Day 2

It’s about 3:47pm as per my new Dell Latitude E 4300 laptop. Sleek and black with a matt finish this one gives the sportiest look the dudes of the world would want.

Right from filling my timesheet to my telephone bills submission, I have been successfully able to ignore all of them and put them on the back seat while I day dream and fantasize about moving out of India for a few years to fund the down payment for my house. Not that I have started looking or finalized on some real estate piece, but in a place like Mumbai when it comes to buying a house, its sooner the better.

The day started with a full glass of orange juice and bread butter jam which kind of helped me to be contented till 2 pm which is time when we realize that if it’s not now for lunch we can only have snacks.

The auto rickshaw driver with his billing meter rigged was the first one to spoil the day. Statistically speaking 71% of the times, you end up in an auto rickshaw which has a meter which is not at close to genuineness, with seats that would make you get your ass up until your head bangs up on the ceiling. It was one of those days when you preferred an auto over the public transport and waited in practically all the signals.

Having entered into the office the first thing that I do is fire up my email client just to receive a couple of emails from body shoppers looking out for people ready to work in the Middle-east. The biggest problems with such emails are that give you a feeling that you are the only person suited for the job and can change history forever. And like the other morons, who had already reached half way through to Dubai, I sent my updated profile almost immediately.

My rational compass had drifted off course when I was thinking about getting an Apple iPad at a much lower price which I can flaunt it to my friends and relatives. It was when my cell phone buzzed flashing the country code 97 which I knew for sure that it was somewhere from the middle-east.

Following the pattern the day had so far, the body shopper guy mentioned that the job was a contractual one which could be renewed on a yearly basis depending on my performance. This meant that I was going to be deprived of all the fancy benefits that the co. would provide. I felt like I was going to be the guy in a boy’s hostel with no access to any of those porn DVDs/magazines.

Irrespective of the magnitude of motivation Mr. Lance Armstrong gave me from his book, I fail to develop interest in my work today and am still day dreaming that with a few more blogs I should be updating my location and country in Orkut and Facebook.