I feel like sticking a label on my forehead that says “And the answer is Bang-Bang”
Bang-Bang refers to the shotgun’s barrel going off while I point it at your forehead.
I hate questions. I like statements, especially ones along the lines of “You’re pretty” or “Nice shoes” or the classic “You’re pretty”.
My state of indignation at the “system” has been persistent for a few weeks now, as you may have noticed. It’s like everyone I meet has substituted their brains with dung. I don’t get it. Where are the smart people? Why did they leave? and why didn’t I get the fucking memo?
This morning my colleagues in Bangalore all fell sick in tandem. Would it have something to do with the fact that it was a public holiday in India and they would have had to work anyway? Hmm, I am not saying anything. The question is “Will you cover the work since they aren’t around?” ARGH!
Last friday, at the Netherlands embassy, this old bat of a woman tormented me like it was her fucking birthday or something! After giving every single document conceivable- seriously, I was just about short of giving the blood group details of my cousins, she still had to be a royal pain.
“Are you going for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 months?”
“Huh?” (what the fuck! she’s illiterate! But at least she can count)
“Oh… sorry sorry.. ” (the moron realised she was looking at the validity period, not the travel dates)
“Why do you need multiple entry visa?”
“I’m travelling around actually…”
“Do you have hotel reservations?”
“What? No… I haven’t planned yet.”
“You need an onward visa as well”
“What? But the Czech republic doesn’t require you to have a visa for less than 5 days”
And the argument ensued…until the shrill-pitched hag finally said that basically she wasn’t the one making the decision. The lousy bitch didn’t even know that I didn’t need a visa to go to Prague. So yes, my fate is resting on some grouchy visa officer who may or may not give me the visa. What does he have to be grouchy about anyway? All he has to do is sign stuff and act all hoity toity at banquets…Pffft.
Then there is whole other horseshit going on with job interviews. You know what? If you don’t want me, just say so man! Don’t string me along, make me jump through hoops a hundred times!
I have been interviewed for a cumulative 8 hours with this company and they still can’t make up their mind. And the last interview I had was today (yes today, the day I had to do the work of a thousand men. I am the sedentary Hercules.)
I left the room feeling utterly violated. I was asked every kind of question perceivable. In fact, I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I didn’t have to hand in a urine sample on my way out. Honestly, what is it with people trying to figure you out? It’s so impolite and not to mention, completely unprofessional.
And yet sometimes, you want to be asked. Because if you don’t get asked, you get labelled in that presumptuous manner that is so typical of these cocks. Oh she must be a *synonym for bore* or a *synonym for nerd* or a *synonym for whore*. Whatever. Fuck off.
My weekend was just mentally exhausting. I shrugged off all dinner and lunch plans with friends, locked myself up and studied. I didn’t do too much, but it would have been worse if I was gallavanting around town being a social animal. I cooked like a maniac and I ate like a glutton. The good news is that somehow I have dropped a size- that’s two sizes this year. I will soon be publishing my new mediocre-seller “How to lose weight by doing jacksquat”. Coming soon to the pathetic health aisle at a bookstore near you.
“Weren’t you here yesterday?”
“Yes I was” *big smile*
” The dress you bought yesterday was also very pretty”
“Oh thank you!”
Statements are better than questions. Quad erad demonstratum.
As for the questions, Who am I? Where am I from? What am I doing here? *drums*
Some call me the gangster of love…
Cause I’m a picker, I’m a grinner
I’m a lover and I’m a sinner
Playin’ my music in the sun
I’m a joker, I’m a smoker
I’m a midnight toker
I get my lovin’ on the run
And by the way, if you buy a dress or a suit, you have to ask for a hanger- they never refuse. You know how irritating it is to run out of hangers (every week!). What? I’m not a cheapskate- I just have more clothes than hangers. Pfft.