Riding the Slipstream

“So, how did it go?” I ask, enthusiastically, as we drove home. “I don’t know”, he said, “she seemed to have a good time, but she did not say much. I kinda felt that perhaps she wanted it to be over as fast as possible” “Well, perhaps she was just nervous. Give her a call tomorrow. I am sure she had a good time. I really think she likes you” On Thursday night the nephew took a girl out on his very first date. I had agreed to drive him and his date, as he is only 14 and not able to drive yet. He also insisted that I take him and not his mother. As he so aptly put it when he asked me, “Mom will blow this whole thing out of proportion and embarrass me in the process. It is more than I can handle for now” I guess he was right, because I got a lecture from her, on the do’s and don’ts, as if I was the one going on the date. I was somewhat bemused her reaction, although it is perfectly understandable, I guess. A parent only wants the best for their child and I knew that she was only looking out for him. "Then I guess I'd better not slip him the pack of condoms I bought on my way over here?" The lack of colour in her face said it all. When I asked him what he had planned, he said… “We are going to get something to eat and then go to a movie”, which given their age, is prolly a good choice… safe and uncomplicated. The choice of what to do can be particularly tough, because you are trying to make a good first impression and you may or may not know what your partner likes to do. Keeping it simple, is a good move. When asked if he is going to get her some flowers. I was told, “That is so retro… where have you been the last couple of years?” Apparently, I have been living in a time-bubble…. and the dial was permanently set to the 90’s! My attempts at getting a conversation started in the car were not really appreciated and I got the distinct feeling that they preferred that I shut up and drive. So I did just that. The journey home, a few hours later, was a bit more pleasant and the two of them talked, albeit in somewhat muted tones. We had a bit of a situation when we got to her house. He got out, opened the door for her, said good-night and got back into the car. ME (as he got in): What are you doing?” HE: Huh? ME: Get out of the car and walk her to the door, you moron! HE: But uncle [K], I already said good-bye to her. ME: I don’t care… walk her to the door, dammit. It is what a good date does. Trust me! He got out, ran after her and caught her just before she got to the door. He said something to her, and that is when she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. My heat was beating so fast, you’d swear I was on the date and not he. An animated “YESSS!!” may have escaped my lips. Damn… I can’t take much more of this! Dating is hard work! I am going to have to take the boy under my wing!

There are days when you are subtly reminded that the career challenging opportunities you were hoping for, may take a while to come to fruition. This morning I attended a meeting that can only be described as, A Meeting Of The Minds…well, of one mind at least. You see, before the “historical” meeting could even commence, we had a problem right away. None of the invitees bothered to show up! There I was, alone in a room, armed with a notebook, all set to doodle or draw humping stickmen, while the others are stroking one another’s egos, and no-one bothers to show up. Not even the guy who called the infamous meeting showed up! That just proves, when the chips are down, I am truly the best the company can rally on short notice. Fortunately for me, a feast of edible goodies had been ordered for the meeting. So I just sat there for half an hour and stuffed my face with baked muffins and croissants, while contemplating why, in spite of my friend Brad’s vivid account of the events, I find the idea of having sex in an elevator just a tad sleazy. Well, there is also the matter of the g-forces generated in an elevator. At least it got my left brain talking to my right brain… so I guess there was a meeting of the minds after all. Yeah, I am in a league of my own when it comes to solving life’s all-important issues. Riveting stuff! This reminds me, I need to send an e-mail to my workmates telling them there is free food in the boardroom.

[This one is at the insistence of Terri, IITQ and Zenstar] I lost my dignity on the N3 north, or at least the bit that was left of it ater falling down at the mall. It is Sunday. We had just finished shopping and what was supposed to be a half an hour drive home, has turned into a 2 hour slog. Some idiot had the audacity to drive badly and cause an accident!! Traffic was piled up for kilometres. Even worse, we are stuck in the middle lane and I… (theatrical pause)… have a pee. I tried to hold it in for as long as I could. Really. I tried. (Damn the 2 Savannas I had with lunch) ME: Uh… [S], I have a code-red emergency. I think I have to go. SHE (jokingly): Yeah right… funny. You can’t go in the middle traffic on a highway. ME (panicky): I am not joking. How far is it to the next exit? Maybe we can get off the highway there? SHE: We missed the exit. Try and hold on until we get home or at least until the next exit, will you? ME: Don’t think so. (pause) Maybe I could open the door just enough and kinda go on the side. Do you think anyone will notice? SHE: Of course people are going to notice. We’ll probably get arrested for public indecency. ME (breathing hard): Ok, I have an idea. Perhaps, I can pee in the car? SHE (shocked): You can’t pee in the car! That would be insane! ME: I don’t mean it literally. Is there a bottle around here I can pee into? What about that carton of milk we bought at the mall. I could empty it and then use it to pee in? SHE: (laughing): Now there is something I never thought I’d ’witness…my boyfriend whipping it out and peeing in a milk carton in the middle of a freakin’ highway. I am sure we’ll start moving any minute now… just hold on (long pause as reality sets in). [K], If I have to watch you pee, we are so NEVER having sex again… EVA! ME: Hon, If I don’t pee now, I will injure myself and we will never have sex again, even if you wanted to. I really, really, really have to go. I CAN’T keep it any longer and I’ll end up pissing in your car anyway. SHE: Wait! There is an empty coke bottle in the cubby (glove box). You can use that! I open the cubby and the bottle is still there. Thank God. I am still the favourite son, or so I thought. Now trying to go while sitting in a car, fully clothed, is a unique sensation. It is awkward and nasty, but then so is a grown man wetting himself. Suddenly it seems as if the whole world knows your business and is looking in your direction. I try and maintain a blasé facial expression as best I can. Whatever happened to people minding their own bloody business? Lesson 1: A man cannot pee in a bottle while sitting down in a car. His anatomy does not allow it to happen. On the other hand, if you lie back too much, you cannot see what you are doing and the bottle might overflow and spill into your lap. So I inch down as much as I can, which amounts to basically nothing. I nervously unbutton my jeans and slide it down, just enough, to allow me the necessary freedom. (i.e. free up Mr. Floppy and get it to point in the right direction) In the meantime, the girlfriend is freaking out, “will you be careful with that thing”? [I sincerely hope that she is not referring to my penis as “that thing”] “I think the woman in the car next to us, can see you.” ME: You know what, [S]… I couldn’t care less. If she wants to see my penis…let her go right ahead and look at it. She‘s so old, I bet she hasn’t seen a live one in a long time. Nothing will stop me now. Lesson 2: You’ll have trouble starting and when you do, it is difficult to control the flow. The same mechanism that prevents you wetting your bed, kicks in, and makes letting go in public, almost impossible. Anyway, I finally get it going. The strangest thing is you have this weird feeling that you are wetting yourself, even though you are doing fine. People are looking at you and they don’t suspect a thing. I am almost done, when lesson 3 kicks in. Lesson 3, which should actually be Lesson 1 as it is the most important one of all: Check the capacity of the bottle… before you go! There is nothing worse than discovering that the bottle may be too small. You hear the pitch of the flow rising and you start to suspect, “This baby is too small and it is going to overflow". Fuck! ME: Uh… [S], I think the frikkin bottle is too small. SHE: No, it is not. It is at least 500ml. Damn, now you made me look. Relax, there’s enough space. You know, this has got to be the most unglamorous thing you have ever done. ME: I am not exactly having fun, you know. You try pissing in a bottle while lying down. This is worse than that dream where you get to work and realise you have no clothes on. Finally, I am done. The world is right side up again and resumes its wobbly journey around the sun. I cap the bottle and pull my jeans back up. So now I have a coke bottle full of what looks and feels like warm apple juice. YUK! It is not a good feeling. Freaky deluxe! Mom was right after all; always go to the little boys’ room before you go on a long journey. Oh, and just in case… always keep an EMPTY bottle in the car.

I was all set to write a post on something incredibly foolish I did on Sunday. I can almost hear you say…”not again”. But then I thought, dammit, just once I’d like to start the week off in a dignified manner (well, at least in blogland). So, I’ll blog about other people and what foolish things they did instead. Grown men should not (be allowed to) get into fights, especially not in daytime and in full view of a group of bored onlookers. It is just unbecoming and they come off looking like pricks, whether they win or lose. And for the love of all things dear, if you are going to fight, get on with it already! Get in there and punch the living shit out of that asshole, and then walk away like they do in the movies!! Screaming at the top of your lungs, throwing accusations back and forth and swearing like a sailor on shore-leave, just make you look like… a girl. When you are a school kid, fights are generally the biggest events of the year. Some snotty-nosed kid shouts, "Fight! There is a fight behind the assembly hall!” and like a swarm of red ants we would rush to the scene, form a circle to watch the drama unfold. Remember those days? Of course, as adults this kind of thing shouldn't happen. It does not quite have the same spectator value. I witnessed a fight on Saturday afternoon. One guy rear-ended the other’s car at a traffic light and before you could say, “love thy neighbour”, the two guys were out of their cars and going at each other like two fat people scrambling for the last doughnut at a Weight-Watchers convention. Man, it was pathetic! I was not aware the word f-u-c-k, or variations thereof, could be used in so many creatively uninspiring ways. Alluring as it was... the flying spittle, bulging eyes and angry red faces made it seem comical and unreal. The whole thing finally ended when one guy finally(!) threw a punch at the other guy. He lost his footing in the process, and ended up sprawled across the bonnet of his car. This act only gave the 2nd guy the courage he needed to tackle him, much to the amusement of the onlookers. The impromptu pantomime came to an abrupt end when the police arrived and pulled them apart. Good luck with that, officers. You are finally earning your salary. I’d lost interest by then, put my car into gear and drove away. No blood and broken bones... where's the fun in that? (Just kidding!) I cranked up the volume on the radio. Ironically, Robbie Williams was singing “No Regrets”. I guess there’d be none of that for those two guys.

We all know at least one person who has made a career of being unhappy. People who suck the joy out of existence and every one they come in contact with, leaving only horror and despair. In their distress, these people accuse, complain, sigh, and make it difficult for others to enjoy any moment. Their self-inflicted misery makes it hard for them to let others be happy and in their loneliness and pain; they seem to do everything possible to stay lonely. I work with someone like that. Yep, I have my very own, one of a kind dementor! (How do you like them apples, Harry Potter?). He is only 26 years old, but one would swear that he's been alive for at least twice as long. There is nothing in the world that ever seems right to the poor sod. And even when it does, he can always find a way to associate it with some negativity. None of the other people at the office enjoys making small talk with him as he can make even the weather seem like a personal tragedy. The biggest mistake you can ever make is to ask him how he is doing and give him the opportunity to respond. And for reasons, only known to him and the dark Prince he worships, he seems to think that I, yours truly, enjoy listening to his anecdotes of gloom and suffering. Damn my magnetic personality and strikingly good looks! (insert hysterical laughter) I had the misfortune of being alone in a room with him today. I tried as best I could not to make eye contact or conversation, but it is kind of hard to ignore someone when there is no one else in the room to take the heat off of you. I had to listen to a 10 minute monologue on the bad state of his health, his career and how his world had begun to fall apart, and that he was now in complete emotional peril. I mostly kept quiet, fearing that a response may spur him on to share more with me than he already had. I have empathy for his... uhm… affliction, but I cannot be his agony aunt. I may have zoned out of the conversation at some point, but I finally heard him say something about not being able to see light the end of the tunnel. ME: Oh surely, you exaggerate… it can’t be that bad? (I didn’t know what else to say!) HE: I suppose… things will get better soon. Bad luck seems to follow me around. ME: You know, Dave, perhaps you should stop waiting for the light to go on at the end of the tunnel. Peace of mind and a better quality of life are sometimes found in the gloomiest of places, but you have to be willing to flick the light switch. After that arse-numbingly uninspiring conversation, I sincerely hoped I could find the switch to turn my brain back on.