The Outcaste I

The last straw? Now my phone has been taken.

Sure, this could be the adventurous western that you are looking forward to read. I’ll throw in a few horses just to keep you happy. Didn’t you read the title? It says, The Outcaste, not the Outlawed!

The flashback:

So I walk into Work one day; can you imagine how sad that is! His parents must’ve hated him; why else would they name their child that.

Team meetings are at an obscene hour in the morning. I am always there just in time and thankfully fully dressed. It’s an ordeal trying to put on your trousers in the car. I have always wondered why my nosy neighbours have their blinds shut every Wednesday morning!

This one Wednesday morning I sprint through five floors, rush across the lobby, to the farthest meeting room and just about make it to the meeting. If somebody was watching me there would have been an encore just for the effort. But all I get are some blank stares and coughing.

Cough. “Err, Kavisha so you made it.” Cough.
“Well, yeah! I didn’t win the race, but I made it.”
Now another one goes.
Cough. “Did you receive a meeting,” Cough, “invite for this one?” Cough.
And then another.
Cough Cough. “You could’ve,” Cough, “just checked,” Cough Cough, “your calendar before,” Cough, “attending the meeting.” Cough
Check my calendar before the meeting?! They haven’t heard my Wednesday morning story.

“I didn’t bother checking, isn’t it always there? And you guys seem to have a bad cough, don’t give it to me.”

I always knew these guys were weirdoes, they just proved me right again. Cough, Cough. Boy, does my throat feel funny!

Coffee breaks are not the most fun of times, but yeah I like to indulge in the occasional office gossip of who has a crush on whom or who is the new hot guy that has NOT joined our team.
So I am having coffee with the “gang” (oh yeah that’s what I call them, at least that makes them sound cool) and I hear, “So what time are you gonna make it to MB’s place?” “I dunno probably around 6:30.”
Hmm, what was that again?
“Hey, what are you planning to wear to the party?” The shrill voice of Ms.I’m-So-perfect-I-could-fall-in-love-with-myself. Frankly I think she is in love with herself. And, whoever can wear pink and silver to the workplace, think she looks absolutely stunning and get away with it.
So yeah, Party? What party? That’s what I’m thinking.
The heck I’ve got some pride. So I go, “What party are you guys talking about?”
There’s that coughing again.

Then Ms. Perfect and her shrill voice, “Oh MB is throwing a party.”
Why does she have to roll her ‘R’s. For God’s sake babe you’re Indian! You’re last name is James. Oh! That might explain the accent.

Enter the “hunk” (you have to say it with the air quotes); and that’s what he thinks he is. For a guy whose height reads 4ft-nothing he’s got some huge attitude.

Shorty: “Yeah MB is throwing a party. I don’t think you’ve received the invitation. Actually you have been officially deleted from our distribution list. You’re moving to another team. It is part of the whole restructuring thing you know.”
Of course I know that you demented moron. All we’ve been talking about during meetings is restructuring and who’s sleeping with whom.

By nature I never listen to this guy. He’s known for his extremely long and boring stories of adventure during official meetings.
Me and my stupid spread-the-joy attitude I once asked him, “So how is it going buddy.”
Just a “Not too bad”, would have sufficed. But no, I am in the corridor on my way to the bathroom with a full bladder and I have to hear about his girlfriend breaking up with him (well, that’s no surprise. Smart gal I’d say), his pet dog having diarrhoea (will he stop with the shit already!) and how he coped so well with the situation that he was sure to receive an award for his work. (Jesus Christ! I promise to say my Hail-Marys if this guy lets me go to pee.)

So, now I am off the distribution list. That’s fine. It means no more Wednesday morning meetings with these yahoos. I think I just heard the Alleluia!

Now it was official. I was moving. Not only logically to another team but also geographically; yeah I wished it was Hawaii or Timbuktu (very curious about this place). I had to move across the road to the “other” building.
“So, when are you moving?” became their morning mantra. Boy you’d think I was stalling and desperate not to move the way they kept asking me.

On the day I had to move, I was pretty choked. Ms. Perfect shoved a huge piece of chocolate cake down my throat, as a parting gesture. I always knew she wanted to kill me, what with all the calories that came with the unsolicited gesture of ‘we-are-so-sad-that-you’re-leaving’.

I am sure there was a spring in my step when I packed all of my stuff to my new place. No more mindless gossip, no more putting up with Ms. Perfect’s not so perfect jokes (We’d know it was a joke because she was the only one laughing at the end of it), no more tales of Shorty’s adventures (Yeah, watching Tigers in the zoo having lunch is so bloody awesome, jeez!), no more tears (oh wait, isn’t that a Johnson & Johnson’s ad line)

My new place was, oh never mind. I was assigned a corner and dumped along with printer stationery and the printer. There was a phone which I assumed was mine. Nobody knew that there was living being now seated next to the printer. So I just plugged-in my laptop and pretended that I didn’t exist.

I come to work next morning and I notice that I have a neighbour. Not just that but she now has my phone. “That’s my phone bitch! Give it back!” Well, that’s what I said in my head and slowly sunk into my seat.

Shorty’s dog diarrhoea story doesn’t seem so bad now.


- Kavisha Pinto © 19th July, 2006