Today, I was thinking of dingo teaching me how to make drawings… dingo and his sensitive mouse. tango used to have precisely one drawing in his comp, lost in a sea of forwards, photos, general crap and stinking documentation. His screen was perpetually zoomed in… every now and then he’d zoom out, and zoom in elsewhere, just to fool us into thinking that the guy works. I used to hate dingo, one of my main bosses. He caught me, on different instances, reading papers, magazines, playing minesweeper, listening to music, reading ESPN basketball reports saved from elsewhere, writing letters and long posts for my blog… he came close to tying a bell around my neck.
Back to the exercise, tango used to get up at 9:40 am and walk around, engaging in idle talk with fellow institutionalized specimens. Then he’d go to the loo and pee for a while, followed by extended reps of splashing water onto his old face. Then he’d comb his sparse hair for a while and walk towards his place. After (slowly) rolling up his sleeves and removing his shoes, he’d start the exercise routine. Following, the physical madness, he would dress up again and comb his hair. By now, it would be time for tea. This is time for the second round of gossiping for the day (remember the milk break?). I can’t recollect the exact mindlessness of their talk… anyway, once the tea has starts drying up into sticky patches in their cups, they’d slowly return to the office and go straight to the loo.
When they take their seats at roughly 11:20 am, it marks the start of the toughest, most strenuous period of their existential work lives. The clock ticks slower, the drawings stare at you with familiar menace, and everyone’s working hard. So, poor tango has to work too. This pre-lunch span is akin to the third term at IIM
