Scrap At The Backyard

My office person came to my cabin and informed me that, Boss, the angry man whom my mind describes in its own language, is calling me. 

I just left my seat and grabbed my office notepad and pen, walked through the corridor towards the HoE's chamber. 

The board in bold letters read...Managing Director, Design and Research Department.

"May I come in Sir?", I asked politely, holding the door handle, which was slightly open. 

"Yes, come in", the reply came. 

I walked inside and stood there for the next say. 

He asked to take a chair, and I sat with my diary open to jot out if anything is there to be noted. 

There was an inspection report file in his front which was put up to him by some other department. 

" What the hell is going on? Is this the way, you put up across things?" 

His voice raised my eyebrows, searching for the context of what made him loose his temper. 

I looked at him with all the possible puzzled expressions that I could put together. 

"Look at the mess created due to the mishandling of this project. Are you in your right sense"? Hope you need a break!" 

Another Boom was heard. 

I still did not understand what he is talking about. My looks were the same again, with an embarrassment look. 

I was trying to gain my wits to ask him what went wrong and why was he so much upset? But, to raise a question at this hour was not a good idea. So, kept quiet. 

I quickly gathered that the file on the table was wanting to leave the room as early as possible. 

Then, there came Mr. Sharat, his personal assistant, holding a circular in his hand. He showed the circular to the boss, saying I have been nominated as presiding officer for an event duly scheduled for Nov. 2022.

The circular was about a board for conducting an event for marketing and enhancement of customer satisfaction via wide public domain. My name was linked to this event, of which I was not aware. I did not want to be a part of it in fact. 

To my utter displeasure to I accepted that role, I could feel the rush in my adrenaline, for categorically choosing me. 

Boss, yelled at him, seeing the circular... 

"Mr. Sharat, this board needs to be reviewed by today before closing hours. I have little hope that she can handle this event. Already messed up with this report". 

I heard every bit of what he said referring to me in front of his PA, which was so humiliating and disgusting. I knew, it was not my fault, because the file was my concern. But still, my junior might have erred out something, that got into his hands accidentally. 

He too must be aware of my responsibilities and the section that I am handling. When things go wrong across the desk, every boss will immediately target the opponent who is sitting in front of him, without giving a second thought. I knew this is a management strategy. Using harsh language with a short temper will set things right. This is an old belief that every boss has in mind. 

The ultimate intention is to get things done at the right time. 

I knew these techniques, with my vast past experience. But alas! I am not the boss now and I am not sitting in his chair... 

Yes, I came out, with the files in hand, out of boss's cabin. 

Walked straight into the backyard, green, trees filled with colourful flowers, mild wind was swaying them. 

How happy they look! 

I was in full sad look, not knowing what to do next. 

Suddenly, happy branches waived at me, in a way, that wanted to cuddle me closer and pacify my heart. They knew what was going through me. 

Blaming the day's events in a chronological order, my thoughts went on a ride, gliding through the gates of all these hazzle, wading away slowly.

In the evening, driving through the busy, buzzy roads, was yet another tunnel to pass through. To my home, sweet, home. 

At home, my son opened the door for me. Looking at me instantly,

"Mom, are you OK?" he asked. I just nodded and went in. 

What went wrong? Why are you looking lost? These were the questions on my dinner table. 

"Nothing as such, Sonny, it was just a terrible traffic jam". That was my response. 

He looked at me sternly, still not convinced, but left me alone and went upstairs to study room. 

My plate was emptied as usual, and there, I sat alone with my mad, crazy, creepy, crunchy thoughts wanting to be crushed, crashed, and squeezed to juice and how I wished to drink them whole at once. They may get churned and smoothened to paste inside of the intestines. 

"Hell with you all! Hell with these backlogs! I believed you all to encase upon to enable myself! 

But, wrong. It isn't working now! Get out of my mind. I do not want your help anymore. Hell with you.

My mind started writing these lines.

Blemishes cannot be left alone. 

Ointments are to be smeared. 

The Sooner the better effects. 

Makeovers are to be explored. 

Breakthroughs to happen... 

Needless to say, 

Commitments are committed,

Fitments are factual findings, 

Catchment areas to ponder, 

Matching attire to snatch the scotch from the glass was definitely my cup of coffee at this moment. 

For this, I need to do this.... 

Dump the past crockery of experiences into the Scrapyard of the Mind and start afresh from the scratch to a new real Soap Opera!

(This story is purely imaginary. No characters are real. I have written this Melodrama just for the audience at an event).