BookedOutSundays · Week #3 : A Day in the Life

The alarm went off. With the new routine that’s been in practice long enough now to stop putting the “new” infront, there’s enough “5 more minutes” snoozes she could still afford. Yet feeling wide awake, she reached for her phone to move on to the next item on her list: the first scroll of the day. One quick swipe down brought the list of all notifications overnight. The new-age mailbox. On top of them was her phone’s calendar, announcing the current address of the days. Lockdown 4.0 : Day 4. Atleast somebody is still keeping count. Swipe it off. Next few are social media – Instagram, WhatsApp, telegram.. It’s too late to reply the good mornings from uncles and aunties – let’s say there was an early morning meeting, which God forbid from ever happening. Instagram comments and DMs too were dealt with, but she didn’t dare to open the message requests – some random stranger’s willingly-compromised-privacy ain’t the best of ways to start a day. The next up on the mailbox were some news articles, which she swiped off without a glance. That’s not the kind of depression you need this early. Next were the shopping apps, suggesting new items she could buy, but has no need of. Studies shows that thinking about bank balance and credit card bills in bed can cause early heart attacks. So, swipe. Next was the bank themselves, fully knowing her account details, suggesting loans and life insurance policies. Swipe – Swipe. Looking at them gives her second thoughts at times. What if I take a huge loan and take off like Mallya or Shetty? Well, Interpol will find you idiot! You don’t own a kingfisher let alone Kingfisher. Yawning at such delightful thoughts she dragged herself off the bed, pulled the hair into a messy bun and stretched. Freshening up and changing into clothes that are moderately appropriate for work, she prepared a toast and a flask full of coffee. It’ll be evening by the time she get a gap for the next meal; might as well do a mighty breakfast atleast. Surprisingly, not even a single work call had come. Well, only if you don’t count the 2:30AM call at night, that is. The tester had called to clear an urgent issue. Can’t blame him, he too must be swamped with work to be up that late! Phones has sure brought people closer, for nobody passes even a cliché “are you sleeping” in their late night calls anymore. This is your win, memers!
Grabbing the essentials – toast and the day’s supply of coffee – she opened the work laptop. Gone are the days when you could get a lot done by the time a computer opens up; now you just press and it’s on! She pressed her finger against the pad, inserted the ID in its slot and the button next to her name turned green in everybody’s screens. The electronic work-mailbox was brimming with unread emails. What’s common between the strangers in a woman’s DM and a multi national company? They both try too hard to look like something they’re not. MNC wants to pretend like they care about employees, are all in for diversity, supports women, encourages “extra curricular activities”. Result? The numerous spams in the mailbox everyday, some sent by bots notifying you of a colleague’s birthday you didn’t even know existed, while some from the interns at the HR department who writes motivational posts with header templates like [I Love Mondays]. In the beginning, she used to read them and even thought of sending better articles than the poorly copied ones they sent; but soon learnt nobody is ever at leisure to read them. Once sorted through the emails, she felt at the right level of depression to check the news. Too lazy to count the number of digits in Covid cases and deaths, she scrolled past. There were more deaths from hunger; God save these migrant workers! Two more students were arrested from Delhi; in a matter of time they too get slapped with UAPA. The international column held news of a Muslim girl shot dead in the UK, a black man in the US. Since the beautiful day couldn’t get any better, she gave up the news. It was about time for the first meeting of the day, and from then on, it went like a machine in a factory. Any attempt to make the days different from eachother had only failed, so she had come to terms with being a corporate slave in confinement. A day in the life of a corporate slave robot.

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