When I signed on for a career in Public Relations, I knew it would involve daily death threats from irate clients and journalists (For example, there’s this homosexual client called Mr. B, who’s sleeping with the bisexual editor of a popular national newspaper and I’m not supposed to tell this out to anyone), but I didn’t expect bodily harm.
Yesterday was a gloomy Tuesday, with dark clouds threatening to douse the city and a cold wind that seemed never-ending. I arrived a bit late than usual, courtesy dirty traffic and a full bladder, and went about my work with the right mix of boredom and enthusiasm. It was somewhere around two in the afternoon when I realized just how dangerous my line of work is.
I was sitting at my desk, reading an online news release, when I dropped my pen on the floor. As I bent to pick it up, the chair I was sitting on creaked a bit. I didn’t give it much thought as it always creaked. Just as my fingertips touched the floor, I heard a deafening crack and the damn chair snapped in three! I fell down on the floor quite awkwardly, with a heavy thud. The entire office was silent and I lay there, dazed, wondering what in the hell happened.
Slowly, people realized something was wrong and crowded around my cubicle and helped me to my feet and made me stretch just to make sure that nothing was broken. More than embarrassment, I was angry at a friend of mine was suggesting a diet which clearly wasn’t working! 😀
I realized a bit later that I had cut my thumb quite deeply during the fall, I don’t know how that happened, and that my butt ached painfully all through the day. That I am accident prone is an understatement.
I wanted to name this post “Return Of The Yo-Yo,” because my bike ran out of fuel on my way back and I had to push it for half an hour bearing the paining butt, and then stopped for another half an hour waiting for my friend to come and rescue me with some petrol, and during that wait, I almost ate a dirty omlette on the street and refrained after seeing the ‘cook’ scratch his butt and his armpits and wipe his hands on a dirty lungi, but I thought the current title would be ample proof for people who want a career in Public Relations to think twice and thrice before embarking on the most dangerous job in the world.
PS: That was the longest sentence I’ve ever written! 😀
PPS: The ‘B’ in Mr. B, obviously, stands for ‘Bastard’. 😀