Sunday, 23 October 2011

Murphy's law and Murphy days

     Murphy's law states, "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong". I have Murphy days once every two to three months when it feels like there is a Murphyonic field around me. I am used to breaking glasses, tripping over stuff and other mishaps that are normal to the average klutz. But on some days it seems like the universe is conspiring to make my day extra murphylicious. I sometimes imagine God watching me on those days and rolling on the floor laughing.

    The last Murphy day was a few weeks ago. It started with me waking up in a sweat because of the powercuts associated with the Telangana Bandh. I woke up after restlessly rolling on the bed for a few minutes. I then stepped on the burning mosquito coil, shrieked and muttered something profane. I made my way to the bathroom, groggy and half awake, after tripping over my flip flops, only to discover there was no running water. My vocabulary of swear words was limited; I exhausted them in a few minutes and made a mental note to keep my ears open for more to use in the future.

     After what seemed like eternity, the plumber was able to get the water running. I took a bath, got dressed and walked to the elevator. The power was back on, the lift stopped at my floor and I got in with one of my neighbours. I did not even know his name so I smiled perfunctorily and started fiddling with my phone. I remember thinking that it was not that bad a day after all. Word of advice - Do not tempt fate. The elevator stopped in between floors at that exact instant. 

    I was trapped in that elevator for the better part of an hour. I am not very claustrophobic and so I started waiting for the watchman to get us out. My fellow detainee was not that sanguine. After banging against the walls, shouting at the top of his voice and generally doing anything to attract attention, he started swearing. I pricked up my ears and started taking mental notes. His language was colourful to put it mildly. I expanded my vocabulary considerably that day.
    After a few minutes, he sat down in a corner and started sweating and hyperventilating. He looked like he was about to cry. I tried to calm him down, opened my bag and asked him to put it over his nose and mouth and breathe slowly. He calmed down, apologised and started to make small talk. I was feeling good for handling this situation with grace.

     Something happened that I was ill equipped to deal with. My fellow inmate farted. God! it was awful. It smelled like something died in that elevator. I kept trying to hold my breath and started wishing for either a gas mask or a can of room freshener. I remember trying to smell my underarm to get a whiff of my deodorant. The stench was overpowering and nauseating. After ten minutes, which seemed like an interminable wait in that lift, the watchman was able to get my flatulent neighbour and me out. I ran out of the elevator and breathed in some clean air.

    The rest of the day wasn t much better. I ordered Dosa for breakfast and sat down at my table. An inexcusably clumsy waiter then spilled some chutney on my sleeve and brought me my Dosa. That Dosa was   quite possibly the worst Dosa I ever ate (worse than the ones our college canteen serves). It takes special skill to make something taste uncooked and burnt at the same time. I gave the hotel staff a piece of my mind and left hungry, cranky and was in a foul mood when a motorist almost ran me over.

     I exercised my vocal cords and tried out some of the new expletives I picked up in the lift on the speeding motorist. My voice was now hoarse and I felt embarrassed as I saw the onlookers staring at me shocked by my language. I fled and reached my destination only to find it closed because of the Bandh. I walked back to my room intent on catching some zs.

      I got comfortable in bed, reading a book, felt my eyelids getting heavy, stifled a yawn and closed my eyes when the neighbour started hammering on our common wall with a mallet. I pulled the covers over my head, buried my head under the pillow and tried to sleep. The hammering stopped........I was about drift into sleep.........the drilling began. I got up, dressed and went to the movie theatre and got myself a ticket. The movie was bad, I mean BAD. ( It was Salman Khan's Bodyguard )

      After that I picked up a subway sandwich and went home. I ate that sandwich and got into bed. I got up after a few hours only to discover that I had food poisoning. Whether it was that Dosa or the sandwich, I don t know but I was running in and out of the loo for hours. I was hungry, thirsty, sleep deprived and near suicidal at this point.

      Then I got a phone call from Mom. I talked to her for a few minutes and felt instantly better. I slept like a hibernating bear that night and woke up feeling much better. I then knew that whoever said, God created Moms because He couldn t be here in person, was right.

     But now, I wait in dread for the next Murphy day.


  1. well written piece. reflects your sense of humour

  2. rofl.. Its hard to imagine u swearing! :)

  3. @Sruthi - I don t usually swear (only when my patience is tested)

  4. rofl lol ha ha lmao