Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Two men and a girl brigade

It has been a long time since I ran into a suitably obnoxious member of the opposite sex. May be it’s my “Don’t mess with me” aura. May be they think I am some sort of extra-terrestrial, or may be they just follow this column and don’t want to be messed with.

The scenario was this. Last Thursday, me and my girl gang from work showed up for pre-dinner drinks at a nearby restaurant to celebrate a team member’s birthday. Just as we were leaving, I noticed a car parked behind mine which blocked both me and the birthday girl ( parked back to back) from leaving the premises.

Said owner of car was a finance/stock exchange type, me thinks (predictably gauche striped shirt was a giveaway). Stripey was bonding with Mr. Sharp Suit (possibly a colleague) over bloody marys. And that should have been a sign for me. What kind of guy drinks bloody mary at 7.30 pm? Simply, someone who is not man enough, as he soon demonstrated.

“Can’t do it now,” he said grumpily, when we asked him to move his car. “Will come after ten minutes….”
Birthday girl was suitably harried and had to make it to another party, and asked him again. He was louder and grumpier. “Can’t you see I am busy? Do whatever you want….

The whole thing blew up hugely out of proportion and we soon went to war! It felt like a Chak de moment, although I would much rather it was the Mirch Masala finale. The details of the exchange are irrelevant, but suffice to say that we pulled all the stops (the pipsqueak of a restaurant manager wasn’t really taking note of the situation)

When we revealed we were a pack of journos, Sharp Suit rose to the occasion and tried to make amends for the damage created by Stripey, who soon retreated into a corner while Sharp suit tried to play good cop. It angered me that we had to display power in such a crude way to earn a modicum of good behaviour, but it appeared that it was the only language they understood.

The last time a guy tried to mess with me, he got hit by a stool. I was all of 14. It was in Teen Murti Bhavan in our great capital (clichéd as it might sound, I was not surprised).. What annoyed me the most was that my parents didn’t allow me to finish the fight and go to jail, as I would have loved to
And strangely, history repeated itself. This time again, I had to leave the scene of the crime, as my sister called at the most inopportune moment, telling me she was stranded without keys and waiting for me outside my building.

Only difference was, this time, I had another me to finish the fight. And she did.

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