Weekends And Women's Loos

Ladies and gentlemen, it has just dawned on me that I am in fact, living the dream. All you lesser mortals have been toiling away through the week, shouldering the burdens laid on you by insensitive bosses and unfair work conditions while throwing up desperate prayers to the heavens pleading for God to bring about the weekend sooner. Meanwhile, I can honestly claim that to me every day IS like the weekend. Mainly because my weekends are as dull and monotonous as the other five days.


Yes, I am bored, lonely, bummed out (or as Sabby put it, "jobless, money-less, lifeless"), and did I mention bored?


So in an attempt to spruce up my meaningless existence, I enrolled myself in a 6 month weekend course in HR and Organisational Behaviour. Despite my aversion to studies at the moment, I really couldn't see the sense in NOT joining this course, because at worst I'd slog for 6 months and scrape a pass, which means at least I'll have an extra line to add to my rather malnourished CV. Who knows, perhaps I'd make a couple of friends? Maybe feast on some eye candy? Join the institutes basketball team...? Alright, never mind.



Last Saturday was the first class, so I turned up all bright, early and clean-shaven. Our lecturer seemed like an interesting enough fellow, and I'm not saying that just because his name happened to be that of Spanish NBA player from the Portland Trailblazers ('Rudy Fernandez'? What are the odds?!). Not only did he present well, he also happened to be an engineer that diversified into the management field later on in life by pursuing an MBA. Inspiration indeed; I sat up a little straighter in class.


Twelve minutes later I was slouched again though. Sure, the material was interesting, (well, it wasn't snooze-inducing at least) but as predicted, the other 3 students said next to nothing in class. Yes, just three other students - lively student environment indeed, which meant that the first one hour went in the usual coaxing that lecturers tend to do with a new class. "Please, don't be embarrassed! Speak up! Even if you are wrong, it's ok, we're ALL learning!". Yeah, good luck with that.



Everything was going along quite boringly until the break, when while I was in the corridor I happened to see the guy from my class coming out of the ladies washroom. Before I could burst out laughing though, one of the ladies from the institute saw this and kindly pointed out that the men's toilet was down the hall. The poor kid couldn't have looked more embarrassed if he had been forced to take part in a wet t-shirt competition. He literally stammered something and ran away!


After witnessing that, I sort of mentally resigned myself to the fact that it was going to be a dull 6 months, where I was probably going to be the only one answering questions in class and possibly the only one understanding anything that was going on as well. I looked over at my three classmates and shook my head in disappointment.

However, I had underestimated the teaching abilities of my Spanish NBA players namesake ("ROO-DEE!" in arena-esque PA system voice). In an attempt to mix things up, he decided to ask less specific questions and make us write down all the possible answers, comparing notes after we were done. Surprise, surprise - it seems that while my classmates are severely lacking in the oral department (and perhaps in the 'reading large pictorial signs' department), they are more than capable of writing up a good answer. 'Rudy' wasn't the only person I had underestimated.

It seems to be a new fad these days to be a 'good judge of character'. We like to take pride in the fact that we can sum up a person after a few minutes simply by reading his/her body language and interpreting his/her line of thinking through the way they speak. We boast of a 'sixth sense' that tells us if they are 'good' people or 'bad' people, people we can be friends with or just acquaintances. Even a person's taste in music or movies suddenly becomes indicative of their personality and even their soul.


Are we really that easy to figure out? I'm sure we're not, and yet making a snap judgement about someone is almost a sign of your intellectual superiority, so we do it with reckless abandon. I wouldn't like to think that someone could 'figure me out' simply because of what I wear or what I listen to. Why should I assume that of other people? How many people have I simply discarded or ignored because they 'went to the wrong loo'?


How many have you?