You know you have seen this guy before. You just know it. Yet, you greet him like a stranger. Eveyrone infact, looks oddly unfamiliar. You are either in the ‘Twilight Zone’ or on a reality show with a Deja Vu’ theme. Just as you are about to settle into the ignorance, your boss’s ill fitting jeans hits you in the face.
It is…casual day.
Yes, C-Day, the one day in the week when…you work, but…you can try to look more hip, at your own risk. And most people do. But not you. You don’t think much of C-day. You think it is fleeting and make-believe, like X’mas in prison.
As in most ideological debates, you are in the minority. As with most minorities, you feel looked down and sneered upon. All you want to do was to look like you had showed up to work and not to deliver pizza. Also, you want to avoid looking like you spent half an hour in the morning to wriggle into your jeans.
Over several dull weeks, you learn to live with this phenomenon. The jeans genre thinks you are trying too hard. You think they are trying too little. C-day does remind you people’s names though: same shirt Sam, too tight Tim, bright and burly Bridget and loose-fit Larry.
On an otherwise forgettable C-day, you happen to be in SIC‘s cabin at an opportune moment. Your presence there is random, for a signature. But when IT engineer ‘Bob’ enters SIC’s cabin, the randomness gives way to providence. Bubble Boy Bob (BBB) has always been on the way side of even the jeans genre. Just as he clears the niggle on SIC’s computron, he can’t help but pop a bubble with the gum he is chewing.
An eerie silence ensues…
Even BBB knows that was faux pas.
‘Thank you,’ says SIC, his voice betraying his murderous intentions.
As soon as the door closes on BBB’s hurried retreat, SIC calls his deputy, Head Slave (HS): ‘I didn’t know circus outfits were allowed in this office’ he spits into the receiver, following it up with strict Nazi dress code instructions.
As he hangs up, he looks at you. You formal demeaneur seems to provide some solace.
‘Workforce these days…’ he trails off.
You walk out with a deserved smugness on face, brownie points in bag.