Jul 3, 2011

The day job

I listen.
You and your ideas.
Your reasons, for choosing
Cambria 14 over Calibri 12.
I nod, vigorously, seriously even.
Vow to vouchsafe 'client's comfort'.
My mind snickering at the phrase,
unbidden thoughts of Asian girls in brothels.
The crispness of the presentation,
the lucidity of explanations,
I listen, I do.

At the back of mind,
(yes, my mind is not tiny as you make it out to be)
I am not thinking.
Of you or your client.

Just like the widest of camera vision
cannot capture what the corner of your eye sees.
The eye sees what is shown to it,
but the corner, my dear, the corner
sees something unconnected to the scene.
Rebellious, no?

I think of mountains,
a cabin made of stones stacked up together,
a notebook and chai,
freezing temperatures and the warmth that ensues.
The mind churns out ideas for a story,
it is like bits of candy floss,
drifting in a fair ground.

I smile.
At my thoughts.
Those ones at the back of my mind.

And you think that I smirk.
In disapproval.
Of your fonts and slides.
Of your colours and plans.