not *ing Jack and HelenI’m sitting at my desk pounding away furiously on the comp. I know my boss is looking at me through the glass partition smiling benevolently. He thinks I’m working. Infact he always thinks I’m working. When he sees me reading a book he happily assumes that it’s for work. When he sees me type he just concludes that I’m writing up my report on said book.
I’m hardly ever working.
I keep hoping they’ll fire me. But the problem is most people in this office think I’m a genius. I suppose it’s because I wear glasses and have an opinion. It’s true that I work diligently and well.. fast. I read scripts real fast. I write my evaluation real fast – trashy, what?!, no way!, maybe, must call for narration, yet another triangle, etc. So they let me do as I please. This irks me. It irks me more when the same mediocre people feel they need to check up on me just to keep the hierarchy in place. I like to be treated lightly. I like people to pander to my ego while letting me know that they’re just pandering. More than anything I like to be left alone.
Which is why I’m in a bad mood right now.
“So you will read my script right? Right?” the voice buzzes in my ear like a particularly annoying fly. I turn a freezing look on my colleague. His sandy hair is flopping around his face under a turned around cap. His eyes are puppy dog and smile sweet. He’s a nice guy. I thaw the glare and dreg up a smile, “I said I would and I will. Just not now. I’ll take it home with me.” That’ll give me time to come up with gentle comments incase it sucks.
He looks suspicious. Clutching the bound pages to his chest he murmurs, “But u live with a whole bunch of writers. What if one of them steals my story?”
I stifle a grin. “umm.. I’ll make sure they never know I have your script.” I try to sound firm instead of questioning.
He still looks hesitant. I smile at him bracingly. He slowly hands me the script. I quickly stuff it in my bag and pointedly turn back to the comp. I know he’s shuffling behind me. My back turns colder. He leaves.
I’m the queen of vibes.
TICK. TOCK.
TiiiiiiCK TOCCCK .tickticktiiick. tock (Time in office of cource)
Sytar opens the door, “bad day?” she nods towards my hand leaning on the door bell.
“Same old,” I grunt, “Read a few crappy scripts. Heard a decent narration. Oh.. but I worked on one of my new shop ideas. Made the project summary.”
Sytar shakes her head. To my friends I’m strange. I’m probably the only person working in an award winning Film Production Company who wants very little to do with films. I spend most of my time pretending, practicing or preparing to be a capitalistic rich conglomerate owner. I have a chain of stores. I open either a new one or a branch of an old one every other day. My press conferences are a study in wit and elegance. I do a lot of anonymous good deeds. Infact it’s a wonder I’m not already a force to reckon with.
She ignores my subtle plea to pitch the new idea to her. Instead she informs me that we’re all going out for a movie. “the new Cruise film.” I groan. I do not like Tom Cruise.
I do a quick think.
Hmm.. shouldn’t have groaned. I try a new tack, “oh.. damn.. I really wanted to watch that.. but you know.. got work.” I try to look disappointed but sagely at the same time.
Sytar ignores me, “Harry already got your ticket. We’ll watch Matt Damon next time.”
I don’t know when to give up – “It’s not about that. I like Tom Cruise, I do.”
Think faster, think. I go for the fool-proof one. “Actually I’m short of money. Don’t want to waste on films when there’s a budget to worry about.” I do a very good pathetic impression.
“No problem. Gaia’s treating.”
Now I really do groan. “Fine. Whatever. But next time we’re going for either Matt or George.” I stalk inside.
Sky’s putting on earrings. I look dissatisfied for forms sake.
She looks at me in the mirror and says, “You know you never have to worry about money, right?”
That’s the problem living with friends.. I may not have to worry about surviving but I do have to watch Tom Cruise.
Today is a day for groans.
