Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

As you know, Friday and Saturday make up the weekend in Bangladesh. You may also know that the weekend brings with it special challenges such as "what the hell is there to do around here?", "where are my cigarettes", " "why won't Robi leave me alone?"

But that's a different matter.

Anyway, yesterday, Thursday afternoon, I was looking quite forward to finishing work and heading off home. The office was still buzzing with the "fantastic team building exercise" that was the impromptu song and dance number from hell a few days ago. People were literally doing little dances as they walked. Even Jamal Bhai took five minutes off of watching online videos to fill out a vendor form in the spirit of "team spirit." In my one and a half years at the company, this was perhaps the first time that I'd ever seen him pick up a pen. Of course, his didn't work and he had to borrow mine. And he didn't just ask for my pen. He made his request by singing a refrain based on chumma, chumma de de... "KOLOM KOLOM DE DE. "

In short, the atmosphere at work has been insufferably chirpy and I could not wait to be done for the week. We supposedly finish up at 6:00. At 5:52, the Line Manager called a meeting. I knew this was going to be a last minute set of "suggestions" from top management. My heart sank to my feet.

In the meeting:
Our Line Manager paces up and down. He looks gravely at us. I roll my eyes. I know exactly what's coming. He will say, very slowly: "team...this doesn't look good...kaajta hoye nai..." A short sentence that can be delivered both dramatically and effectively in a matter of seconds. But instead we get:

"Team..."

My dear colleagues are on the edge of their seats as if they've never heard this before. Their mouths are agape. I hope a fly flies into the back of one of their throats.

"This doesn't..."

He wrings the tension. I pick my nose.

"This doesn't look good..."

Murmurs are heard around the room. Fahim turns to me to give me a "ooooh shiiiiit" look. I put an arm on his shoulder, supposedly comforting him but actually wiping the snot from my nose on his shirt.

"Eta...eta hoye nai."

Jamal Bhai can't take it anymore. His booming voice rings out:

"But why, boss?"

The Boss outlines the problem.
Is it something to do with numbers not matching for 2008's financial report? No.
Is it something to do with a very important proposal that needed to be in perfect condition before sending out to a potentially huge client? No.
Perhaps it is to do with some massive problem with one of our regular vendors, setting our deadlines back by weeks in a fast-running industry where time is money? Nope.

No, no, and no. Those are but tiny minuscule issues in the face of the real impending crisis. Which is, and I kid you not:

Next weekend, we're supposed to have a "competitively friendly" football match against our rival company, Company Y. And top management is not happy with the logo and slogan we've chosen for the team. Therefore, it is TOP PRIORITY that we come up with something that inspires bloodlust and glory in our chests, while simultaneously striking fear into the heart of Company Y.

No one goes home until this gets sorted out, because all the materials have to get printed out and the official team jerseys have to be ordered, etc etc. Perhaps I'm the only one who wonders why top management waited all this time to provide their feedback, since we'd submitted our final suggestions two weeks ago.

Admittedly, our chosen logo and slogan were a bit crap. But let me remind you that this is a logo and slogan for a CORPORATE FOOTBALL MATCH. Which is, by definition, crap.

The original logo showed a tiger leaping forward, with the slogan "GO GET 'EM!"

Company Y, it turns out, have come up with a logo of a tank firing, with the slogan "VICTORY OR DEATH!"

So we need to match that killer instinct. Brainstorming begins. At eight pm, we still have nothing. Rejected ideas include:

Logo: EAGLE. Slogan: VICTORY IS OURS.
Logo: FIST. Slogan: IN YOUR FACE.
Logo: SWORD Slogan: CUT THE COMPETITION IN HALF

I'm drinking tea and rubbing my forehead. This is ridiculous. Stuck after work on a Thursday night because of this. I can't take it any more. I speak up, angry and sarcastic:

"What's the point of all this? Huh!? You know, why don't we just...why don't we just draw a GIANT FUCKING TIGER with HUGE TEETH and BLOODRED EYES and BLOOD COMING OUT OF ITS MOUTH, and it's ATTACKING A TANK...no it's EATING a fucking TANK. Oh but then we have to also have A HUGE NUCLEAR EXPLOSION as the background to show HOW FIERCE WE ARE! How about that? Why don't we just do that? And the slogan can be: 'KILL 'EM ALL.' "

I'm breathing heavily. I take a sip of tea and gulp. Normally I never speak. This has been too much. I've let my annoyance show. Worst.

There's dead silence in the room. The Line Manager steps forward. He extends his arm towards me. I rub my forehead a bit. He speaks.

"Pintu. You never say much."

Silence.

"But when you do. It's damn good stuff. Damn good stuff."

He starts to clap. He starts to clap his hands. Oh God, he claps. And he turns to the team.

"That's a brilliant idea! Amazing! Kill 'em all! That's the one! That's it!"

And the rest of the team, probably only because the Line Manager is all about this idea, start raving.

"Haaaa....eta hobe eta hobe!!!"
"Kill 'Em All! Totally action, man!!"
"We're gonna destrrrrrroy them!"

The Line Manager beams at me and I get the feeling that my life has absolutely no meaning. I've spent all my years doing nothing of any consequence, and this, this has been the culmination of it all, a meaningless nothing on top of a whole pile of meaningless nothings.