Post by toweringniceguy on Aug 18, 2006 14:17:53 GMT 10
“Hello. Is that the police?”
“Who’s speaking, please?”
“I’m going to commit suicide. Does my name matter?”
“Press one for suicide, two for assault and three for other.”
“What!”
“Press one for suicide, two for…”
“OK, OK! I heard you. I’m going to press one.” Doug savaged his mobile. “Hello, police? Suicide Section?”
“Who’s speaking, please?”
“What! I just spoke to you.”
“Ah, yes, one for suicide.”
Doug glared at his mobile. “You mean whatever number I press, I get back to you?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“It’s for our files.”
“Your files! I’m about to throw myself over the cliff and all you care about are your files!”
“Thank you for understanding, sir. Now, what is your name, please?”
“My name? I’m jumping. What does my name matter?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The files need it.”
“The files! The files!” Doug stamped his foot. A rock sailed down. He hastily stepped back and mumbled, “Doug, Doug Wood.”
“Thank you,” said the cheerful voice. “Is that Wood as in wood or Would as in could?”
Doug sighed. “That’s it. I’m going to jump now, right now, and on your head be it.”
“You’re going to jump on my head? Oh no, sir, I’d rather you didn’t. And what is your address, sir?”
“Address? For the files?” Doug shrieked. “How about cloud nine, heaven? Yes, that’s it, heaven.” He scowled. “No, hell. I live in hell.”
“What number hell, sir?”
“What number!”
“Sorry, just my little joke. Now, sir, your real address?”
Doug gazed at the roiling waves. “Lovers’ Leap, Sunshine Coast.”
“Sunshine Coast? Sunshine Coast? Right, got it. Lovers’ Leap? Lovers’ Leap? No, can’t find it. Where are you near?”
Doug’s black mood turned red. “You don’t know Lovers’ Leap? You can’t be on the Sunshine Coast? Where are you? Brisbane? Sydney?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t tell you that.”
“Just nod,” Doug snarled. “Melbourne? Perth? Darwin?” Suddenly, it clicked and he burst into crazed laughter. “You’re in India, aren’t you? I’ve been shunted to a call center in Bombay. You’re not even a policeman or anything.”
“I am an anything,” the voice said with dignity.
“That’s it precisely.” Doug snapped. “You’re an anything. Any accent, any profession. Any sex, too. So what’s your name? What’s your real accent?”
“Actually,” the voice sang, “I am being Govinda of Poona.”
“Poona! That little dump.”
“It is not being so little, sir.”
“On the death road from Bombay!”
“Our drivers are being very good, sir.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Except maybe during monsoon season.”
“Your drivers are like your cricketers.”
“Our cricketers, sir,” Govinda said icily, “are being the best in the world.”
“Yeah, sure. You mean like Dal Chapatti? Top spinner and he couldn’t bowl a maiden over.”
“Sir,” Govinda enunciated, “will you be jumping or will I be getting someone to push you?”
“Oh, yeah, press four for push. India couldn’t beat a team of eleven arthritics.”
“We could if we used Australian methods.”
“Yeah, straight shooting?”
“No, straight bribing.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Australia is only winning because of bigger bribes.”
“You… what? How… how dare you? I’m going to fly straight to Poona and push your nose right down your throat.”
“You and who’s eleven? Before or after you jump?”
“Jump? Jump? Who said anything about jumping? I’m going to get a job, save up and come to punch you out.”
“Just dial triple zero and press one.”
“Not! Bloody! Likely!”
Doug closed the phone. OK, so Mary had left him. He could deal with that. So? He’d left his job. He could get that back. But insult Ozzie cricket? No way! He didn’t have to jump. He’d see to that cheeky cricket phony.
From an unmarked police car, Sergeant Govinda watched through binoculars as Doug stalked away. He dialed a number. A policeman at the base of Lovers’ Leap answered his mobile. “Put the net away,” Govinda said. “The psychologist was right. Confrontational Therapy does work.”
“Who’s speaking, please?”
“I’m going to commit suicide. Does my name matter?”
“Press one for suicide, two for assault and three for other.”
“What!”
“Press one for suicide, two for…”
“OK, OK! I heard you. I’m going to press one.” Doug savaged his mobile. “Hello, police? Suicide Section?”
“Who’s speaking, please?”
“What! I just spoke to you.”
“Ah, yes, one for suicide.”
Doug glared at his mobile. “You mean whatever number I press, I get back to you?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“It’s for our files.”
“Your files! I’m about to throw myself over the cliff and all you care about are your files!”
“Thank you for understanding, sir. Now, what is your name, please?”
“My name? I’m jumping. What does my name matter?”
“I’m sorry, sir. The files need it.”
“The files! The files!” Doug stamped his foot. A rock sailed down. He hastily stepped back and mumbled, “Doug, Doug Wood.”
“Thank you,” said the cheerful voice. “Is that Wood as in wood or Would as in could?”
Doug sighed. “That’s it. I’m going to jump now, right now, and on your head be it.”
“You’re going to jump on my head? Oh no, sir, I’d rather you didn’t. And what is your address, sir?”
“Address? For the files?” Doug shrieked. “How about cloud nine, heaven? Yes, that’s it, heaven.” He scowled. “No, hell. I live in hell.”
“What number hell, sir?”
“What number!”
“Sorry, just my little joke. Now, sir, your real address?”
Doug gazed at the roiling waves. “Lovers’ Leap, Sunshine Coast.”
“Sunshine Coast? Sunshine Coast? Right, got it. Lovers’ Leap? Lovers’ Leap? No, can’t find it. Where are you near?”
Doug’s black mood turned red. “You don’t know Lovers’ Leap? You can’t be on the Sunshine Coast? Where are you? Brisbane? Sydney?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t tell you that.”
“Just nod,” Doug snarled. “Melbourne? Perth? Darwin?” Suddenly, it clicked and he burst into crazed laughter. “You’re in India, aren’t you? I’ve been shunted to a call center in Bombay. You’re not even a policeman or anything.”
“I am an anything,” the voice said with dignity.
“That’s it precisely.” Doug snapped. “You’re an anything. Any accent, any profession. Any sex, too. So what’s your name? What’s your real accent?”
“Actually,” the voice sang, “I am being Govinda of Poona.”
“Poona! That little dump.”
“It is not being so little, sir.”
“On the death road from Bombay!”
“Our drivers are being very good, sir.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Except maybe during monsoon season.”
“Your drivers are like your cricketers.”
“Our cricketers, sir,” Govinda said icily, “are being the best in the world.”
“Yeah, sure. You mean like Dal Chapatti? Top spinner and he couldn’t bowl a maiden over.”
“Sir,” Govinda enunciated, “will you be jumping or will I be getting someone to push you?”
“Oh, yeah, press four for push. India couldn’t beat a team of eleven arthritics.”
“We could if we used Australian methods.”
“Yeah, straight shooting?”
“No, straight bribing.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Australia is only winning because of bigger bribes.”
“You… what? How… how dare you? I’m going to fly straight to Poona and push your nose right down your throat.”
“You and who’s eleven? Before or after you jump?”
“Jump? Jump? Who said anything about jumping? I’m going to get a job, save up and come to punch you out.”
“Just dial triple zero and press one.”
“Not! Bloody! Likely!”
Doug closed the phone. OK, so Mary had left him. He could deal with that. So? He’d left his job. He could get that back. But insult Ozzie cricket? No way! He didn’t have to jump. He’d see to that cheeky cricket phony.
From an unmarked police car, Sergeant Govinda watched through binoculars as Doug stalked away. He dialed a number. A policeman at the base of Lovers’ Leap answered his mobile. “Put the net away,” Govinda said. “The psychologist was right. Confrontational Therapy does work.”
SupremeSohni
Chand meri zameen phool mera watan
