Thursday, June 28, 2012

De long wait


Yesterday was my first day at a new job. If you haven't experienced it yourself, I can tell you this: it's all about the wait and the forms. First, you're directed to a worn leather chair in the lobby. After you've finished learning by rote the fine print of your resume, you look up to find the numerous faces in the office smirking at your plight. Okay, I'm exaggerating. They don't care two hoots about you. You might as well have been holding a placard advertising the fact that you're lowest in the food chain.

After what seems like an eternity, the HR comes wearing a genuinely apologetic expression. 'I'm sorry,' she says. 'Have you been waiting long?' Duh. She hands over a form where you fill in your details. You look up and ask that ubiquitous question: 'Can you write your present address in the permanent address space even though you're moving soon?' The HR looks like she doesn't care but she's paid to care so she smiles and says 'It doesn't matter.'

She turns and gets to her work and then comes the second stretch of waiting. You mentally recite the words of your resume to yourself. After all, it's good exercise for the mind. A worn-looking lady with an incandescent smile offers you a cup of chai. Clearly the message is: We might make you wait but we'll do it in style. You greedily slurp it down and wait with renewed vigour that fades as you listen to the ticking of the clock.

Around mid-day (exactly an hour and a cup of chai later) you're taken to see the CEO of the company who says a bunch of stuff that's meant to inspire you and does that so well that when you leave, you're eyeing the CEO's chair. When he hands you the appointment order you receive it reverently. After lunch begins the next wait. You ask if you can use the loo and 'Yes, but make it quick' is the curt reply. Like you don't know that all you'll miss if you arrive late is a cup of chai and if you're lucky, a few forms.

Welcome to the company,' Finally the HR says.

And then comes those dreaded forms. 'Now you can wait outside and fill a few more forms.'

You walk outside and pen your name and address for the umpteenth time.And then you protest in the best way you know how: You fall asleep at the table.