Investments for an awkward-proof life

Yesterday at around 12.10pm, I experienced what was perhaps one of the most awkward moments of my adult life. At 6 hours and 40 minutes, it was undoubtedly the longest. I entered the client office with my colleagues [the suits, those who meet clients and make 17 ppts a day]. Since I was given a headsup of a possible visit to the client’s place, I had made efforts to dress well. But turns out I had forgotten about my choice of footwear. I wore flip-flops. Well, flip-flops with some thick heels or something like that. In my defense, they were mostly black with just a tiny bit of red in the straps.
Before I go on, you need to about the client we were visiting. They are our biggest and also the angriest. Important things going wrong make them angry [obviously] so do lame silly harmless things [duh!].
So, the meeting was to begin at 12 pm. We were before time, and used the time to discuss our ideas, set the presentation and fill up the whiteboard with clever and meaningful red, blue and black gabble. Just before 12, someone from the client side informed us of a possible 20 minute delay in the start of the meeting. Since we were more than ready with the preparations, I considered brushing my hair and fix that bothersome strand of hair that stopped me from looking the super-corporate woman that I thought I looked. So, I got up from the chair, picked up my bag and headed to the door, walking tall in my flip-flop heels, and then all of a sudden I was tall no more. The red strap gave away. No it did not tear. Flip-flops unlike leather sandals don’t tear, they give away. I turned a shade of crimson. A shade called disgrace. I looked around, I tried taking a step, and I couldn’t. I mean I couldn’t take a step without looking like a woman whose cheap footwear had failed her. I hurriedly got back to my chair, unkempt hair could wait, none of my colleagues at noticed. Since the strap wasn’t torn, I thought of several quick fixes. I thought of taking the pantry staff’s help, for which I would be required to step out of the meeting room; that obviously wasn’t an option. I dug deep in my bag to look for something, something to hold on to my fast-vanishing honor. And because God loves me, I had my hair in a ponytail. Not down, not in a clip, but held together by a black rubber band. The thick soft-kind. I slid the band through the flip-flop and my feet, holding them together. The jeans, which was little longer than it should have been, helped cover the black band. The client arrived, discussion happened, the rubber band never came off. One of the nosy younger lots did notice my discomfort when I had to get up from my chair and explain a point on the whiteboard but otherwise it ended without anymore disasters.
I left the client office, took a deep breath, got in my colleague’s car, looked down at the miracle band and made a list of my investment plans. Mutual funds didn’t make it to the list.

CC: See? See?!!!

I have been working for years. Long enough to figure out most things corporate, I mean things as corporate as it can be in an advertising agency. Okay, before I proceed, there are a few facts you need to know about my work life - I am yet to own a formal white shirt or a blue or a grey one. I haven’t ever worn a formal trouser in my life – no not even for the interviews. I’d like to believe I am way to cool for office politics, but I guess in reality I am just plain lazy, let’s just say it’s not my thing. Also, I do not suck up to people. And, I’d like to believe I am super hard-working – like – boy! Can she work and I am easy to work with and I am kind of funny [I sure hope this is for real and not bordering on the ‘I’d like to believe’ space]... Now, onto the things that need work: I cannot do PPTs - I don’t know the basic stuff (hush hush okay?). And I am not proactive, I will explain this one, while I am not the one to miss deadlines, or shy away from speaking in meetings, I am the kind that would not be up and ready to gather people and start something fun on a slow Friday afternoon. I am not the one who would walk up to the HR and help plan for a workshop. I am not the one to raise my hand to ‘so who wants to volunteer to paint the workplace in wacky colours’. I am also not the one to actively participate in Terrific Thursdays or Fantastic Fridays. Of course often I just go with it and do it anyways, but doing anyway isn’t exactly proactive. And that pretty much sums up my work life personality type.

Not quite. I have been CC ignorant. Shocking, I know.

Turns out I’ve forever belittled CC. Oh yeah! How dare I, right? After having been educated by a good colleague of CC’s not so hidden powers, I feel cheated. How could I have not seen it? How could I have not known CC screams See? See?
See? See? I worked late
See? See? I worked over the weekend
See? See? I did the work that I wasn’t supposed to
See? See? I helped the work-shy over-paid colleague
See? See? I did the whole ppt content in a word doc, she just jazzed it up
See? See? I have contact in the right places
See? See? I have been doing my job
See? See? I have been doing much more than my job
See? See? I am no naïve dumbbell who doesn’t know the rules of the outlook jungle.
CC: here I come.  

the first day jitters and blushes

no-haggle ride to first day at work: hundred and ten bucks.

hurried breakfast-on-the go: 60 bucks

casual yet formal ethnic wear from anokhi for that first impression: 1600 bucks

dkny watch to add just the right amount of chicness: 10000 bucks

last minute tea to calm the edgy nerves: 6 bucks

being mistaken for an intern: priceless

of goodbyes, bookmarks, a d-drive and untimely tears

this monday was my last day at work in my now previous organization. the incredible amount of work made sure, the day-long nostalgia was skipped, so was the oh-my-goodness-i-can't-believe-i-am-going/ oh-remember-the-nights-out-for-that-campaign conversations. which was, i think both good and bad. there were no all-engulfing emotions, it was just another day. nothing that i will think about, misty eyed. but i'll sure miss the place. i will miss the spectacular view from one of our office corners. the view of the lake and at night, the gorgeous lights around it. the lunch place, the particular chair that i would often sit on. the door to the conference room, the one in which i always entered fifteen minutes late. i will miss my colleagues. the constant banter. the really creative nicknames that we have had (hush, hush).

and while i was still working and chasing a deadline, goodbyes and good-lucks were being said, all of a sudden, the thought that my files and folders in my d-drive won't be mine anymore hit me. i looked at the bookmarks [collected over the years], links that i consider a true treasure trove. and i was suddenly very, very sad. i was feeling sick. tears were involved. out of nowhere there were ample D-drive-triggered tears. hey there psychoanalyst so what do these D-drive-triggered tears say about me and my emotions or the lack of it?

yes, bookmarks made me cry. so did yellow folders in my d-drive. they are like yellow rooms, don't you think? get inside, and you will find some are clumsy, while some all neat and structured. some unopened for months. and some empty.

What gives?

Last night, after having worked for 10 hours straight [for most of you no biggie I know], straightened my back, picked up my bag and got out of office. It was dark, it was raining, the roads had more potholes than it's possible. And unfailingly the auto rickshaw guys were acting funny... 'it's late', it's raining, 'traffic jam' and what jam it was. After 70 minutes of being drenched by pothole water and choked with the soot from the rickety buses that crossed me, I reached home. Switched on the television, and scouted the fridge and the kitchen shelves. While nibbling on some stale cheese balls and watching Nigella cook a cuban chicken with ingredients from the freshest, prettiest farmers' market... I feel hopeless, goalless, tired and extremely lonely. Another day gone. Nothing done apart from having earned my living. That's what most people do. That's what most people are supposed to do. Yeah, yeah must sometimes, just sometimes the whole process of earning a living seems pretty pointless, away from family and friends, with no time to do what we like, with situations that make you curse the rains, with mornings that have turned into a nightmarish routine. Hmm, but then a woman has to earn her living... so would does she do. She leaves work a little early today, ignores the TO Do list, and the unanswered emails. Picks up her bag and heads to the food market. Tonight not, the cuban chicken but some fish curry and rice perhaps.

Never trust a guy who draws a pyramid, and thank God for outlook express.

Hello yellow-blue-red-floral-striped tie wearing, crass joke cracking, evil laughter laughing Client Man,

In all honesty, I would rather not see you again. Having said that I will now tell you what a obnoxious [now I know what it means] man you are. And without much ado, or pretty sentence formations, let me just bullet your horrid traits that I observed during our 2 hour meeting this afternoon.

While discussing a certain headline that required us to emphasize the joys of living high up in a high-rise, you said 'oh my God, ask me how it feels to be at the top, they say it's lonely, they are right'. We [I and the team] did little but nod, not because we agreed but because we were appalled. You are delusional, and I sugarcoat.

Looking at our blank faces, you might have thought, we didn't quite get the whole 'lonely at the top' bit. So, you went on to borrow one of our writing pads and a pen, and drew a pyramid. And then you shaded top of the pyramid, and with that horrible content smile, said 'yes I have reached here, and I know the feeling'. Phew! We were already one hour into the meeting, and no, the concerned work wasn't discussed even once. 60 minutes later, all we understood was, you were at the top and you were lonely.

And then your phone rings, you answer it, instead of excusing yourself out of the room, you talk at your loudest inside the conference room. You inquire about a certain woman, you also describe her – her body type, her complexion, hairdo and then that horrible laugh again. I could tell, it was some sick joke. You go on for the next 9 minutes.

Finally when you are done, and finally when we are about to discuss work, you crack a joke. About your body type, which is pumpkin. Just in case you missed the look on our faces again, no we weren't interested. Not. The. Tiny. Bit. Shocking I know. But no, we were not interested.

If you remember correctly, the work was discussed in less than 17 minutes. An email would have done nicely. Thank God for emails.

7 signs your life sucks

when someone asks you about your weekend plans, you say 'groceries'

when facebook album updates of your friends mean the world to you

when you think of work 17 hours a day

when everyone expects you to think of work 17 hours a day

when you develop an unhealthy love for travel magazines

when you call fellow bloggers friends

when you mark your calendar as per starworld's program schedule

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf

Not in the smiles of my neighbors’ kids

Not in the pretty hibiscus in that woman’s braid

Not in the smell of freshly ground coffee beans

Not in a beautiful, misty morning

Not in the days with no deadlines to chase

Not in the days that allow the pursuit of frivolous hobbies

Not in the orange of the dusk or the dawn

Not in the first rains of the monsoons

Not in lavender or patchouli

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf, or a word doc for that matter.

So much for advertising being the most fun you can have with your clothes on.

Yeah for that guy who created vodafone's newest busy message tvc, advertising is sure a lot of fun. Not for me. Creativity, kick-ass assignment, loving my job, oh-it-feels-like-a-paid-vacation, etcetera be damned.

I am just an ordinary girl asking for just another ordinary job. (cheesy i know, but c'mon i am having a lousy day)

No, there's no Professor Higgins in here.

[for the lack of a more suitable image, apparently this is by Bill Watterson]


For the record, I was never one of those starry-eyed, infatuated with the teacher or the professor kind of girl. But, a cool prof is always better than the uncool ones that we are so used to. Wouldn't you agree? The kind that are pleasant to talk to, listen to, and I am not even getting into the looks bit.

This morning, with my colleagues, I went to a college to get briefed on some branding that they want us to do. This was the first time I was visiting one, after I left college, which was a long time ago. So, needless to say, I got all nostalgic. The corridors, the water cooler, the messy canteen, the chalk, the hurrying footsteps, the green board, the roll nos., the notice board, the staff room, the seminar hall full of professors and KAPUT. Bam! Bam!

After a three hour long briefing session with the professors, couple of HODs, I wanted to run away. They could be the most uncool lot anywhere. And no, calling me beta doesn't help. Not at all. Rather, work on your loud voices and bored expressions.

Those three hours just wouldn't pass. Too many things reminded me of my college, which wasn't Riverdale High by the way. I wanted to run away. Which I did, three hours and many, many eerie memories later.

I am happy in my cubicle. Monday mornings, I can live with; Long work hours, I don't mind. The boss, that's alright I say, really.



n.b.
Your search returned zero results

* Check your spelling
* Reset your filters and more search options from a previous search
* Use quotation marks for phrases like "fashion model"

This happened when I searched for 'good looking professor' and 'cool professor' in corbis
:D :D told ya.

Don't you do that to me.

Last time I felt so let down was when I had my first slice of pizza. It was hardly as cheesy, as crusty, as divine, as whatever as I was promised it would be. However, this time round I feel utterly crushed, cheated and very sad on a whole, perhaps because of the time and patience that went into it.

I've very recently learnt that my power point presentations aren't really going to get me anywhere. A shame, since I've really perfected my PPT skills over the years. I am now what you call quite a pro at it. After being bullied by my superiors and other PPT pros for not having propah skills, I made sure it was at the tippy top of my must do lists.

And now, nothing has changed for me. No corner room, no 30 per cent hike, no paid vacations. Just a 'good job' at the end of each of those fancy presentations, c'mon that wouldn't suffice. Whatever happened to that promise that I will be in a different league altogether? That the way I look at things and the way the world looks at me, will change. What happened?

A bad concept still needs a rework, a boring headline still sucks; a pretty slide, I've realized, does nothing for it. Damn it.

A sabbatical? Going part-time? Freelancing? Or calling it quits?

Is it the arrival of spring? Or is it just a bad week at work? Whatever, it's been a while now, that I've been wanting to scoot, from wherever I am. To someplace where there are no excel sheets, no meetings, no deadlines, no access cards, no vending machines, no year end reviews, no HRs, no presentations, no briefing sessions, no nothing.

I want to run away from it all and maybe just stay at home. Where empty pots in the balcony beg me to stay, and so do the naked walls of the living room. Unopened bottles of exotic spices look at me pleadingly too. Clumsy closets are tired of trying, but nod in agreement anyway. The unturned pages of Lonely Planet say they've never been lonelier. Jeffrey Archer peeps from the corner of my bedside table and screams... stay.

'Someday soon', I promise them as I grab my bag and set out, murmuring 'shucks I am running late.'

Perhaps, scams are all I want to be left with.

To show my grand kids and tell 'em, "look your thamma created this Volkswagen ad."
"Awww thamma, you are soooo cool," they would scream, hugging me.

I am cool with scam ads. Of all kinds - published just once in some obscure journal, never published, went to the client but got rejected, never went to the client, whatever.

What's wrong with creating ads that clients don't buy, they don't have to like everything. What's wrong with creating ads just for the awards? Why can't we sometimes, only sometimes, just forget the target audience? Why can't we create ads just to win awards? Why can't we create ads for pure pleasure?

Having said that, I know ideally we got to strike a balance between being arty and being good for the business. But then, what's the guarantee that our clients are right all the time. They have bad days at work too, bad budgets, or plain bad taste. However, why should that decide the fate of the ad, that probably could have won some award, seen by a few thousand people, fetched me a few minutes of fame and a hike.

With the kind of clients, the kind of work, the deadlines, the shrinking budgets and other unfavourable conditions that we have to deal with everyday, scams reassure us that our sensibilities are still in place. That we aren't in the wrong profession after all. That there's hope.

Scam ads are what make my portfolio happy, not those that made my client smile. By the way, the picture above, is my favourite scam (sadly, never went to the client). Bring on the scams, I say, hoping Cannes will introduce a 'Best Scam of the Year' someday.

On Mondays, I often think of becoming a full-time cook, a smalltime author, an expert on Andy Warhol, a professional kitsch collector, etcetera.

Mondays are plain sad. And I always thought Archies over hyped their 'Monday Blues' section. But isn't their effort so pointless? They haven't got the demographics right, I can't think of any working adult, who would feel better receiving a witty card on a Monday morning. A piece of chocolate cake? maybe, a movie ticket? yes, Shoppers Stop gift coupons? most certainly; but a witty card? No way.

Yeah... It's just another manic Monday.