I was so bad with sleep last night, that my mother pushing me awake was unheard for the first forty minutes. Then, when the voice was audible, I took a leave from dream world, and sat up, to look at the clock. It was staring at me: eight twenty. Pretty late. No ways was I reaching my office by nine.
So, I pressed rewind, and went back to sleep again. Ten minutes of blissful sleep. On-demand, dream TV.
So, here’s how the matter stood, now, I was not going to be a little late for today, I shall be totally late. The new revised time, I told myself, shall be 10:15 PST. Again, I allowed myself to take a deep breath. Relax.
I texted my immediate boss, and left for a long, hot bath
“I had a slight headache. I shall reach office by 10:15 am.
My immediate boss sympathised with my poor health. He said, take care of your health. You can avail your leave if you want. (Such a nice guy. He’s just a few years older than me.)
Now, I am a man of principles. I have always made sure that I am available as a team member, and that I am trustworthy and reliable.
So I arrive, at my office, by thirty past ten. It was a noisy drive today. I was blaming the car’s suspension system, but realised that it was the car’s rear tyre that was low on gas, causing the car to make those annoying crackling noises. Again, I am not a man who looks back at things. So, it was the office’s driver, who told me that my car’s rear tyre was down with gas. He had a sarcastic smile on his face. The one, that signifies pity, mock, and care; all in one smiling package.
I said that I shall take care of it.
Entered the office. Pretty tired. Driving is a job people. Posted my signature on the attendance register. Boy, my signature does look pretty. As, of the rule of sending morning greetings to all, from the security guard, I get a dry, lip moving-no sound reply. The operator’s reply is much clearer. Maybe, that’s why she is the operator, a loud and clear voice fits her job description, and not that of a security guard.
Got some work today
Enter my room. It’s a large hall, filled with thirteen engineers, and two draftsmen. I take my seat. Turn on the computer, and work on excel.
At my office, we don’t work on excel, we live in excel. It is the start, and the end of our job description. I used to think that I was pretty good at Excel, but that was a myth. I never knew its biggest strength: Macros (automated calculation).
So, I have been working with my immediate boss, Babar, on Macros for the last two days. Its fun. Babar’s a funny guy.
Whenever the code gets tough, or incomprehensive, he says, “We shall turn Excel crazy”, and when there’s a contradiction in the code, “.., and Excel shall ask us: What exactly do you want me to do.”
This way, it looks more of a fun job, than a chore.
Come lunch time, I post my McDonald Mummy Burger, into the microwave. It was prepared by M’ma early in the morning.
This microwave works on Nuclear energy or something. In just one minutes spin, it makes stuff crazy hot. There are fumes of vapors coming out from the heated food.
Before, lunch, I had this lady, who gave me the task of printing out Chapters 5 to 13 of a dam’s Feasibility Report. Again, easy stuff. Just had to hit Print, and behind me, the printer would start posting printed papers.
The tougher task was: Who was this lady? I had stared hard at her face, and here I was thirty minutes later, printed papers in my hand, totally clueless which lady it was.
So, I made an intelligent guess. Knocked at the door. Bingo! I thought, it must be her. She was talking on the phone. She stared hard at me. (Hah, payback time, I thought).
She interrupted her conversation over the phone, and asked, “Yes, what’s this?”, pointing at the Feasibility Report in my hands. I said that its Chapter 5-13, just what you asked for.
She said, “Okay, but why are you giving this to me?. I have nothing to do with this report.” A lightening bolt struck me. Wrong lady! Oops.
So, I did what I should have done in the first place, ask my colleague first, and then move forward. To my right, she’s always working. Typing. So, I asked, “Who was that lady, which asked me to print these pages?”
“Oh, that was Sadia”, yes, exactly, Sadia. Now, that was a big clue, but not big enough. So, I expanded my inquiry, “Where do I find her?”
She said that Sadia sits right behind me, and here I was, looking out in rooms far, far away.
Post lunch, the news arrived that my car’s tyre was punctured. People, I already knew that. Nice boss, Mr. Babar, said that I could ask one of the office drivers to fix my tyre.
I should have looked to solve that tyre issue then and there, because, at five in the evening, when I looked for some driver to solve the problem, there was none. I was told that they had all left. Great, the moment I need them, they are gone.
I shall take care of it
So, its up to me, Super Boy, to solve the matter.
Today’s office work was over. I planned to get the tyre fixed at the nearest Petrol Pump. So, I drove and drove, on my way back home, with no Tyre mechanic in sight.
It was interesting to note: around 7 people, slowed their drive to tell me, “Your tyre is punctured, dude”. That was so cute, and caring of Pakistani people.
But, since when, did people drive, and stare at other people’s rear tyres. Is it ethical to do that? (Just kidding).
Finally, I found a tyre shop. I thanked God. Looked at my tyre. It was fine, I talked to myself. I asked the guy, to please fill some air back into that tyre. I got a shocker, when he said that he was too busy, and that I had to do it myself.
Busy. What else was his job? Surgery?
I said, that I don’t know how. The guy said, “There were a lot of things that you did not know when you were first conceived.” (Now that’s total Gynaecological and Paediatrical nonsense).
Arrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Terrible Pakistani people. Its ironic, ten minutes earlier, I had the exact opposite views of the people of this nation; great, caring, cute.
So, I thought, that I shall drive all the way to my house, and then, fix the tyre. Bad idea. I made heads turn. It was as if I was walking with a bleeding head. People slowed down, pointing at my car’s tyre, and I was like, “Yeah, I realise, its punctured”.
As I neared home, the crackling sound changed into the more grave “thud-gud” sound. I kept driving.
Finally, I reached the Tyre guy in my area. What I saw totally shocked me.
I should have had the guts to do something like this:
Anyways, the tyre technician here was much nicer. He was just nine. Very young, his name was Ayaz. He told me that the tyre is lost (Rest in Peace). I could see that.
He told me that it was really hot now. Deflated tyres have a lot of friction, and lead to a lot of energy dissipation. Applied thermodynamics.
As, the boy readied himself to change the tyre, I looked back in awe, and asked, “You are so young, are you sure you can change the tyre?” An uncle from behind me replied, “Its so easy. Even girls can do that.”
Thank You very much uncle for the pat on my ego’s back. I gave the kid his PKR 30 for the job, and drove back home, and slept a sad sleep.
The mission for the coming days is to buy a second-hand tyre, plus, some tyre changing drills shall also be part of the plans.
I’m not the type of girl who gives up just like that.
AboutArif Samoon is a Junior Design Engineer at Techno Consult International. He completed his Bachelors in Urban and infrastructure engineering, from NED University in 2011. He loves his digital presence. Loves to code, write, and design.