Daylight come and me wanna go home...

So anyway, am back in the homeland. Things to note on the first layer: a) I currently live out of a suitcase and have done so for the last three months, and will continue to do so at least for another month. b) Since I tend to pack light, I have a sum total of three different outfits that are my own. Basically I look the same every other day. Yay for minimalism. c) I have with me none of my favourites—my books, my mugs, my masks, my earrings. I guess I miss them. d) My suitcase keeps getting shifted from room to room based on presence or absence of guests. e) Moral of the story, I am in transition, basically :).

I took this career choices test as a senior in college. Essentially you sit for an hour or so and fill out a pointless questionnaire with a host of largely unentertaining questions. Why did I do this exercise? Because I was struck by senioritis, and it seemed better to sit in the AC room of the Career Center rather than attend a boring lecture. More importantly though, the Center gave away free pens and I liked collecting pens since I keep losing mine. Anyway, after two weeks of waiting while the test was being ‘processed’ in an undisclosed, far off location in the Nevada desert, perhaps, I was summoned back into the office for a ‘discussion’ of my results. Okay, I thought, one more hour of lecture to be missed, and so I rather looked forward to this discussion. Maybe, if I got lucky, ‘the results indicate’ that I’m meant to be the next female Elvis or something.

I was met by this too-much smiling short woman with even shorter hair. I can too-much smile back if I so choose to do so, and at that moment I did choose to do so. So after a few minutes of too-much smiling at each other, exchanging pleasantries on the weather, and how exciting it was to be a senior and all, the official ‘discussion’ started. The first thing this short woman did was open her drawer and take out four pens. Four. I would have merely noticed the number and gone back to ‘discussion’ mode, if I had been color blind, perhaps.

But unfortunately for me, I was not color blind. And I did notice that the pens were a) sparkly gel pens b) of different colors c) all colors were pastels. Now these three observations set off a distinct train of thought in my head. The long and short of that train of thought was ‘God, is this for real?’.

Try to step into my shoes, and think, sparkly gel pens?!, pastels?!, are we in drawing class?, in third grade?. Whether you step on the same train of thought as me or not, is not the point. The point is the moment ‘gel pens’ registered in my head, the minute sense of seriousness that I had about this ‘discussion’ dissipated into total nothingness. I couldn’t believe this lady sitting before me with her short hair and gel pens and really, really just wanted to leave her and her pastel colors. How could I take anyone who does this to me any seriously?

Poor me, no. I don’t have the patience for this type of sparkly pastel pen nonsense really. But I was in too deep at this point. She reached back into her drawer, and I was half expecting her to produce whiteout, but thankfully for me, she brought out my ‘report’. Then she proceeded to mark up this report with the sparkly gel pens. I could have retched right there on her desk.

Some have ventured to suggest that I may have been overreacting, but I stand firm by my feelings. There is no way in the world I can ever, ever give anyone who uses sparkly pastelly gel pens for a supposedly serious discussion, any ounce of serious respect.

Not noticing my feelings so superbly hidden behind the too-much smile I still had plastered on my face, she proceeded to mark up the whole report. All along, she kept up a barrage of auditory cues and too-much smiles thrown in for safe measure. I nodded every now and then. In reality I was dreaming of a hot bath and cream-filled donuts to calm myself down. Either way, the ordeal somehow came to conclusion and the final result was pronounced.

*Drum roll*….I was supposed to be a kindergarten teacher! Apparently the ‘report’ reflected my inherent patience, understanding of children, creativity in designing activities like coloring and make-believe, and desire to educate.

This pronouncement erased all the sparkly gel pen induced torment I had silently endured thus far. I laughed, right in her face. I really did. Just the irony of it all was too much, just too much. I was being lectured to via sparkly pen route that I would do best if I chose a career as a kindergarten teacher, and in fact, used these very same gel pens for my grading. Such is life. End of random story.

However, after watching Rani Mukherjee in KANK, I would start work as a kindergarten teacher any day now, as long as I was paid as much as she seemed to be getting paid. At least by the looks of her clothing and her house interiors. At this point, with only three outfits to my name, I would do anything for a nice new wardrobe, really I would.

Okay, okay, this time I am overreacting.