It was almost half-past-two in the afternoon and I was getting abominably late. Although it was a Saturday, and a holiday for me, I had to be back in time to take Mama at 3 o'clock to Puri and the Sands of Time seemed to be running out on me. I was, therefore, quite fretful of this inordinate delay on the part of the concerned desk in completing the pending paperwork. Be it said that I had arrived there before noon, with all pre-requisites in hand, and had been lightly assured that everything would be over very soon - in a way that made me revise my personal definition of the word 'soon', while requesting for quicker compliance.
The Sales Guy butted into my peripheral vision and made me miss out a lollipop on the desultory Candy Crush game I was hunched over.
"Ït's about time," I said, pointing to my watch. The same phrase was written on the dial in a catchy font and the Sales Guy mistook my icy remark for a display of personal pride in the matter of ownership of such a trendy watch. I have no qualms in selecting this adjective for the watch, for he said it in no uncertain terms - "Sir, that is a Trendy watch."
"Forget the watch," I grumbled. "Ï'm getting very late. Aren't the documents ready?" I put a threatening note to that last question.
The SG remained unflappable. That's what I don't like about SG's. They are trained to remain unruffled under duress; something the common man should be offered as a complimentary gesture on booking a car. Especially, if the company's executives idolise the slow and steady principles of the proverbial tortoise while doing their job..
The SG was pointing at a typed fool-scap in his hand. "Sir, kindly check out the details for correctness before we take out the final print." I could see the end approaching and brightened a bit. A thorough reading revealed that he had done a good job, all details being correct in spelling and in place - except for one small prefix.
"Ëvery thing is fine. Just add 'Late' before my father's name."
He was on his cellphone in a twinkle and this was the instruction he passed on. Translated into English, it would read somewhat like - "Listen, Sir said everything is fine. Go to Father's Name and just make it Late. Do it soon, we are waiting."
I processed this weird instruction more objectively than he would ever have done, even if it had been part of his school curriculum. Would the Instructee take the literal meaning of the Instructor's word, or make out the subtle difference between 'Late' and 'late', esp in the spoken form? At leisure, it would have been an amusing thought. But, I wasn't taking any chances now.
Fifteen minutes had gone by, jogging at first and barely crawling by towards the end. That's the measure of human patience - the rate of flow of Time. I ended the ennui with a resounding and abrupt "What happened?"
The SG, who was absently doodling on a scrap of paper, did a sitting jump. I looked him square between the eyes and asserted, "Your instruction sounded confusing. Please check whether he has added Late before Father's Name as instructed. And please ask him to hurry up. I'm getting very late."
He was back on his cellphone saying, "Why are you making it so late? You are taking so much of time just to make the Father's Name 'Late'?" ... and then.. "What? Ok, I'm coming." (Loose translation from the Odia vernacular). He looked at me obliquely and I could see that he looked a bit dismayed before his training took over. I watched him unruffle as I felt myself ruffling up for the nth time.
"Sir, he wanted to confirm about adding Late to Father's Name" he said lamely and I said what amounted to Yes in about twenty words. He had been edging away sideways and, by the time I concluded my opinion, he had left saying "... otherwise it will be too late" leaving me gaping at the unfortunate play of words and making me feel distinctly victimised.
It was a quarter past three when I finally got my papers, corrected with the 'Late' entry, and left the dealer's - very, very late. My only consolation was that I hadn't become Late myself.
The Sales Guy butted into my peripheral vision and made me miss out a lollipop on the desultory Candy Crush game I was hunched over.
"Ït's about time," I said, pointing to my watch. The same phrase was written on the dial in a catchy font and the Sales Guy mistook my icy remark for a display of personal pride in the matter of ownership of such a trendy watch. I have no qualms in selecting this adjective for the watch, for he said it in no uncertain terms - "Sir, that is a Trendy watch."
"Forget the watch," I grumbled. "Ï'm getting very late. Aren't the documents ready?" I put a threatening note to that last question.
The SG remained unflappable. That's what I don't like about SG's. They are trained to remain unruffled under duress; something the common man should be offered as a complimentary gesture on booking a car. Especially, if the company's executives idolise the slow and steady principles of the proverbial tortoise while doing their job..
The SG was pointing at a typed fool-scap in his hand. "Sir, kindly check out the details for correctness before we take out the final print." I could see the end approaching and brightened a bit. A thorough reading revealed that he had done a good job, all details being correct in spelling and in place - except for one small prefix.
"Ëvery thing is fine. Just add 'Late' before my father's name."
He was on his cellphone in a twinkle and this was the instruction he passed on. Translated into English, it would read somewhat like - "Listen, Sir said everything is fine. Go to Father's Name and just make it Late. Do it soon, we are waiting."
I processed this weird instruction more objectively than he would ever have done, even if it had been part of his school curriculum. Would the Instructee take the literal meaning of the Instructor's word, or make out the subtle difference between 'Late' and 'late', esp in the spoken form? At leisure, it would have been an amusing thought. But, I wasn't taking any chances now.
Fifteen minutes had gone by, jogging at first and barely crawling by towards the end. That's the measure of human patience - the rate of flow of Time. I ended the ennui with a resounding and abrupt "What happened?"
The SG, who was absently doodling on a scrap of paper, did a sitting jump. I looked him square between the eyes and asserted, "Your instruction sounded confusing. Please check whether he has added Late before Father's Name as instructed. And please ask him to hurry up. I'm getting very late."
He was back on his cellphone saying, "Why are you making it so late? You are taking so much of time just to make the Father's Name 'Late'?" ... and then.. "What? Ok, I'm coming." (Loose translation from the Odia vernacular). He looked at me obliquely and I could see that he looked a bit dismayed before his training took over. I watched him unruffle as I felt myself ruffling up for the nth time.
"Sir, he wanted to confirm about adding Late to Father's Name" he said lamely and I said what amounted to Yes in about twenty words. He had been edging away sideways and, by the time I concluded my opinion, he had left saying "... otherwise it will be too late" leaving me gaping at the unfortunate play of words and making me feel distinctly victimised.
It was a quarter past three when I finally got my papers, corrected with the 'Late' entry, and left the dealer's - very, very late. My only consolation was that I hadn't become Late myself.
Roll on!👍🏻
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DeleteRoll On? I agree... roll-on on is good... sprays are aerosols that affect the environment. Although a roll-on without aluminium hydroxide is better, such a product is a little hard to come by. Roll-on also prevents body odor for a longer time allowing you the luxury of sitting close to the opposite sex and hoping that any indulgence of tobacco or adult spirit beverages are sufficiently masked by the roll-on, although scents emanating from oral organs are rather difficult to camouflage completely by an under-arm roll-on.
DeleteThe kids these days use a body spray like Fugo to address the limitations of an under-arm roll-on, creating in turn another aroma that a girl may find charming or may find like an ola cabbie has sprayed air freshener to hide the fact that he just got done with a smoke, and he didn't want his cab to reek to high heavens and you ding him for the ride with 1 star and have his boss chew his ass out.
In the end the rolling on might help you to a certain extent get close and personal with a ton of caveats coming out of various other predilections that can substantially reduce the efficacy of the roll-on and might require some counter-measures that have a chance of success if you are going on a date, but in the end it is akin to playing craps on against the house in a Vegas casino, and the odds are dictated by destiny, preparation, luck and desire the relative order of which would need a lot more research and social experimentation.
What the hell did I just write.. :) stream of consciousness? Borne out of the late Mr. Padhy whose name had to be put on a car booking for some ungodly reason that keeps the bureaucratic machinery humming, and provides people with a livelihood doing the strangest of jobs . God speed to the motherland...charm is sometimes engendered by eccentricities beyond belief. I wrote all of this in about 10 minutes so pardon any issues in grammar or diction.
A rollicking good analysis of the merits of a roll-on device vis-a-vis a Fugo-like equivalent in advancing the amorous intent of some feckless individual with a conscious awareness of the olfactory effects of the odours arising from his nether-arms on the object of his desire and consequent retributory effects on him arising out of the effects of his own malodor on the other, in the first place.
DeleteObservation- Paras two and three constitute of one sentence each.
Information: The Late Mr Padhi takes serious exception to the inadvertent or malafide use of y at the end of his surname and the son inherits the trait.
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