Dangerous Drops

God gave names to all the animals. He also gave them some basic amount of thinking power to help them make their way through this world. He wasn’t in a hurry and he took his time thinking things through and deciding what and how much needed to be given to whom. A very methodical approach was his. When he was all done with this distribution he turned his attention to his most wonderful invention to date. Man. He gave him big amounts of thinking power. But somewhere his hand or mind must have wavered, for what resulted was a slight fault in the propagation mechanism that he built into his creation. What this resulted in was a tendency for the odd generation cropping up with all faculties not being handed over as per design. What this meant was that ever so often a generation would throw up a progeny that would make an appearance completely devoid of any thought processing facilities built into the basic design.

This actually is very common. It has been happening since the beginning of time. It is not a dangerous phenomenon and does not constitute any great chemical or biological hazard to the rain-forest or mankind in general. In fact it is so commonplace as to be almost unnoticeable. And largely unnoticeable it is, unless it decides to happen in your immediate working environs. Then it is not unnoticeable anymore. It is then on forth a source of immense irritation which leads to immenser frustration which finally results in a searing need for great vengeance and furious anger and making sure that all know what your name is when you decide to lay your vengeance on them. Thank god for pulp fiction.

How can you simply drop something off? I can understand dropping off a friend or relative (this sometimes could be done with great vengeance but that’s another story for another time), dropping off your wife’s birthday (in which case the great vengeance will happen to you), or even dropping off your sense of decency and respect (in a greatly inebriated state mostly), but, why, oh why, would anyone drop something off that they were officially, contractually, and under all kinds of sworn oaths obliged , morally or otherwise, not to?

I cannot for the life of me understand it. I cannot for the life of me all over again understand it. It confounds me. It baffles me. It very simply boggles my mind.

I would have understood it if it had happened one time. That would have been Human error (also read as stupid careless).

Also OK if it had happened two times. That would have been really stupid careless bordering on moron error.

But three times? Three f#@&*** times? All I can say is No way Jose !!

Which brings us to the tale on hand.

There is a respectable gentleman who walks into a tailoring firm to have a pair of trousers and a jacket hand tailored for him to specification; a specification put down after long hours of thought and deliberation. With a song on his lips and a grin stretching from ear to ear the sprightly gent traipses into the premises of the one offering services of a tailoring kind. He is made most welcome with offerings of tea and biscuit and asked what service can they be to him. To which the gent in all his humble excitement does reply of the tailoring kind. To which they most readily do agree and upon hearing which the gent’s heart with happiness warms and with gladness does fill for long has been his dream to have tailored by the finest pair of hands a pair of smart trousers and a jacket to boot. Of course the boot will come from those offering services of the boot outfitting kind. So far so good. Things are fine and all is well with the world. So why worry? Ah! But worry is soon to descend on the unsuspecting gent and engulf his every waking hour. It will haunt him every step he takes. It will be there lurking in the shadows, hiding in the depths, plotting in the corners – in short being what you may term a nasty, scheming, evil little creature – an import straight from the depths of the devil’s own hell. And turn our pristine, cultured gent into a rambling, seething cauldron of self-consuming neurosis.

The above was for dramatic effect. But the picture it paints is very real. That’s exactly what happened. And why I was prompted to say “But three times? Three f#@&*** times? All I can say is No way Jose!!”

So what did happen? The tailor, in all his infinite wisdom, decided that the measurements that he took of the gent for trousers and jacket were an impediment to his naturally gifted way of tailoring. So he decided to do away with them and improvise with what he thought were the right measurements. Of course, when the gent did come in for a trial fitting, he kind of got lost in the garments produced by the tailor. So he vented his frustration by stomping around a bit, waving his arms around for effect, and generally voicing his concern at the nature of the goods that were presented to him. Upon which the tailor made some apologetic noises and promised to set right the slightly outsized set of garments that he had presented to the good gent.

So he went away for a year and a day, and toiled hard and long, and came up with a suit of quite different proportions fully confident that they would fit the kind gent this time around. When the gent tried the suit on, it fit perfectly – only the jacket had just one sleeve, the trouser leg was many inches of the ground, and the pockets had strangely disappeared altogether. The gent yelled, made violent gestures and called the tailor some very uncomplimentary names. The tailor apologized profusely, blamed his deficient hearing and hoped the gent wouldn’t mumble the instructions to him this time around and refrain from using some strange foreign language while writing down the specifications for the suit. The gent having caught his wind, agreed to give the tailor one more chance.

This time around the tailor put together the suit exactly the way the gent had specified. He then took a good hard long look at it and decided that it had a few surplus accessories and decided to do away with them.

The gent walked in on the designated date and tried on the suit. It fit perfectly. Most pleased, the gent profusely thanked the tailor and made his way back to his quarters. There he dressed and walked away into the night. He made his way from one party to the next, his suit being the centerpiece of conversation wherever he went. Finally the incessant intake of liquid took its toll and he made his bleary way into the restroom to relieve himself. With a dreamy look in his eyes he measured up and reached down to undo his trousers almost feeling the relief coursing through his veins. Imagine his horror when he reached down and found that the enlightened tailor, in all his infinite wisdom, had decided that a pair of trousers does not really need a fly and had decided to do away with it altogether!

It is at this stage we bring to a close our strange tale of the kindly gent and the profusely challenged tailor from one of the leading tailoring firms of these parts. But we would be leaving the tale unfinished without adding a final bit about the headlines in the papers the next day reporting a bizarre scene of a wild gent in a pair of pee-stained trousers bashing in the brains of the local tailor who kept screaming – “But it was not specified, it was not in the specification, you actually don’t really need them… etc. etc. etc. etc.

Fade to black…..