At last he was late ……………..

At last he was late

tumblr_llsh7f9x7L1qkom5lo1_500 (1)I do not like old folks at my work place … unfortunately most of my place where I work are ancient …………..so whom I classify old ?…………Anyone above 50 in my eyes is old (advance apology to those who think otherwise). Why? ….Answer is interesting you will like it. These guys come very earlier to the work place even half an hour and some cases more than 45 minutes……………. Why should not I like it as I can finish earlier?  I hate to come back in return 45 minutes earlier…………………………… I always thought these old guys only job in this world is to come to work.

His name is John (real name was not written), He smokes as many fags as a human can smoke in night shift.. He always used to smoke in the entrance and was fined twice for throwing fags in street…….which I liked the most when I learnt about it…..

To curb littering specially smoker Scottish Government has special arrangement using council vehicle with CCTV fitted with them acting as spy vehicle. They just rest like a lion hiding in bushes waiting for its prey. High resolution camera attached on it pole coming out of it middle bit ;they park in middle of street and wait for ages until  you finish your fag and end up caught red handed  . So no one could be happier than me to learn he was fined twice for doing same thing.

Cleaners at work tell me his stories; his bungalow and his wealth in Asia in a tourist country.  Which he happily shared with female cleaners? He never smiles in his life and had bitter relationship with other young colleague. Paul is his colleague like me he does not like him either.  Paul once had his recording in which he was talking to someone on his phone clearly racially abusing one of our other colleagues in his absence. That guy was from Africa. I witnessed their relation quite friendly during their formal workplace chat. It was shock to me. However I and Paul just ignored it.

I was at home around 8 o clocks I received call to cover a shift as someone never turned up on his work. I found it amazing to learn that it’s him who never turned up. I was also happy and bit curious too as how on earth this guy could ever turn late? or never came to work ?

Next day I was also called to cover him, in the night someone asked me where is he? I just said he may be dead nice person he was without knowing just as a fun. Next morning I found I was told he was found dead on his sofa in house, obviously cardiac arrest was reason behind his death. Only Death had stopped him not turning up. He died but had developed more respect for him in my heart.

We all were upset and everybody including me was shocked, I was not amazed at all death is most bitter truth we all have to face regardless of our characters. His colleague who had his secret recording was signing Ding Dong Witch is Dead and a song I only came to knew after the death of late Iron Lady………………………………………Your thoughts…………

Writer Note:

(Blogger is not native English speaker trying to write in order to improve English skills and also want to share personal experience. All efforts were made to balance this factual story in order not to hurt anyone. IF anyone of you thinks words were inappropriate, please forgive him  but further editing could not be made apart from grammatical and spelling mistakes)

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The Oblivion to the Obvious and The Turmoil of Temptation,

my story

Boldie Talks!!

I am aching to write, type away the thoughts in my head, put everything on paper, in black and white, words, beautiful words. Somehow I cannot do it today, I cannot give a form to my feelings. I am struggling since a long time now, thinking and thinking over and over again, and my head hurts. The story going on in my mind is nothing compared to the drama going on in my life. Reality is always stranger than fiction, because fiction has to make sense, but right now, nothing is making any sense whatsoever. I need some inspiration, some stimulus, a trigger, Carbs……..yes, and regular coke Please!

Let me tell you a story, the story of an ordinary girl, ………….and no, it is not my story, It has nothing to do with me,  my shoes,  my hands, or my crap life, or even crappier MUSE.  How un exciting and…

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Labor in a Metro……….

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The August night was frightening, confusing, perplexing ……………… Hot, humid, sweaty ……………………………..

The room was pleasant, comfortable, properly lit and professionally decorated in muted, soothing hues of beige, gold and taupe, tapestries artfully draped, artifacts tastefully displayed ….. Everything oozed style and grace, The Effortless elegance and oomph of old money ………….. Inherited through generations, mere mortals can only think, or write about. A Room, about to witness the first birth …………

The loudest, Metro-Bus-Politan, city …. of the land of the pure was in complete darkness, thanks to power outage, energy crisis was at its peak and on that particular night, the shortfall in electricity production was more than many thousand,  mega-fucking-watts.

She whimpered in pain, and clenched her fists tightly, her bitten, brittle nails dug deep  into her palms, with no luck lines, and left marks ………….. In a small, suffocating room, she cried and lied…

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A Lame, Lousy Post.

Boldie Talks!!

“She worked at a shithole, dominated by self-obsessed, opinionated, narcissistic, opportunistically chauvinistic dickheads…………………… Pure TPM (Typical Pakistani Men, No Pun intended here)….”

She pressed the backspace and erased the above mentioned thirteen words she managed to write after staring the laptop screen for more than three quarter of an hour, took a deep breath, and reminded herself to be politically correct and sensible …….. She recently mastered the art of acting Cute/dumb/ adorable ….. One or all of them, as and when required. For once, she was dead sure that this was not the right start for the story, or the “piece” she lovingly called her writelings.

SO she tweeted………

Don’t,

Please Do NOT!!!!!

(It was a note to self, but she did it anyways…..)

The day started as usual, she snoozed the alarm thrice and left the bed at quarter past seven. High on two hours of restless sleep…

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