"The Cable Guy II" or "No one told me about the psychopath quota in blue-collar service sector jobs"

This morning I was woken up early by Mr. Extra-creepy newspaper guy. (Ok, fine it was nine but I’d slept at three so…). Anyways so the bell rings dispelling forever whatever sweet dream I was having, and I jump out of bed, haul on a shirt inside out, still too lazy to actually mouth the extremely inventive curses going through my head (Now I really understand about the Draco dormiens nunquam titillandi. Previously I just thought it was just a good joke in latin – but now all those tales of chivalry about waking a slumbering monster and getting burnt to a crisp cinder begin to make sense – I’m sure my morning breath is pretty deadly in its own right, and my temper aint no picnic either). So, I open the door a smidgeon and I know its him the moment I feel someone yank the door from my hand and open it wide (that’s the kind of ballbreaking-inviting behaviour we’ve endured all year). There he stands in our wide open doorway (sore point) his feet planted firmly wide apart like he could be here all day, his hands on his hips, his extra wiggly eyebrows over his creepy gray eyes giving me the works (I bet all that Rapid-Eyebrow-Movement is actually like morse or something, only we’re too slow to get what it’s flashing). After the door stunt I’m just glaring at him (though my groggy half-shut eyes may have made it hard for him to tell, coz he didn’t seem to get it – but then again, maybe he’s too busy flashing eyebrow messages to register any sort of normal human communication). So I’m glaring, and the creep goes ‘Newspaper Bill’, and the last thing I wanna do is pay him (it would be like rewarding your dog for waking you up as a pup – not a good idea trust me) so I tell him to come next week in a markedly grumpy and unfriendly tone. He wiggles some more and says: “Why, is no one else here?” and I bark out “No.” (Yeah that’s me at my smartest in the morning – tell the creepiest guy you know that you’re living all by yourself in a flat). And then he’s making some more R.E.M (see above) presumably preliminary to some comment, but I’ve had it so I just slam the door in his face (sole moment of satisfaction in the above interaction). Ugh… ok, I realize both cockroaches and creepy guys have a right to exist and probably (though I fail to fathom it) a purpose on this earth, but do I really have to cross paths with them? God, if he existed, would be a Mean Man, coz I’ve now had to face both on my own. I miss my roach-squashing, early-rising flatmates. Ladies, if you’re reading this, come back; I promise I’ll be good.


Late last night while drooling (again) over Johnny Depp (even I’ll admit ten years is stretching an infatuation a bit much… but the more I know the harder it gets), I was rudely disturbed by an SMS from an old schoolmate of mine. It read, and I quote:
“Year 2006… 50% quota for all sc’s…Year 2016… roadside hoarding reads… “U CAN’T BREATHE THIS AIR COZ U R NT SC”… Screw all politicians … An appeal to all youth… never ever vote again… WE DON’T NEED NO EDUCASION… Oops did I spell it wrong… yes I did because im no fucking SC…” (sic for the whole thing… I’m copying it letter for letter).
Well, apart from the punctuational diarrhoea (I shudder to think how many sentences, if not paragraphs, those stops could have punctuated – its like the population density of Dharavi), the vehemence of it all was what got me. Especially considering the source. But on second thoughts, the source proved to be not as inappropriate as I initially thought (ok, bg.: this is the girl who interrupts this debate I’m having with a teacher about durkhiem’s category of altruistic suicide and how (I feel) you can’t classify a death in battle as such… and we’ve been going at it rather heatedly for a while – my argument somewhere includes the whole thing about choice and knowledge of possibility of death involved in something like crossing the road – when suddenly she pipes in, in all earnestness, with: “But sir, if a man is crossing the road and this whole hive of bees comes and attacks him and he dies, would that be altruistic suicide?” you get what I mean? I mean here you have your average twenty-one year old, going through Life As a Long Succession of Boys, Beer-Mugs and Joints, and suddenly she takes time out of her college-life to forward something like this to arbit old acquaintances – wow she really must feel strongly about it. My first thought (though mean) is maybe she got dumped by an SC recently. But then I start to think about how there is a whole lot of resentment building up even among us consumerist-yuppie types over this sort of thing. I mean even in an extremely polite (relatively) institution like ours, I’ve heard reservation slurs (though more sophisticated and barbed than the usual) and I don’t just mean your average jock-joke or sportsie/ Christian tag – a couple of years ago this one guy from eco made it to IIM-A on SC quota, and people still talk (lightly, of course) about how he really is shit rich and so didn’t quite deserve the quota thing. So I begin to wonder, in this age of cutthroat or slit-wrist competition, are we as a generation beginning to feel shortchanged by affirmative action? Not is this sort of resentment justified, but does this sort of resentment exist on a large scale, and is it leading up to some sort of frustrated boycott of the system (since that is all that lies in our power – we can choose to opt out as a gesture of protest, but that’s about it – as a votebank, the General Category is too dispersed and scattered a unit to be won over by any one sure-shot promise: it pays to be a minority in votebank politics)?...
Sorry, more later, I just realised a mere twenty-three hours is all that stands between me and an history exam whose syllabus I haven't looked at even once all year, and if I want to watch a movie later in the day (which, goes without saying, I do) I should get cracking right about now. Make that twenty-two and counting...