Personnel Decisions ~ December 2012
Me: I love this copy machine. This copy machine defines this work environment pretty well. Everything’s copied to the extent, that given the right amount of time, every employee looks like a clone of each other. The same walking-dead expression. It’s like an organization of zombies, servicing the general living population. The shop has this sinister white light throughout, the surroundings are white, the things we sell are white, the furniture is white, and the telephones - yes, white. Amazing, isn’t it?
Customer: Quite… What I really wanted to know was how long does the warranty for this machine last?
Manager: Miss Susan, a word…
Me: Excuse me for a minute, will you, kind Sir?
Customer: By all means…
Me: Where, exactly, do you come up with hemorrhaging expressions like this one, may I ask? What means? I don’t have other means of meeting my manager in his office, other than feet. Now, if you choose to designate that as a mechanical process inherantly deserving of a Nobel-prize, I can’t argue with that. It’s the sheer pig-headedness of the expression, and your choice of using it, that pisses me off…
Manager: Susan… In my office, pronto…
Customer: …
Me(to customer): Oh, get lost, will you? You look like a squirrel coming back home to find its nuts missing… Fuck off…
Manager: SUSAN…
Me(to customer, in a falsetto voice): Hope you’ve enjoyed your Shopping Experience today. Thank you, come again…
Manager: That’s it. Get in here… Now… Susan… (insert fake drawing-in of air, as if to denote guilt, and remorse) The management and I think it’s better you stay at home for a month…
Me: Why a month?
Manager: That’s essentially when holiday season ends…
Me: I still don’t see the connection…
Manager: You’re scaring the customers away…
Me: Ah.
Manager: You see my predicament?
Me: I’ll pretend I did. So, is this mandatory vacation paid?
Manager: I’m afraid not.
Me: I see. Who else here is temporarily discharged?
Manager: Edward is.
Me: Who the heck is Edward?
Manager: That’s Edward.
Me: You’re kidding right? The guy who keeps grinning at everyone, and myself, are the only ones asked to sit home for a month?
Manager: That’s right. You’ve got to learn how to deal with customers…
Me: … by sitting home… Makes perfect sense…
Manager: Yes, now get going, will you?
I promptly get out, and seat myself on the sidewalk. I light a cigarette, and think of what I’m going to do for a month. Crap, me and my big mouth. I have just enough to pay the rent and supplies for two weeks. What then? The door opens behind me, hopefully, it’s my manager coming to give me another warning, to ask me to step back into the place. To start work immediately. It isn’t.
It’s Edward, the guy who’s asked to sit home, just like I am. Ironically, he’s flashing a smile at me, and to everyone else on the street who cares.
Me: What are you so happy about?
Edward: No work for a month. Isn’t that cool?
Me: Are you retarded?
Edward (with a curious smile): Why do you ask?
Me: We’re pretty much asked to be jobless for a month. I suppose you’ve got a great, big stockpile of cash, stacked away on a desert island somewhere…
Edward: As a matter of fact…
Me: Yes?
Edward: ... No.
Me: Let’s start over again. Seriously, are you retarded?
Edward: Well… as brilliant as your analogy was, no. I have a plan. It might not be the best of plans, but it’s the best I could come up with at the moment.
Me: Oh? Go ahead then, enlighten me…
Edward: I’m going to travel a bit for a month. We’re in India, travel’s cheap. Want to tag along? I’m writing a novel titled Pot Chronicles, maybe you could help…
Me: I don’t even know you.
Edward: What’s that got to do with anything?
Me: I’m out of cash.
Edward: And I’ve already told you, we don’t need unending funds.
Me: What about sleep?
Edward: We’ll get places to sleep, dude. I don’t think a lodge requires 21st century Technology to operate…
Me: Fuck this… Give me an hour to pack.
Edward: Great…
20 Minutes later
Me: Alright, let’s go…
Edward: Sure… Keep your bags in the trunk...
Me: Alright, I… What’s the heck’s in this sack?
Ed: Open it.
Me: …. WEED???
Ed: Yeah…
Me: Are you insane?
Ed: Remember that novel I told you I was writing?
Me: Oh, and this is the inspiration, is it?
Ed: Pretty much... Shall we?
************************************************
Cruising
We leave the car parked at the railway station. I go get tickets for the both of us, while Edward chooses this particular moment in time to get stoned. I meet him ten minutes later on a platform, thoroughly stoned, buying a shop out of a month’s stock of Cadbury’s.
We mount the train, thankfully we’ve got an empty compartment. I could imagine what I could only describe as pastoral women, you know, the ones built like rhinos on anabolic steroids, freaking out if Edward decided to avert his gaze and laugh at them. After a while, I get pissed off. Because of boredom.
Me: Switch off that shit, and talk…
Ed: Uh… what about?
Me: Anything. All this greenery is starting to get on my nerves…
Ed: Odd. Tell you what, listen to this song. I’m fine with just observing stuff…
Realistically speaking, this has got to be one of the best tracks I’ve heard. It’s an acoustic track by Led Zeppelin. For some weird reason, the passing hills, trees, paddy fields, backwaters, and people I’ve never seen before seem to be moving in-tune with the song, like rhythmic blurs. As amazed as I am with this new effect, Edward is staring into some far-off distance and grinning at everything we pass. Edward starts rolling the next joint, grinning at himself the entire time. I ask him for a joint, and he starts laughing at me.
Five minutes later, now really stoned myself, I’m starting to notice stuff I’ve never observed before. In flashes, of course. A calf grazing at the foot of a hill, eating those few strands of grass and then getting genuinely startled after it unconsciously looks up and beholds the size of the hill. Women washing clothes in a river, while their kids surprise them by jumping right near them to take their baths jumping over their mother’s heads, causing the maternal doters to revert to pure hate for their offspring, after they’ve been thrown back and break their backs, resulting from gut reaction to the sudden splash. A guy slipping and falling into a paddy field, when he decides to not get drenched when it starts to rain, emerging from the paddy field, like some sort of brown mud monster. Drunk guys carried in and out from local bars by the management, in their uniforms of dirty shirts and multi-colored pieces of cloth tied around their waists.
It may not sound like much, but the sights of rural locations, with specific sounds, like this track I’m listening to, does give it a serene feel. You can’t get this effect with the stench and institutionalization of cities.
As I take in the naturally-occuring visual accompaniment to the song, we’ve arrived at our station. It was just a place Edward randomly picked up on a map, I was under the feeling that he had some knowledge about it. Apparently not. We get down at a station where there’s no one there, except for a few tired, sleepy station masters and platform vendors.
Me: Just where the fuck are we?
Ed: Exactly what it says on the ticket.
Me: There’s no info on the ticket.
Ed: That’s the plan.
Me: You mean you just randomly picked some place from that map?
The song now plays faintly in his portable music player, because by this point, I had taken off an earphone, to hear him explain his individual brand of highly informative crap. The other earphone continues to float along some parts of my brain…
Ed: Well… the idea was to go somewhere, in the middle of nowhere… What happened? You look strange…
Me: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Ed: Oh good.
Me: I was being sarcastic…
Ed: Oh… Let’s look for a place to stay then.
Me: In no-man’s land? You’ve got to be kidding…
Ed: Want another joint?
Me: No thanks, I think I’d rather be panicking at the moment.
Ed: Oh c’mon… Let’s look for some place.
We walk around for a while after leaving the station, until we xhance upon an auto rickshaw driver on the way who says the residential area is five kilometers away.
Me: What about the town area?
Driver: What town area?
Me: What the… I mean… could you drop us there?
Driver: Sorry, no wheel…
Me: What?
Driver: No wheel… I’ve been parked here for hours…
Me: … have you considered going to the town for help?
Driver: Not really…
Me: Brilliant.
Ed: Let’s walk…
Me: Like there’s some other option...
Ed: Therefore, walk…
I had the most incredible walk. I’m aware I sound like one of those yuppie morons, who’re scouring around to commune with nature, but it isn’t because I love the smell of flowers, or the wafting of the gentle breeze in my hair, or some such nonsense. We’re walking in the middle of a road, stoned, with no sign of cars or bicycles or anything. I’m sure the pot had something to do with it, but oddly enough, I never knew how time passed. Neither of us spoke to each other, throughout the walk to the place where other human beings lived. We just looked at everything else with new eyes, at least, I know I did.
Me: This place is so calm and quiet, and yet there are so many things happening around here, that we hardly ever notice. Animals. Plants. Wind. Water. They’re all existent in this symbiotic environment, and yet, they’re so silent. They pretty much have a daily routine as much as we do. And because of predators and such, there’s always a certain amount of danger in their lives. Yet, they happen to live life with so much ease and tranquility, without bothering anyone else. Serenity...
Ed: Really? Look at that…
Me: ...Well, in most cases, I suppose...
What prompted me to say that, was purely a situational thing... We ran into this peculiar, natural live show, of animals irritating other animals. A tiny bird kept hovering around a stray dog, and poking the mutt with it’s beak at regular intervals trying to wake the dog up. The dog sees us, but is too bored to care, and trying to get the bird off its ass, at the same time.
Ed: Hey, I want to try something… Got any food?
Me: I’ve got some beef…
Ed: Perfect.
Me: …hey, what are you doing? That’s the last food I’ve got… That isn’t parmesan, you moron, that’s weed…
Ed: I know.
Me: Then why are you mixing it with the beef?
Ed: To feed the dog.
Me: Where were you when god was handing out brains, mate? Stop messing around with it…
Ed: You wanna eat this?
Me: Uh… Not anymore…
Ed: Let’s feed the dog this, and come back in a few minutes. I wanna see how it reacts to this…
Me: I’d rather get to some place where we can get some food. I’m starving…
10 Minutes later
Me: I can’t believe I’m waiting for a dog to do something extraordinary.
Ed: Look at that…
I looked in amazement, as the stoned mutt had the bird perched on it’s head, and was now in the process of howling at a sunset, like an opera.
Me: Fascinating... Can we go now?
Ed: Is it trying to elaborate that sunset, in some form of art that’s unique to itself? I wonder…
Me: I guess we’ll never know, will we?
Ed: I suppose so.
Me: Here’s a thought, Mr. Animal Scientist, the sun’s setting, which probably means it’s after six. Could we walk faster, by any chance?
****************************************************
Hilly
Me: The road was flat till now. How did it get steep so suddenly?
Ed: It isn’t that steep. Look, there’s the residential place.
It’s 7:30 PM, and we finally reached the fucking place. I’m so fucking hungry, I’m staring at fucking chickens that seem to run around like it's a fucking carnival. We finally arrive at a small hut, which has the sign HOTEL hung from a nail above the entrance. I rush towards it, and Ed-what’s-his-name stops me.
Ed: Where are you going?
Me: To eat. I don’t care if that place is rat-infested, I need food.
Ed: I thought you were broke.
Me: Yeah. That’s why you’re going to pay…
Ed: I’m broke too…
Me: … what?
Ed: Me. Broke. You, broke. We both broke.
Me: WHAT????
I’m too transfixed with delirium, I hardly notice a fat, old man talking to Edward…
Oldie: What’s the problem?
Ed: We’re broke. And hungry. We don’t want to beg. And my friend here’s going crazy…
Me: You f…
Oldie: Calm down, let me think this over. You traveled on a train, got here after walking five miles, and you have no money…
Ed: Yeah…
Oldie: ... That is so cool…
Me: I’m sorry, what?
Ed: Yeah, isn’t it?
Me: Pardon me for interrupting this rather stunning, slightly off-putting line of conversation you both seem to pursue at the moment, but what the hell are you two grinning at each other for?
Ed: She’s slightly on edge, don’t mind…
Oldie: No, no, not at all… I’ll tell you what, there are these children who come to this private tuition here. It’s run by this professor, who gives free education, of course, and does this besides his job, so it’s usually late when the teaching ends.
Me: Your point being…
Oldie: Well… I usually drop them in my car, today, I’m not up to it. Seeing as you kids have no money, and no place to stay; no, there aren’t any hotels with accommodation around, and even if there was, you couldn’t afford it, remember; you could stay at my place.
Ed: Alright.
Oldie: Just do me a favor and drop these kids back home.
Me: We don’t know where to drop them off.
Oldie: Don’t worry. They’re village kids, they know their way around.
Me: I see. And which one’s your house?
Oldie: It’s the biggest house in the village, you won’t miss it.
Ed: Keys? Thanks. Hey Suzy, I’m gonna smoke some.
Me: … Yes?
Ed: Don’t you want any?
Me: … No I do not.
Ed (with a shrug) : Alright.
The kids pile into this run-down Ambassador. I opt to drive, Edward is too stoned to walk by now. These little cretins keep singing and giggling and shaking the car, just generally irritating the fuck out of me. Some of them tried to get friendly with me, by clinging onto my neck like baby monkeys, and asking me where I was from, while I responded, partly choked, Fuck You, Gaaahhh… By the time we get to their houses, they’re all chanting Fuck-You’s, like it’s a fucking nursery rhyme. Ed is so much help at this point, laughing all the way through this. Because he continued to giggle, and speak less-clearly than those kids, the kids kept a safe distance from this weird phenomenon, and concentrated on pissing me off. We’re finally done, and I asked the last kid how to get back. The kid shrugs, and walks off.
Ed tells me to fill up petrol, and I ask him where the hell’s the petrol station and the money. He pulls out a few hundreds from his pocket, and tells me the way to the nearest petrol station. Apparently, that old dude did give him directions, and money. We refuel, and go back the way we came. He asked me if I wanted to do a bonfire before going back. I said I’m starving, and would he fucking say something sensible for once. He smiles at me, and fills up extra petrol in some bottle he found. We set off soon after, trying to find Kerala’s version of Castle Dracula.
Drifters Inc.
There were these local macho-morons who were apparently checking me out at the petrol station. They strutted as much as they could, and I paid no notice. We tried finding the way, but we were too confused. It was really dark. And these guys followed us in another car, and caught up to us, easily, considering the junkyard-item we were in. They were apparently trying to convince me they were cool, by shouting incoherent stuff as they’re speeding up along our side. Ed climbs to the back seat, and finds an old cloth. He proceeded to douse the rag with petrol, lights it, and threw it through one of the open windows of our stalkers. We sped on, and watched from our rear-view mirror, as the stalkers stopped the car, and rushed out of it, while the interior of the car is ablaze.
Me: That wasn’t premonition, was it?
Ed: No. I’m bad with premonitions.
Me: Right. Now, about that joint you offered me an hour ago…
Ed: Yes?
Me: I think I might just need it now…
Pot and unlit roads, combined, present ample potential, for road-kill. Although I’m stoned and partially blind, I seem to be doing very well. Until we observe three oncoming headlights behind us. It’s the same stalker-dudes, on bikes. We reach this narrow road, bordered on either side by a river, and start to accelerate. No more petrol-lit attire, no more compromises… We just lit up their car, and I’m not sure money is what they're after. They speed up right along-side to us, and glare. It looks like they’re going to ram us into the river. I have no idea what intuition led me to this, but just as they veered into us, I stepped on the brakes. Resulting in three bikes, missing us, and crashing into the river. Ed looks at me and goes Oooooo Impressive…
We eventually find this huge bungalow on the highest point in the town, and head to it. The old guy comes out the front door, as soon as we park the car.
Oldie: Got all the kids safe home, didn’t you? Why don’t you both freshen up, and come down for dinner?
An hour later
Oldie: Everyone in the village thinks I’m mad. Do you think I’m mad?
Ed: No. Why do they think you’re mad?
Brilliant. An alcoholic, expressing his troubles, to a pothead.
For purposes of censorship and eradicating bullshit from the narrative, the rest of the conversation will not be repeated by me. I think I’ll describe it as Everything went well. Especially when we all went to sleep.
I woke up the next morning, awoken by a music system with 5 speakers and a woofer yelling out the morning prayer. I switch off the tape, and search for one of those two I could kill. I find no one, so I walk outside. It’s raining heavily, and then I hear Oh look who’s finally up… I find both morons seated on the roof, getting drenched, and smoking what looks like pipes. Boys will be boys, I suppose.
Anyway, soon after this wet gay incident, Ed decides it’ll be cool to go for a drive, since the old dude’s given us the keys. Not yet, anyway. The old guy decides to bring back the topic from yesterday night and starts talking about how the world’s never understood him. Ed refutes this, and says being pleasant, and truthful, is enough concentration anyone should focus on any other person other than themselves. He went on to say, how we analyze stuff, should be restricted to the stuff we generally observe, and learn, and experience. It’ll usher in some self-balancing elements, such as realistic optimism, and necessary pessimism, in every human life... Leaving an old man of established perspectives and practices confused at the start of this exchange of sudden philosophy from an unexpected person... As the man imagines his long life in entirety in a stream-of-consciousness, and interposed this new alternate view of plain living, he got it, I guess. He smiled his way into a piece of music, still smoking and smiling, as we leave the house for a cruise. Along country roads, on a tortoise-paced, battered old Ambassador, on pot.
This lasted two weeks, until we thought we were intruding on this old man, who now whined about not having enough pot, so we somehow get him fresh seeds to plant.
And then, we left. Traveling back to Blade-Runner town, to get screwed over by the system.
Those days were lessons, in some odd way, but I suppose we can never predict any certain future. Expect nothing, and feel less disappointed when things don’t happen in your favor, and marvel at how things fall into place because of some random change, or lateral thought.
WHICH, was four years ago
I kept wondering what would’ve happened next, with either of us. In passing, for four years, I did. I did keep in touch with him, maybe once a year, you know, as casual acquaintances. It's like this, what went on last year; a minute-of-gibberish, and one call-you-in-a-year’s.
It’s 2016 A.D. So far, this year’s been a nightmare. Plenty of weddings. I hate sodden weddings; which are always the case anywhere in India. I‘m fine with the concept, I find it hilarious; but the whole tedious going-to-it, and all those idiotic speeches and ceremonies... horrible blandness indeed. It would be interesting to imagine replacing the word ceremonies, with crematoriums, and see what cultural shift it might bring. People would say, We’re going to our friend’s wedding crematorium. Love will then be proven true by people who believe they’re so much in love with each other by burning themselves together, and if they don’t try to escape from the fire, they go to heaven and live together forever. Of course, this would be the basic belief behind this new practice. The realistic idea behind this cultural phenomenon, is simply this - If they really believed having an affinity, and a passion, for each other, is reason enough to egotistically keep the other person for themselves, for life, let them prove it by actually burning themselves. Taking the expression Together in Life, or Death, seriously, for once, you know, have the decency to have a little consistency in your beliefs, if you insist on blindly believing something based on nothing. This eliminates all the crazies, allowing the others to live in peace. Imagine that, no love ballads, no cheesy romantic comedies, no exaggerated tragedies. Maybe I'm just being too cynical here. Every cultural phenomenon, based on the flawed premises of love, loses meaning, or importance. If it does have meaning, it's based on something substantially honest, since it’s derived from an objective, rational, lateral standpoint. Abstract Truths, perhaps. Maybe logical reasoning should’ve remained that way, through human existence.
Emily: He seems nice, so far…
Me: Isn’t everyone nice, before marriage?
Emily: I don’t know…
Me: I think everyone are. I think there’s this long period of creating the right impression to each other. It’s this period of time of sexual repression, and haywire imaginations, honed on by one or two people, which gives this absurd impression that the whole courting thing seems like such a magical, Disney moment, when they're entirely into it. The only difference is, since the larger part of either personal imagination rests on the other person, there’s an air of mystery and speculation involved. Some people prefer being adventurous about this sort of thing. And somehow, both fail miserably in most cases, and may work in some random, perhaps abrupt cases, granted. How about the ones, who have urges to depend on another human being but refrain from it, like people on pot.
Emily: I know. perhaps marriage isn't a concept for everyone.
Me: I’m just saying my mind does hover over everything, since I just keep thinking and looking around all the time, but my attention span works till I lose interest. I’m never interested in anything beyond a short period of time. Which, incidentally, helps me get over my testosterone-fueled bullshit. So does the pot.
Emily: Oh, that reminds me, he smokes pot from time to time, he said…
Me: Exemplary, Emily. Marvelous. Superb. Awe-inspiring. Fantastic. Delightful. Fuck, I’m running out of adjectives I reasonably use, when I’m being sarcastic.
Emily: I’ll introduce him to you once the wedding’s done with.
Me: No thanks. Any pothead who’s had reserves of imagination thrust upon him when he’s in pot heaven, and then decides to get married, is beyond my comprehension, or patience.
Random Female: It’s time, dear…
Emily: Right, I’ll see you at lunch.
What a naive prospect. Commitment. Oh well, it’s interesting to be observe one, I suppose.
I smoke some of my best stash in the courtyard, and stumble my way into the Church. There’s a bunch of goofy smiles on most people here, and I tend to imagine it at the moment, as a mob of subtle, calculating old people, sending two convicts (the couple who’s getting married) to their social prison. Marriage, at least to the onlookers, always seemed like sadistic entertainment to me. That’s probably why infants cry at weddings, they know.
The entire hall takes a momentary vow of silence, when the couple starts to walk down the central passageway, towards the altar, even stifling the crying kids into a sort of halted, confused silence. I see the bride and the groom walk together, followed by an army of relatives, who’re convinced this is something magical. I keep giggling, while this old woman standing next to me, asks me to shush, and watch. Sure, I’ll watch… And I…
I think I must’ve fainted, because there’s people around me sprinkling holy water onto my face. I eventually refocus my eyes, from blurry vision to ordinary vision, and I see this odd image saying WAZZAAAAAAAAAAAA… to me… I promptly faint again. I wake up again, and the same apparition says Wazzaaaaaa, only more softly, as if his greeting was the prime cause of my recent incredulous swoon. This time I try to move my lips to say something coherent. All I could manage was… You? Groom?
Ed: I suppose. You all right?
END
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