That MSA worked in the package labeling industry in his previous life.
Worse, he can’t get over the hangover!
When he gets bored by the dull interior of the ghastly Planning Commission office, MSA scribbles something on a piece of paper and, like a man possessed, sticks it to the first thing he lays his hands on.
Last month, the office oddjobber pushed the door and was about to enter MSA’s chamber with his lunch before being stopped by a rope tied at chest high.
Here’s what followed:
Boy: Sir, what is this? Which idiot tied this rope?
MSA: I did that.
Boy: Err...ok...nice sir. But why?
MSA: Look at it carefully. Can you tell me what is this?
Boy: Looks just a stinking rope. Yes! It was lying near gate and still has the stains of Guptaji’s paan. I saw him spitting on it.
MSA: Moron! This is Poverty Line!
Boy: What line? No idea what are you blabbering. Must be because you are hungry. Remove the rope sir. Let me come in and serve your lunch.
MSA: Wait a second. The dilemma is how to come in. Well, how much you earned today?
Boy: Why sir?
MSA: If you earn more than Rs 28, you have to jump and clear the rope.
Boy: If not?
MSA: In that case, you have to crawl under it.
Boy: Let me count...5...10...I earned Rs 28.50 sir.
MSA: Wow! That’s above Poverty Line. So, go three steps back and leap over the rope.
Boy: As you say. Here I come siiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrr...(thud, splash!)
MSA: Yuck! What is this! You spoiled the carpet, my desk and my cloth!
Boy: I would have entered and served it on your table sir but then you insisted...
MSA: You moron! Get lost! Well, hold on, get me a National Drink before that.
Boy: What! You want to drink in office!
MSA: Damn it! Who gave you the job? Don’t you know tea is the National Drink?
Boy: And me?
MSA: You are the National Moron!
Boy: (Sotto voce) And you are national...
Boy: Nothing sir. Getting your tea.