be any technical trainings?" at 5.28 PM; after the Ms speak one after the other on arranging sessions on various subjects, technical and functional. Needless to say, I gaped. The worst part was, the questions seemed paryayvaachi to me. "Could you tell us a little more on the technical sessions?" was inevitably followed by "What kinda technical sessions would be having and when?" People people people. Please have pity.

All in all ... bloody day! Am bushed!

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

The 'Dork' side of life.

Ok. First things first. If you've read my previous post, you might've noted that my view on life then was downright jaded and jaundiced. I believe I mentioned the word 'suicidal'. And I also noticed, that there hasn't been a single comment telling me that that's not the way to be and that happiness in this universe finally manages to touch you. Apathy is so depressing.

Anyway, the fact that I'm writing this post obviously translates to my changing my mind from what I wrote previously. I'm still alive and kicking (at a lot of things.) And now, to my rant.

So today I join my gym. At the office. Great gym. Great equipment. And great me dresses up like the chief official of the Land of Loserdom. The first few minutes, I stood dumbly in there before talking to the gym instructor, who took one look at me and announced "You can't work out in those clothes" The horrified expression and the dozen exclamations were pretty much tacit and understood by both parties. I convinced him for today, and worked out for like 15-20 min. And then I was told to go home.

I don't know what more I was expecting from my first session anyway. Walk out after losing half my weight or something? Grrr. I think I subconsciously figured in a solid one hour or more of training on my first day itself after which, swathed in sweat, I shall usher myself into a new land of promise and hope. Crash. Less than half-hour. Disappointing dude!

Anyway, the bright part in my life is that I'm now a diploma holder in Kuchipudi (thoroughly disconnected statement ... I know). Officially allowed to teach that magnificent art form. So cuppa kuchipudi anyone? I'll charge nominally! :D