A caffeine-induced trip on a slow workday!

Some people work their asses off in office, while others just pass time. So cheap and ready time is available that one can’t help but cut through time.

Visit to ACC cement postponed. No commitment on energy survey project. Conclusion? No work to do but have to spend eight hours in office – eight long hours. No movies. No Orkut. No nonsense. There are others who’ve got work to do (at least they say so!). So what? Gape at the desktop screen.

First cup of coffee. Somewhat concentrated. Cools the senses. Ready for some timepass. Rediff and NDTV. Second cup. Have some fun with online games.

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Third cup. An odd feeling. I wish there were pot to lighten the heart. Don’t feel like doing much of anything. Another cup. Now definitely feeling something. But unable to make out anything of the physiological sensation.

Secretary says Manmohan wants to meet me.

“Who Manmohan?”

“The prime minister of India”

“Of what?”

“Of India”

“What is that?”

“A country of not much significance, sir.”

“Tell him to wait. Let me have a cup of coffee”

Give up on counting the number. Suffice with nth cup. Feel drowsy. Want something to stay awake. May be some carnal deviation. Damn those IT department people who banned porn sites.

“Secretary”

“Yes sir”

“Get me a gal”

“Any specific choice sir?”

“Paris Hilton?”

“She is in jail because of drunken driving. Any other”

“Get anyone. But should be wild. Want some challenge in life”

“Ok sir”

“And yes, make it blonde”

“Sure sir”

Secretary vanishes. While waiting, feel like having another cup of coffee. That secretary is taking too long. Shouldn’t do so unless he is shipping her from Mars. Mars reminds me, its creating too much problem in interplanetary relations.

“Colonel Alevonchovich”

“Sire. At your service” he oddly bows in front of my cubicle.

“What’s their problem?”

“Mars?”

“No… yes”

“They are ready to bring down the revolt. Just want you to declare your son born to one of their queens be declared crown prince”

“How many queens have I got from there?”

“Thirteen sir”

“How come I don’t remember that. How many children?”

“One minute sir” the colonel says, hurriedly trying to find something from a list in his laptop.

“Take your time” I say and dismiss him.

Made a mistake there. The stupid oaf takes an eternity to find my kids. I gulp down a few cups of coffee before Captain Cook comes in with a swollen face.

“Yes”

“Your highness, there is a problem”

“What?”

“Jack Sparrow has hijacked one of our ships near Alpha Centauri” he says, shivering.

“What?” I roar and try to stand in rage, but can’t. Coffee has its effects; but I can’t hide my displeasure “Jack Sparrow! That ass of a pirate. Of what use are you if you can’t catch him”

I ring a buzzer that brings in two heavily built female guards in bikinis.

“Here ladies. Take this idiot from here, feed his tongue to the crows and put him in a dungeon”

The captain pleads in vain as he is dragged away by the guards.

I have to calm myself down. Order another cup of coffee.

“So whom should I make the next captain? Who will contain these obnoxious pirates?” I wonder out aloud.

“May be Tarakasur… that giant is very ruthless” says Julia, my pet sapiens from inside her cage. I throw a piece of biscuit at her to shut her moron mouth up. Tarakasur has been in my service for little over six centuries; his loyalty is in no doubt, nor is his ruthlessness. But I need someone really smart to outsmart Jack Sparrow.

“A piece of chicken master” Julia says, disturbing my serious thoughts, greedily eyeing a plate full of chicken on my workstation.

I get enraged, pick up a whip, open her cage and start beating her. Then I call for one of the apes in the office zoo and make it pee on her. That should keep Julia within her limits, I think.

Another cup of coffee. A turbaned fellow enters forcefully into my cubicle even as the female guards try to stop him.

“Your majesty, please listen”

I magnanimously stop the guards.

“Who you?”

“I am Manmohan Singh. The prime minister of India”

“So?”

“Your highness, I want to have free trade agreement with your kingdom”

“And what is that?”

“It means…”

“Anyway, I don’t like your looks. I won’t”

“Sir please. Please!” he pleads like a small kid. He gets hold of my arm and shakes it vigorously. I get wild with rage. How dare he even touch me. I turn around and push him, only to realize he isn’t Manmohan Singh. He is my boss.

“What indiscipline is this?” Gurminder Singh, my boss (also sporting a turban), screams after having saved himself from a fall.

“Sir… eh… sir”

“How dare you sleep in office? Is that why you are paid”

“Sir…uh…won’t happen again” a chicken voice comes out of my mouth.

Moral: You may work your ass off or you may not; you may earn millions or peanuts. Coffee in office may be free or chargeable. Still, you are subordinate to your boss… one can just dream about being the one in control.

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