I have been summoned to the battlefront. Despite my dishonorable discharge from the armed services two years ago due to my failure in removing the undergrowth on my chin, I have been urgently dispatched to the Chicago frontline by my commander-in-chief who has already departed along with the rest of the troops. The mind races and the mouth salivates at the prospect of once again tasting Chicago cuisine in the wild. However, the stomach also churns at the prospect of conversing with living breathing human beings 10 hours a day every day for a week in order to get them to buy stuff. Adding to this problem is the fact that these conversations will be carried out in a fake American accent on my end which, as I have now been told, doesn't bear even the slightest resemblance to the real thing.
Initially the stomach churned for an additional reason. I was going to have to share a hotel room with the President of the company. Although he is a great guy, it is very difficult to relax your bowel muscles with the same carefree devil-may-care attitude which the knowledge that the custodian of your paycheck is not within clear earshot brings. Plus you can never tell whether your choice in leisurewear could have any kind of detrimental impact on your ascent through the corporate ladder. However, I have now been informed that I will be getting my own private sanctuary where I can withdraw after the sun sets and a temporary ceasefire has been called.
Today was also a great time to realize that I do not own any trousers of a dark blue slash black color that are not made out of some kind of denim. I shall therefore have to visit a vendor of garments on my way to the airport in order to acquire such a pair of trousers. This acquisition is essential for me to fulfill one of the many stringent conditions imposed upon the troop contingent (along with having a smooth chin, that is), namely, the ownership of a pair of dark blue slash black trousers not made out of some kind of denim.
And so, with these words, I take your leave. I hope to be able to chronicle the course of the battle in the coming days right from the foxhole after a hard day of slaying the competition. Hopefully I will be sober enough to do it. So, adios and be good.
5 comments:
Good luck gawker. It's thanks to you that we have our freedom!
Yipee!! I am the first to comment. Wish you good luck on the battlefield. Cant wait to hear more. Hilarious post, as usual.
Are you sure your President doesn't have the hots for you?? Maybe he arranged to share a room with you.
Didn't know sharing a room with a colleague was even done these days (given America's paranoia with homosexuality). It was something I had to do in the early days of my career in India, but never had to face it in the US.
Sharing room with your boss! No wonder you were so reluctant.
Have a good time.
gg
dear gawker (with correct reverence reserved for agony aunt columns)
my american girlfriend (I assume girlfriend coz I asked her to make 'franship' with me, and she laughed, which i think means yes) eej making plenty phun of my accent. I am thinking I talk kewl like american do, and I tell her so, but she eej only laughing, imitating it, and calling me a 'retarded man' which I am believing I am not. kindly advise, who do i need to kill first; her or myself.
S
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