The mornings would be difficult for anyone to wake up and once upon a time, it was difficult for Jim to wake up too. Even before his alarm rang, his internal clock kicks in and he’s up. The tea is on the kettle, the tooth brush is in his hand and his eyes keep glancing at his watch. Soon enough he is done with his breakfast, dressed in his formal wear and he’s off to work.
The crowds crushed him, shoulders brush against his own and elbows nudge him. The public transport was teetering on the edge being over-whelmed with the population of the city. Then, he reaches work. From 10 – 7 he works. Well, not exactly, Jim’s got to account for the give or take of time. On paper, it's 10-7, but there is always a slight stretch of time. Work never ends. He packs up and heads back home, braving the thick crowd in the public transport again.
***
This time, Jim needed the ring of the alarm clock to wake him up. The tea was put for boiling, toothpaste brushed against his teeth. A sip of tea, a bite of sandwich and he was dressed in his formals and off to work. At the station, his eyes kept glancing at his watch for the train. Jostling crowds, people diving into the train, words bad mouthing people and then, he was in the train off to work.
At work, paper work swamped him. A pen in his hand and spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he dived into it. Start fast, finish soon; that was the idea. 1 o’ clock, 2 o’clock a quick lunch break at the office canteen. 7:30 done with work, time to head home for Jim. As always the trains kept jerking on the train tracks when it is just supposed to zooming by. Then, he reaches home.
***
Bang, the airplane engine explodes and he’s plummeting to the ground. Jim rolls of his bed, sending sensors to his brain. He wonders if he could have skydived in his dream. The toothbrush was stuck in his mouth as white minty lather dribbling out. The tea whistle rang out and quick hands switched off the gas. With breakfast churning in his stomach, crisply ironed clothes on his body and black polished shoes on his soles, he was off to work.
Work place politics, assholes and good souls was what he met at office. Another lunch meeting of trying to convince higher ups. Work breathing down his shoulder, Jim got done at 8:30. He prayed that he would get powers to just fly home, but God didn't grant his wish. As usual, he battled the crowd, all trying to get home.
***
The alarm rang, he did not bother to open his eyes. His thumb jabbed the button and it stopped crying out. Saturday-Sunday, the only good in his life.
A day to introspect.
The professional industry is such that we work from 10-7, 10-7, 10-7 – day in and day out. A habit, a format, a work life schedule in exchange for money. For some the timings vary, but on some level we all work on a schedule format.
The industry forces everyone to work that way and it sucked for Jim.
The crowds crushed him, shoulders brush against his own and elbows nudge him. The public transport was teetering on the edge being over-whelmed with the population of the city. Then, he reaches work. From 10 – 7 he works. Well, not exactly, Jim’s got to account for the give or take of time. On paper, it's 10-7, but there is always a slight stretch of time. Work never ends. He packs up and heads back home, braving the thick crowd in the public transport again.
***
This time, Jim needed the ring of the alarm clock to wake him up. The tea was put for boiling, toothpaste brushed against his teeth. A sip of tea, a bite of sandwich and he was dressed in his formals and off to work. At the station, his eyes kept glancing at his watch for the train. Jostling crowds, people diving into the train, words bad mouthing people and then, he was in the train off to work.
At work, paper work swamped him. A pen in his hand and spectacles on the bridge of his nose, he dived into it. Start fast, finish soon; that was the idea. 1 o’ clock, 2 o’clock a quick lunch break at the office canteen. 7:30 done with work, time to head home for Jim. As always the trains kept jerking on the train tracks when it is just supposed to zooming by. Then, he reaches home.
***
Bang, the airplane engine explodes and he’s plummeting to the ground. Jim rolls of his bed, sending sensors to his brain. He wonders if he could have skydived in his dream. The toothbrush was stuck in his mouth as white minty lather dribbling out. The tea whistle rang out and quick hands switched off the gas. With breakfast churning in his stomach, crisply ironed clothes on his body and black polished shoes on his soles, he was off to work.
Work place politics, assholes and good souls was what he met at office. Another lunch meeting of trying to convince higher ups. Work breathing down his shoulder, Jim got done at 8:30. He prayed that he would get powers to just fly home, but God didn't grant his wish. As usual, he battled the crowd, all trying to get home.
***
The alarm rang, he did not bother to open his eyes. His thumb jabbed the button and it stopped crying out. Saturday-Sunday, the only good in his life.
A day to introspect.
The professional industry is such that we work from 10-7, 10-7, 10-7 – day in and day out. A habit, a format, a work life schedule in exchange for money. For some the timings vary, but on some level we all work on a schedule format.
The industry forces everyone to work that way and it sucked for Jim.
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