If looks could kill

A marketing executive who tried his best canvassing me to sign up his company's offer via regular daily e-mails at last turned up at my workplace last week.

A bit cheesed off with his persistence, I kept him waiting for 15 minutes before I went down to greet him. But truth be told, he unnerved me - in a pleasant way. Wow! What an impressive first impression! Should not have kept him waiting.

He waited at the reception in a navy blue suit over a crisp white shirt, an understated tie, spit-polished black shoes, neatly trimmed goatee, gelled hair, a leather laptop case beside. Extended his hands for a firm handshake and I was shaken a wee bit too much, I confess. Resisted my temptation to ask which car he drove. Act professional, I reprimanded myself.

Walking towards the conference room, I felt uncomfortably conscious of the way I carried myself. The 6-footer took upright, measured and straight steps. Shit, my finger nail polish is chipped, I noticed. Adding to my disgust, I also realised that I had a bad hair day. My hand went up to my tresses as if in reflex response and I dropped the pen I held. I bent down to pick it up as he waited for me to complete my action. I should have lowered myself more gracefully. Shucks!

Before I could rue over it longer, my mobile phone rang. Hello? I asked as no name displayed on the screen. A credit card staff from one of the banks...'Yes, that's right. I'm Nisha. Not interested, please," I snapped even before he completed his first sentence and pressed the button hard. By then we had reached the conference room and he was waiting beside me. Holding the door open for him, I fumbled as I now thought of the way I spoke. Should have been more polite to that creep. Shit! What an impression I must have made. I’m just losing this.

My confidence was at its lowest ebb for no rhyme or reason. If only looks could kill! l understood the phrase better. What it kills varies, though, I was to learn soon.

He took his seat and began spreading out his canvassing potions on the table as I sat collecting my nerves to get my speech right. That’s my forte, I patted myself.  After he was done with his introductory act, Mr Executive reclined, crossed his leg over and adjusted his tie.

Lo! In his greediness to trap another client, his hand rushed to the laptop presentation throwing away the tie to the side exposing the gaffe – if it can be called so. His crisp white shirt was fastened with a stainless steel safety pin. The buttonless hole was made to seem wider as it was horizontally clipped together with a mega-size pin as if threading beads apart. Zap! His image nosedived into tiny irrelevant pieces right to the ground under the feet.

So all the jazz and gloss was the idiot’s UNIFORM. Period. Probably would be fined by his company for not complying with the dress code. Can’t he at least have two pairs of shirts or cheaper still learn how to sneak in a safety pin safely beneath the fabric.

Looks do kill – kill the falsetto!