Remembering the days as a newcomer in the corporate world as a fresh journalism graduate. Though the experience wasn’t quite pleasant it was something that gave me a taste of the so called corporate world filled with sharks. If not anything else, my first stint in the work world did give me a story to share and feel proud of. Why proud? Coz I braved the sharks!
From a small town girl who barely knew how to switch on a computer to a journalism post graduate freshman from a renowned college in the country, I managed to fetch this job in an IT company. Located in the centre of the city I was elated with the idea of getting a salary for writing articles. Journalism meant field work, lots of it, especially for freshmen and here I had a desk job that would pay me good enough, considering the economic slowdown my country was going through.
I was assigned the most private area to work, a PC just next to the washroom (I had the privilege of hearing the ‘toilet woos’ while the girls queued up with peculiar stances in the waiting line) & a desk phone (I assure you it’s not as alluring, especially when the phone has only within-the-office incoming capability). So, there were these two female seniors who made sure I never felt alone & graced me with their company, over the phone.
I can say that these two ladies didn’t particularly seem to have an acceptance towards my confident disposition (please excuse my sense of modesty here). One of them, a poker faced, plump female who was equally wary of me as I was of her was the Writing Head (henceforth referred to as Miss. Poker Face). She had this art of trying to convey something she didn’t like in the article you wrote by just pointing the mouse pointer on her screen (which was difficult to place as she was as steady as a choked valve with her mouse) & keep staring at it without uttering a word expecting you to know the issue. She could let a couple of minutes pass like that making you feel like an invisible dud.
Another one was this (okay, I am trying hard to be as considerate as possible at this) puffy faced and I mean as puffy as a puffed up puffer fish who’s swells itself to maximum limit when it’s shit scared, and a loud woman with a zero figure (O is a shape!) with the most explicit expressions who acted like the mother hen of the company. Henceforth referred to as Miss. Cow.
So, my job was to churn out three articles every day, send it for editing, get screwed for various negligible mistakes & then sit late for rectifying them. For example, I had written a sentence in a pregnancy related article, “When you are ready to become parents” instead of oh-so-grossly-needed ‘When you are ready to have babies’ ! Well, Miss. Poker Face wasn’t happy with my usage of words for sure and but obviously I had to change it to her perfect and unique way of expression.
Then came bloated Miss. Cow into the picture with her expert and so experienced advice (did I tell you she was a qualified doc with experience in editing articles over eight odd years of experience?), over the phone, invariably followed by a session in unison with Miss. Poker Face. When my extension rang just half an hour before the day was supposed to end I knew it was time for the very-necessary sessions being a newcomer. They seemed to get some kind of pleasure by shedding their professionalism and speaking in a manner that resembles a member of the parliament in India trying to overrule others & get heard during the Loksabha! Need I say more as to what those sessions consisted? Well, the picture should speak for itself…
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