Archive for November, 2011|Monthly archive page

Hamster Paradise

In conspiracy theories, Head Slave, Hiearchy, humor, SlavesInc, true enlightenment, Uncategorized, Wage Slaves on November 28, 2011 at 13:34

Have you ever got the feeling that you are paddling away in a trance? Like a long drawn hypnosis that is hard to tell from reality. Like some Art of Living mojo you heard while on the herb. Has to be some out of the ordinary explanation that keeps you slogging away in the ordinary. How else could one mire in this daily drudgery till death or old age prevail?

There must be thousands if not millions of hamsters like you at it every day. You cannot fathom how your drone-like paper pushing ultimately makes business happen, generates revenue, satisfies share holders and credits your monthly ration.

Its 2 pm in the afternoon. And it is just like you to drift into a heady day dream post lunch.

Just when you think you are on to something…the phone rings to snap you out of realization. It is Head Slave and he wants you in this cabin with the Acme contract. You rush in trying to collect your thoughts only to find HS even more disoriented.

‘We have 9,000 employees in 73 countries and we can’t get an auditorium entry?’ HS was demanding of his secretary.

‘They have been all booked for a week sir,’ explained Sec.

‘I am Vice President of this enterprise,’ reasoned HS.

‘Sir, there are 123 Vice Presidents globally, Head Office had only reserved seats for 90,’

In visible disbelief, HS turns to you. He keeps staring having forgotten why he had called you in. At this time, he would probably have trouble recalling your name too. Finding HS in this very pedestrian situation, you too forget what you were there for.

After an awkward few seconds, you wisely step out and slip into the comfort of your pointless but peaceful existence.

Knowledge is power but ignorance is bliss.


Pool My Car

In Commute, humor, Office humor on November 21, 2011 at 02:57

You can’t remember anybody wanting to know so much about you. Age, allergies, occupation, orientation, vegetarian/non-vegetarian/vegan, musical preferences, whether you believe in aliens and your stand on the Kennedy assassination. You are sure you are not in a dream being interviewed by Oprah. You would have felt better or at least had better clothes on.

What you are wearing is close to rags and what you are feeling is close to rage. Yet you have to do this for the only other option is travelling alone and bugged through this world. No, you are not a reluctant hen in a speed dating nest. You are trying to car pool. Even though you are not yet comfortable with car pooling being both a noun and a verb, you are trying.

Between marathon snarls and dearer barrels, you are mortified to step out of the house. But reach the galley you must, preferably on time. So you brave pooler forums and ‘get started instructions’. If you are not convinced yet, carbon footprint calculations are thrown at you for good measure. Not only are you driving towards poverty and bad credit ratings you are also choking Gaia. Fill out our form you stupid polluting pig is what the site screams at you.

So you start filling out what feels like an interrogation before eventual relegation to the No Fly List.

No smoking

No discussing religion

No coming late

No consumption of food, fodder or liquids


You realize this is going to drain you in more ways than one. While you could use a more affordable commute, the last thing you need is another group of forced formal relations. You ctrl+w and confirm your bank balance. Carbon footprint my dusty boot space!

Cartoon appeared in DNA, 5th Nov, 2011

–          J.

Dream Job

In humor, Office humor, Wage Slaves, work life balance on November 14, 2011 at 02:16

Some professions are cooler than others. Admit it. If everyone from your school grew up to be what he or she wanted, we would have too many astronauts and Rock Stars. The economic impact of such utopia would be good subject matter for the next paperback hit. Fortunately, a classic bottle neck filters out the lucky bastards from the also-rans.

By the law of averages, you the reader are probably an also-ran. I feel a kinship with you already.

Youth is a great thing and most people are optimistic by default. The result is dreams and its waking love child: hope. Regardless of track record, dreams continue to show up, shameless and smug. They are like static, always there but not dwelled upon.

You even try your bit to feel like you have not given up: Guitar classes on weekends and half an hour of daily practice. But after earning your loaf from 9 to 5, you are running virtually on empty.

You are jolted to reality by a hard strummed Am (A minor) hit by your 9 year old batch mate. Very good says the instructor to the kid looking at you with deep despondence. With your fat grown-up fingers stuck ungracefully between the frets, mouth ajar and eyes sleepy, all you can give in return is a blank look. As the kid’s young and nimble fingers continue to thread actual music effortlessly through the acoustic instrument, you are run over by an epiphany:

A dream job is an oxymoron.

– J.

Boy For the Job

In Head Slave, humor, Interpersonal, Office humor on November 8, 2011 at 02:43

He never frowns at your laziness and is always willing to help. He knows just how much sugar you like in your coffee and just how much you dislike wet washroom floors.

Unfortunately, he is not the perfect husband. He is only the office boy. With more than twice your tenure and less than half your compensation, he is a rare package of loyalty, versatility and value for clams for your employer. Yet he never takes his position for granted nor does he question his earnings.

However, like perfect husbands, office boys are in short supply but invisible to appreciation when around. Having spent enough working days without one to call on, your dam of appreciation is ready to break.

It has been so many days since you had a decent cuppa that you have forgotten what it tastes like. You have sent back many a guest, vendor and customer without even offering them water. Your indoor plants are on the verge of death from malnutrition. The air conditioning does not start and stop on time. Stationary has become a scarce and coveted resource, like cigarettes in prison.

You and your fellow inmates resemble a pack of zombies in desperate need of either the comforts of modern civilization or a bullet to the head! That is when an ordinary caffeine-starved morning suddenly begins to look up.

He is much too old to be referred to as ‘boy’ but there he is: the new office…guy, Jerry. Shutters up, AC on and a warm smile to go with your random errands. Everyone is walking up to him to shake hands and be introduced. It is all too congenial. Jerry is like the cool guy at the after party or a celebrity guest on Oprah.

The very next morning you and a few other early birds are perched outside the office, waiting for it to be opened. You carry mixed feelings for the new office boy has not turned up. You pray that he is late and not absconding, conveniently forgetting that the last office boy was fired precisely for coming late.

But Jerry does turn up having lost his way in the parking lot. You instinctively walk up to him to wish good morning! Head Slave himself walks up to him: ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he says sounding more genuine than he would have taking his marital vows. You finally feel some compensation for the office boy’s minimum wage.

– J.