The Curtain Caller

ACT I SCENE I

No, there won't be any curtains opening nor any lights fading in for this story. We're just going to jump right into the scene here.

Here I was, standing before a pissed off Selva - now for those who do not know Selva, well he is the most calmest person in the office. He is standing before me, kicking - no, trashing - the steel trash can and muttering profanities.

I observe him for a few seconds, slightly amused but mostly horrified.

This is exactly what a public relations job can do to a person. Especially if you're working for a private higher education institute which focuses more on profits than on the education it delivers. That, along with a fucked up manager who has fucked up mood swings - even folks such as Selva lose their minds.

Our job, let me tell you, has nothing to do with public relations but all to do with conjuring an image for the company. A good, nice, clean image. The management hardly delivers on its promises, especially when it concerns students' welfare. Facilities are fucked up and students complain about it but nothing gets done.

It's all a front. And we're the ones holding that poster up. 

Behind that poster, Selva has lost it. His eyes a bloodshot red. Along with his thick moustache, he just needs a cleaver to turn him into a stereotypical Indian you'd find in the South Indian movies.

"Do you know what anarchy is?" he asks as he lights a cigarette. Trail of smoke gush out from his nose. He looked like a pissed off bull.

I shrug my shoulders and reply, "A bunch of people burning cars and throwing rubbish bins into shops?"

"Wrong," he frowns, taking a puff of his cigarette.  A cloud of smoke billows out from his mouth.

Earlier, Selva was lashed out by the manager for sending a press release with a typo in the title of a VIP for an event that is to take place this weekend.

The manager had walked to his cubicle and threw the printed press release in his face.

"What the fuck is this shit?" The manager had yelled. Everyone in the office turned to look at Selva who was equally surprised at the sudden outburst like the rest.

"You sent out a press release with a fucking typo to the press! It's Dato' and not Datuk!" He screamed, slamming Selva's table. The sticker of a smiling emoticon with the words, "Always Smile" dis-attached from the partitioning and fell onto poor old Selva's keyboard.

"I can't believe you can make a stupid mistake like this!"

Everyone turned back to their monitors and continued to do their work. But I knew everyone were just listening. Those bored fucks were eavesdropping. Everyone of them.

Including me.

Hazlina plugged in her earphones into her ears. She usually does that whenever she wishes to remain inconspicuous when eavesdropping.

Opposite her, Selva tried reasoning out. "But the press usually would spell out Dato' as Datuk regardless."

The manager's temper flared even further. "Are you giving me an excuse for a half past six job?"

"I'm not. I'm just saying that -"

"Selva! Do another press release and send it out to the fucking press! This shit can't continue!"

Selva had bowed his head. He had muttered an okay. A couple of minutes later, he sent me a message on Skype. And here we are at the smoking area.

"You know what anarchy really is?" He asked me again.