Story of a lost journalist

June 10, 2008

Story Time: No more pretty damsels for me

Filed under: Fiction — Cris @ 23:20
Tags: ,

Bam! I was doomed. There was a bloke on my left who looked like he was 3 big blokes made into 1. There was another bloke on my right who was double the bloke on my left, which made him 6 blokes thick.

My mission: Escape

My problem: How

The whole scenario came up after a series of misfortunate events that evening. I was taking a bus trip to this place that belonged to my uncle. He asked me to go have a look at it and tell him what I thought of it. He didn’t exactly say he was going to present it to me if I said nice things about it, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Whatever was awaiting me, I knew what I would be telling my uncle. Initially, I would gasp a lot insinuating I can’t get the words out of outright admiration. Next I would refer the oxford dictionary I was clutching tight and read out the synonyms for fantabulous.

All these well-planned schemes were going through my mind when bad luck boarded into the bus in the form of dumb and beautiful. She was a 25 year old damsel, but definitely not in distress. The male vultures in the bus did not exactly hoot, but that’s only because they lost their breath. It was the seat she chose to sit at that initiated my trouble day. She chose, ladies and gentlemen, to sit near me; the male epitome of futility.

I shrugged at first feeling it necessary to do so. I ejected a series of gasps next, though I didn’t feel it necessary. She seemed to be unaware of my struggle for breathing and existing. After a few minutes, she turned to look at me. And then she smiled. My series of gasps were increasing in frequency now. It went ga-ga-ga-gaaasp, ga-ga-ga. Pretty musical if you ask me.

Lady Damsel seemed to have more plans besides smiling. I did not understand women’s socializing needs. I for one am a happy anti-social male. Why was that, all the women in the world could not stay 45 seconds long happily uttering gasps and silly sounds that kept the male population of this world happy? Her 45-second silence seemingly ending with her smile, she opened her mouth. Big mistake, not that her mouth was anything bad to look at. She had the most beautiful mouth in all the damsels I saw that month. The month before’s went to a Sherly Gate I met in an office I had to go to and gasp at.

Ms Beautiful Mouth’s mistake was in opening her beautiful mouth to a not-so-beautiful face. Mine. “Hi”, she said “I am Angela Shrimps”.

Why God, why did the beautiful women in this world come with unbeautiful names, and worse, darn funny ones! I was not only good at gasping; I had a thing for laughter as well. This I did, in all charm and essence. However Angela Shrimps was not fascinated by my laughter skills. Always demanding, that’s another thing about pretty females with beautiful mouths. She turned her pretty face into a pretty question mark. My gasps finally cleared away and I found my voice. “S-sorry I was thinking of a f-friend of mine. A funny story.”. Pretty question mark stayed on. Cue for more voice work. “I am Jonathan Hills”. There, I said my name and I wouldn’t have any problem if she laughed the hell out of it. She didn’t. She said “oh” and looked away.

I blew it. My one golden chance to get a damsel girl friend went out of the bus. Why didn’t I wow-what-a-nice-name her or you-have-beautiful-smile her?! I looked out of the window and proceeded to do what I was good at. Not laughing; this time I went back to gasps. It was my way of letting it all out. Others chose alcohol. I breathed heavily.

But I forgot the beautiful rules of female silence. So at the end of another 45 seconds Angela Shrimps opened her pretty mouth again. “So what do you work as?”

Whew. That was a simple question. Maybe I underestimated pretty damsels. They didn’t always talk nonsense. “I am the general secretary of a political party, bugavobugavo”

She smiled, and her smile grew very wide. Probably my job was the in-thing these days. Tom Cruises were out. General Secretaries were in.

That’s when she shrieked.

“Wow so am I!”

“Really? You are a general secretary?”

“Well I don’t know if you could call it general but I am certainly a secretary”

“Wh-what?”

“Yeah could you believe it? We both have the same jobs! Who is your boss?”

“Wh-what?” I was suffering from a recurrence problem.

But she didn’t seem interested in my boss or my accent-fluctuations.

“Mine is this total clown. Makes me type 20 emails and draft 20 others, call 100 people and write all his dirty speeches. Really, I think it’s us secretaries who do all the work in this world!”

This time I didn’t say wh-what. It was time to take out my second weapon – laughter. But some of my laughs didn’t come empty handed; they carried a few lines of speech. This one came with “Haaaa, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard in my entire darn life! You are sooooo sooo stupid”. That’s all my speech managed to cover, the rest was drowned in my brilliant guffaw. I do them well, these guffaws. Especially at pretty damsels who were kind enough to share a seat with me and talk to me.

Angela Shrimps stood up, took her hand bag and hit my head 7 times with it and did something horrible. She cried! She stood there and cried loudly. Like my laughter, her cries came with speeches. “You horrible horrible horrible (another thing with pretty damsels – they said every word 3 times to carry effect) man. How dare you call me stupid!”

Pretty damsels also came with big mouths. This one in particular. Angela Shrimps became Angela Shrieks. All the other male damsel worshippers in the bus, who was probably plotting murder against the damsel-seat-sharer (me, in case you didn’t guess), sprung into action.

“What, what did he do?”

“Did he hurt you, you poor poor poor dear?” (Someone seems to have inherited her 3-word syndrome)

So here I am now; between bloke 1 and bloke 2, the blokes together forming the size of 9 blokes as I estimated before. I went back to gasping, turning my gasps into gulps. I tried a sympathy plea. It went out of the bus. So did I. I chose the window. Not that I was given the choice. The bus screeched and horned and left me behind. Not that I complained. If you didn’t count the few scratches and bones missing, I was pretty much in good shape. And the next time I took a bus, I was going to take aisle seats. If I didn’t get aisle seats, I would pretend I have tuberculosis.

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18 Comments »

  1. That was entertaining :-). You should try your hand at doing a wodehouse kinda book.

    Comment by Anoop John — June 11, 2008 @ 00:59 | Reply

  2. That was fun!! I was imagining the whole story like it was an animated cartoon, and in retrospective it could well be a Popeye story. He falls out of the bus into a spinach field, chomps on it, chases down the bus, bashes up the two Bluto-esque guys who within that time had been chasing our pretty damsel Olive inside the bus. How about a sequel along these lines 😛

    Comment by justajester — June 11, 2008 @ 11:49 | Reply

  3. I was confused a bit first!! I imagined the narrator as a female like in your other fictions!! 😀 Seems like i glided over the last part of third para!
    And i back first 2 comments..Try your luck on a book!! 😉

    Comment by Srijith — June 11, 2008 @ 11:58 | Reply

  4. @Anoop, Yes I would love to write a book on these lines 🙂 I just have to come up with something that would go on for more than 2 pages now 😀
    @justajester, this is serious humor fiction! Didnt you hear Anoop John. Wodehouse brand 😀
    @Srijith, I guess I should’ve indicated the male nature of the narrator in para 1 hehe.

    Comment by Cris — June 11, 2008 @ 12:04 | Reply

  5. Good and interesting! I read the entire thing without even finishing the glass of water i had in hand!

    Comment by sajith — June 11, 2008 @ 21:12 | Reply

  6. Very interesting and diff kinda post.
    now that the narrator is not a male character, i wulda doubted if u were that 25 yr old damsel, if not for those adjectives that u used – pretty and beautiful [:D] hehe kidding!

    Comment by rose — June 11, 2008 @ 21:59 | Reply

  7. @sajith, wow I am overwhelmed. My story won a battle against water! 🙂
    @rose, the narrator is a male, the author however is not :D. And no, very little resemblance between the damsel and me – you see all of us damsels didn’t come dumb however pretty we are 😉

    Comment by Cris — June 11, 2008 @ 22:26 | Reply

  8. @Cris – From your last comment: So there is indeed a relationship between prettiness and dumbness for damsels and you are just exceptions. I have always suspected that first part and never expected that second part.

    Comment by Minking Than — June 11, 2008 @ 22:29 | Reply

  9. Oh oh struck the wrong chord – in this case person :D. It was meant for rose.
    @Minking Than, A male narrator may think so but the author has no such prejudices! Consider the above lines juvenille (euphemism for I was just kidding)

    Comment by Cris — June 11, 2008 @ 23:45 | Reply

  10. Good one! I’m reminded of a story I had to study in school..forget which one.
    An yes I agree, you should write a book!

    Comment by nithin — June 14, 2008 @ 20:01 | Reply

  11. @nithin, thanks! That comment came at the right time! That will teach my rude critics a lesson!

    Comment by Cris — June 14, 2008 @ 21:23 | Reply

  12. A wonderful example of defenestration, Cris. 🙂
    Your story reads as if you had good fun writing it, which is the way it should be. Thanks.

    Comment by Paul Burman — June 15, 2008 @ 15:27 | Reply

  13. @Paul, Thanks! Yes, as a matter of fact I really enjoyed writing it 🙂

    Comment by Cris — June 18, 2008 @ 14:34 | Reply

  14. lol… Angela SHRIMPS!! funny story, funny plot and funny lines.. All cleverly packed together… 😀 I agree with the 3 word syndrome…:)

    Comment by Nischal Shetty — July 5, 2008 @ 20:32 | Reply

  15. @Nischal, hehe thank you! Looks like we have here an experienced damsel-attack victim!

    Comment by Cris — July 5, 2008 @ 23:34 | Reply

  16. Lol awesome! 🙂

    Comment by Tony Sebastian — July 23, 2008 @ 11:04 | Reply

  17. @Tony, LOL thanks 😉

    Comment by Cris — July 25, 2008 @ 20:46 | Reply

  18. […] DD read my story on damsels I wrote the other […]

    Pingback by “So who was Rama anyway?” « A journalist is lost — April 23, 2009 @ 06:29 | Reply


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