Over the past two weeks I came across a lot of people in my office apart from the usual 20 faces I see every day. No, these weren’t new faces; they were just new people behind old faces.
Something wasn’t right and I hadn’t managed to realise it considering the workaholic that I had become. Each day that I would enter my office, like a robot I’d pick the day’s paper, punch my thumb in that annoying machine and walk to my desk with my eyes fixed on the front page in my hand. I even have a routine on my desk and my computer, well that’s just how engrossed I seem to have become into my job.
So when my assistant Ed noticed that I’m one of those who doesn’t give a damn about the fact that your dog didn’t have breakfast or you twisted your leg on your way to dry your whites and they all fell on the floor where your neighbours kid threw paint, she probably made up her mind about getting my attention no matter what she had to do to get it. And until I received a mail from her two weeks later questioning the credibility of a four line point, in a 200 word story, on a single page of a 16 page English newspaper, I did not realise that I was now a victim of office politics.
There was so much anger inside me I can’t explain it in words, I might break my computer if I did. But it struck me a little later, my reaction is what will give her more confidence in proving herself right. So I gulped down my anger and got back to becoming the workaholic I’d rather be.
But how was I supposed to know that even this was going to trigger another atom in her brain? So in short, whether I do something or I don’t is not the issue, I have become the issue in her brain (which mind you I’m sure functions more than anyone else’s, surely not for the right reasons).
So where does this end? Or rather does it end? When I saw minor issues occurring in the office I felt we were back in school where if I took my partners book she would go like: “Maaa’m, she stole my book from me!!” But considering the long list of childish incidents that followed, I feel we were better off when we were in school.
A colleague once while trying to console me said, “Dude, seriously, I have only three words to say for her—Bad. Sex. Life.” For some reason I can’t think of another reason she’d want to pick on only me every day.
So anyway Ms Asst Ed, we all hope you Get Well Soon.