the legend of nosmo king.

01Apr09

when all else fails, there is always apple juice.

__________________________

which brings me to the subject at hand. one of the many things people don’t know about auditors is that they do not really like to be the boring geeks no one acknowledges are related to them. seriously. your average auditor, were he given the sobriquet of  “hot-rod” or “mustang” or something similarly cool (“iceman” is another one that comes to mind) would probably be so delighted that he would die of happiness, if such deaths were medically possible. and this lack of cool factor obviously makes for frustrated existences and high potential for serial murdering and kleptomania and addiction to breaking news alerts on the fantasy channel known popularly as geo news.

in a nutshell, auditors are lame nobodies.

and they work very hard (and very unsuccessfully) to change that.

it is therefore not surprising that at client sites choc-a-bloc with gorgeous interns and management trainees, it is natural to see two or three bespectacled hunchbacks in pinstripe suits walking the length and breadth of the goddamn office thirty two times a day to get cups of coffee that they do not touch just so that they can get a load of unauthorized poondi. it is easy to spot them even if they take off their jackets and straighten their backs in an effort to fit in and be inconspicuous because the way their eyes rove and the lewd grins that break out on their faces are eerily reminiscent of the expressions that you might expect to see if you offloaded a bunch of 14 year old taliban in the lingerie section at debenham’s.

and yet, not all auditors are crude. at least not visibly so. some manage to sneak into designated smoking areas and choke on a cancer stick or two while striking up conversations by asking for lighters or matches or whatever and taking it from there. it is, of course, a well known fact that there is no camaraderie like that between a  smoker and another, the three musketeers be damned. however, anyone in the manufacturing industry will be able to tell you that no matter how pristine and pure their product may be, there is always some sort of byproduct which is considerably less so. dairy farms, for instance, also sell manure. and it is the same with these acquaintances that are developed beneath a cloud of grey smoke. they breed ill health and unfitness and bad breath and other similar tragedies that are simply not acceptable for people who are already inflicted with the curse of being those most reviled of all human beasts, auditors.

in an even smaller nutshell, i’ve gone cold turkey. three weeks now and none the worse for wear. except that as a non-coffee drinking/ non-smoking individual i am now entirely useless in the arab eye and my chances of ensnaring a hot lebanese chick have gone down to one in 345,789 and my chances of ensnaring a rich emirati chick to minus 273 degrees celsius – better known in the science world as “absolute zero”.

this exercise, the de-dunhilling of the iceman, if you will, has sparked mixed reactions among what the pakilish media calls “civil society” (which means that there must also be an uncivil society and it is probably this variant of which i am a member). the nonsmokers have welcomed me to their ranks with much the same attitude as the prodigal son was recieved by his unprodigal parents – essentially one more guy in the non cool faction means that the faction, as a collective, gets a little less uncool. the smokers have mourned the loss of an ever available bic lighter and the cynics have refused to accept the permanence of the situation until this sacrifice bears fruit, like long black hair, an additional six inches in height and the disappearance of my myopia. by and large, the common assumption is that there is a girl involved in the picture.

which goes to show that the psychology of the individual is hardly a closed book.

kipling, who is supposed to have known a fair bit about both, said “a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke”. but what would he know. if i had been told to quit, i would have been the same petulant spoilt brat that i am and doubled my intake. all it really takes is a raised eyebrow followed by a glance of absolute disdain, to make you stop your contribution of carbon monoxide to the environment.

and the world spends its billions on the kyoto protocol.

__________________________

by june i have to get back into some semblance of middle distance running form. hundreds of years ago i used to be the 1500 meter man who dreamed of breaking el gerrouj’s records. i am now about as likely to do that as i am likely to look down into shaquille o’neal’s eyes and call him “little man”. but i shall try nonetheless. from the first of april, i shall hit the track.

nosmo king is back. and so is the dream of the three minute mile. wish me luck.

Filed under: office cribs, social networking, the father of dhabi, the sweet stench of life   |  26 Comments