Riding the Slipstream

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once – Albert Einstein Why is it when you are in a hurry to do something, someone else is there to slow you down or prevent you from doing what you want to do. It is as if the universe conspires against you in order to restore some sort of cosmic balance. Well if it is, I for one would like to give the universe the finger and say, “Take your cosmic balance and stick it up your aris!” Take last Friday, for instance. It is my lunch hour and I need money in a hurry. I owe someone at the office a few quid and I want to settle it before the weekend starts. So I get in my car and rush off to the shopping mall to draw the required amount of money. It takes me about 30 minutes to get to the mall and find parking space, which leaves another 30 minutes to do my thing, and get back to the office. If I take any longer, I will be late for the meeting I have scheduled for 2pm, which would lead to yet another exchange of words with the boss. It is the last thing I want… not on a Friday afternoon! I get to the only auto-teller machine and there is a young woman at the machine. Young professional, good-looking, smartly dressed. My lucky day! I can make it back to the office in time. I mean… how long can one person take to withdraw a few rand? Much longer than you think, the gods decide. You are on our turf now and we want to have some fun! They instruct Ms Young Professional to firstly draw two mini-statements on two different cards/accounts. She takes, what seems to me like a life-time, to enter her pin-code and follow the instructions on the screen… or perhaps she is just methodical… painstakingly methodical. Meanwhile, I am shifting my weight from left to right and boring holes into the back of her skull. “Hurry up... please, hurry up”, I silently mouth to myself. It’s like having a big pee and all the stalls are engaged. I could easily challenge her, but I am really tired of being confrontational. Upon receiving her mini-statements, she scrutinizes them with such intensity it seems she’s auditing the books of a small company. She does all of this, while standing in front of the machine. The machine has become part of her personal space. I cough loudly to make my presence felt, but she gives me a fleeting glance and then proceeds to insert the first card back into the machine! She really is the poster girl for not “keeping all your eggs in one basket”, don’t you think? I am craning my neck to look over her shoulder (and looking suspiciously like a thief) as if I could mentally enter her pin-code and complete the transaction for her. Ten minutes have passed and I can see my day heading south at lightening speed. I am as impotent as Hugh Heffner sans his Viagra and Father Time, in a cruel twist of fate, has decided to speed up the passing of time. Finally, the machine spits out her money. All of 50 freaking bucks!! It took her all this time, to decide whether she wants to withdraw 50 Rand from one of her many accounts. Are you kidding me, grandma? 50 bucks should be a no-brainer… just draw the money and sort the budget out at home or away from the teller machine! How difficult could that be, I ask you? As she takes the money and her statement and turns away, I rush forward and slot my card into the machine. She looks at me as if I am Satan’s spawn and mumbles something about “waiting your turn”. I could not be bothered. I have 15 minutes left to do my thing and I am pissed off. If I had my way, I would arrest people like her for stealing time. Even if I had not been in a hurry, this woman had just stolen 15 minutes of my day from me. Transactions like these should be conducted inside the bank… not at the auto-teller machine. By the time I get back to the office, it is 10 minutes after 2. The meeting had already started and the boss throws a snide “glad you could finally join us, [K]” in my direction. I can feel my scrotum tighten as the anger wells up inside of me. I mumble my apologies and sit down. Where are the gods and their cosmic mumbo-jumbo now? Some days just aren’t worth getting out of bed for.

I love it when my boss calls me to his office to have a strategic conversation about the projects I am working on. He is s one of those people who have the uncanny ability to do both sides of a conversation… by himself. You know the type. He would ask you a question in the middle of a conversation, pause, and then go ahead and answer it himself. It’s like I’m not even there in the office with him. When he does that, it takes me back to my childhood. Whenever I did something wrong, my Dad would always say (with that little vein throbbing on the side of his head), “Just who do you think you are?”, and then he’d go ahead and tell me exactly who he thought I was. Ha ha… those were the good old days! I am not the only person he (the boss) does this to. I‘ve seen him do it in conversation with other people as well. It actually creates the impression that he has thought it through and that he had considered all the angles. Very effective… if not, not extremely annoying. He’d say things like “Do you know why I think we should take the risk?” or “Here’s why I think you should go ahead and do this”, and then he’d go on and spew forth a plethora of reasons. Of course this means that I basically stand there and nod my head in agreement. It is like white noise. I find it very soothing in a depreciating kind of way. Naturally, there is a small part of me that wants to rock the boat and go ahead and answer the question before he gets a chance to air his point of view. For no particular reason, but to interrupt his rhythm and because I can. I am well aware that the posing of the question is merely an academic exercise and that he does not expect me to have an answer. In fact, he is banking on me not to. But I am still going to do it. For the sake of my own sanity, and because I can’t wait to see the look of surprise on his face when he realises that I can actually think for myself and that I have an opinion. The majority of which, I loathe admitting, could be considered arbitrary. My strategy could actually backfire and I may bite off more than I can chew, but then it is all about taking the risk and asserting myself. You could say I have “a bee in my bonnet” when it comes to these things. I’d hate to think that I am nothing more than a sounding board for him and his ideas. Come to think of it… he probably does.

I attended an Awards function with the gf last night. The event was sponsored by the company she works for. Black tie. The perfect gentleman. It hurts just thinking about it. I was not looking forward to going, but the matter of my attendance was not negotiable. That much was made clear from the start. I haven’t worn my tux in a long time and was surprised that it still fit me. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to a tailor for alterations. There is something about having your body parts touched and measured that does not seem right… especially when it is done all over. Some things are a lot more tolerable when there’s a certificate on the wall… preferably from a medical school. I do clean up nicely, if I dare say so myself. (bleh) Ok, perhaps I am just vain… anything (anyone) looks good in a tux… just watch The March of the Penguins. Those little guys look so friggin cute! (insert the smiley face) Half of the evening was spent sitting at the table as award after award was doled out. It is not quite the Emmys or the Oscars, but one would never say that judging by some of the acceptance speeches that were made. Whatever happened to a humility! Apparently she’s been fucked over by arrogance and self-importance. It is hard to remain upbeat and positive when you are confined to a chair for more than 90 minutes. On the other hand it could just be the ADHD or the lack of red wine. (Oh, look! The ice-cream in my bowl is shaped like the The Virgin Mary!) There is nothing worse than being at a party when the number of people you know can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Between the head-nods and the introductions, I always feel like I am taking part in a parade. Being introduced or referred as [S] s bf kind of has the effect of reducing one to the rank of kept boy… only the perks are not as exciting. The key to surviving a dull party is to have arbitrary knowledge on as many topics as possible. “Fake it and work it”, that’s my motto. This is quite easy to do as most conversations are about as profound and enjoyable as sticking your finger up your nose. And if you run out of things to say and your neck tires from all the nodding, you can always excuse yourself by pointing to your empty glass and walking over to the bar for a refill. Of course I had to be on my best behaviour. Some things just aren’t funny when it could mean the end of your gf’s professional career. A word to the wiser… if you ever have the misfortune of being introduced to a financial consultant named Simon, pull the fire-alarm and make for the exit… immediately. He will suck you into a vortex of ass-numbing me-me talk that will make you want to shove a scud missile up his arse. In the end the evening was a huge success or so I was told. I don’t actually know what makes for a successful Awards Evening as it mostly depends on what you wanted to achieve in going there. Of course, if you had won an award… that goes without saying. To the losers… well, I guess there is honour in being nominated. Yeah right, I’d rather be pissing blood! Face it… it sucks to lose. As for me, well my aspirations on this occasion were rather low. I made the girlfriend happy, got home just before midnight… sober and in one piece.