Beam Me Up 2 Work, Scotty!

My day is being shaped by seemingly non-related, yet sinister incidents. It is about 2:30 pm. I haven't had my lunch. I missed my breakfast too. I am writing on a very hungry stomach. Usually that makes me angry but today I just feel tired. It has been one long day.I woke up to a day with no cigarettes at hand. Not a great catastrophe unless you are addicted to nicotine, which I am not. I just like to wake up to a nice, good cigarette and hot coffee. I have liked it for the last 12 years. I smoke about 40 cigarettes a day, but only one at a time. So nothing serious here. Really. And in case you are not aware, let me tell you this: Coffee does not taste the same without cigarettes. It actually tasted bad this morning. Sipping on that unsavoury concoction, I contemplated the day ahead. I was only depressed till then. Now I became suicidal.Every over-crowded metropolis offers you an experience in 'depraved existence.' Mine just makes sure there are more than one ways to experience it. I travel 10 kms to reach my office by a public transport system. These so called buses are meant to carry 47 people. Imagine having 150 odd being transported in one. And that is just the beginning of the horror. Getting into one requires the precision and agility of a trepeze artist. Considering that you did manage to get in, staying in would prove to be an almost impossibility unless you are a professional gymnast. Most often it is just your toes that will touch the floor board. Then comes the supreme test of one's physical and mental prowess: buying the ticket. While you are sardined to ten other equally sweating and stinking bodies, trying to find where different parts of your body might be, appears a khaki clad figure as if by magic. So you let go of the overhead railing that you are hanging on to for dear life to take out money. After a bone-breaking effort at reaching your pocket, just as you breath a sigh of relief comes the next shock. The hand just won't come up! You try to wriggle it out of its temporary state of paralysis. You try to pry it loose. You push. You pull. Alas! All your superhuman efforts to extricate that hand fails. The khaki clad figure screams obscenities at you for being a slob or something to that effect and disappears. Everyone around looks at you as if you are mentally retarded. You hang your head in shame. The metropolis defeats you once again. And I scream silently in my pain, "BEAM ME UP TO WORK, SCOTTY!" Till then, I will just take sick leave and wait.