Friday, July 24, 2009
Imagine sitting in a quiet empty cubicle at work, where you are lost in your deep thoughts, with your index finger up your nostril, focused on digging your nose, deep down in, in order to locate that irritating speck of dried mucus that has been on your mind since the time your nieghbour had said, “I am leaving for lunch” and you had immediately got to working that irritation out; and just when the finger is deeply lost in your nose and you have reached your moment of glory, your mucus of destination, you find this attractive colleague, whom you've always fantasized spending endless nights with, walking to your cubicle, eager to share some good news with you. Looking at her walk, you are sure that she is happy and excited. So it has to be some good news. You knew this even before she had completed the act of opening the cabin door. Yes, you have always studied her so intently, so someday, perhaps, she finds it really sweet that you understand her so well and she brings your fantasy to life, your real-life porn star, your saviour, your colleague. But right then, you start fingering your nostril vigourously so you get rid of that shitty mucus and right then it occurs to you that your entrie life has been like that, except you being the finger, who has been searching for his path to glory, the path to ultimate peace and freedom, inside a deep dark hole, all alone and when you've finally found it, and just when you are reaching for that special thing, just like your fingertips have now, you have to stop and withdraw yourself, like you withdraw your finger and neatly place it on a clean handkerchief so you are ready to indulge in a handshake with that beautiful approaching lady colleague. But your moment of peace will have to wait, as more troubles crowd your mind when the lady colleague absolutely ignores you, bypasses you to greet the guy in the next cubicle with an exaggerated hug or even worse, when she approaches you but takes back her hand almost as instantaneously as she had brought it forward, ready for you to hold and give you that one tiny moment of almost sexual gratification, in dismay after she has seen you performing the act of disgust. The words she speaks are then, some jumbled syllables' group hitting your ears, which are completely meaningless and all you can think of is, “Did she see me digging my nose and if she did, is that why she isn't shaking hands with me and if she isn't shaking hands with me now, will she ever shake her hands with me”, or an even worse thought occurs, “if she did not see me digging my nose, why did she withdraw her hand. Does she consider me so disgusting or is it that she saw me doing something even more disgusting with my hands than my fingers sticking up my nose and now I'll be forever deprived of taking her hand in my hand, even for that brief second.” And as soon as you are over with these horrible chain of thoughts, she has completed telling her good news and has been waiting for your reaction, which comes in a bit late and sounds even more lame, “Ah good! Congratulations” especially, when there was no need to add a congratulations at the end of the sentence, as she questions with intense curiosity, “Thanks. But why are you congratulating me? Are you being sarcastic?” And then it happens, the sudden loss for words and the glorified stupidity radiating from your face, so loud, that it feels like this is your real face and what you wear everyday is just a mask or some make-up. But life moves on and so does the goddess. Resigning to your fate, you return to your world, and then back to your chair, you look around to confirm you are still hidden from any other prying eyes and get back to digging out some relief. But just when your fingertip finds it's way, back to the mucus of relief, in comes your neighbour, walking in with your boss, ready to shake your hand. Here, the process is thankfully less complicated. Out comes the finger, out comes the handkerchief, cleans the dirt, handkerchief then goes into the pocket and you are all set to shake hands with your mucus for life. You are least bothered if anyone has now seen you picking your nose. Unfortunately, relief will need to wait.
Posted by The New Age Superhero at 7:07 PM