Rule of the powerful

He had a very important meeting to attend. Woke up early in the morning. Had a quick shower and a shave. Put on a nice shirt and his best suit. He was to attend a very important meeting and ought to dress up well. After being unemployed for so long, he had to succeed in that interview. More than 10 years have passed since he graduated from university and completed postgraduate studies successfully not only in his field, communication, but also in sociology. At the age of 35, living on assistance from his father had become insulting indeed. 

He looked in the mirror, admiring himself. The red-blue tie was great. Brushed off some nasty dandruff on his shoulders; he has been using that famous shampoo for a long time. No avail. “At least I have some hair on my head. At this young age, many of my friends have become semi-bald. I am lucky,” he mumbled with a large smile on his face.

The factory of the company was some 20 kilometers outside the city. The executives must have some sadistic tendencies; applicants for the communication officer post were given interview appointments at the factory. Thank God, his father was generous and did not hesitate a moment to give the keys of his “Baby,” an old Japanese-made car, saying “Drive carefully. The tires are old. I could not buy new ones.”

He walked down the stairs in full confidence, admiring himself, whistling in joy. He just could not take the risk of using the elevator. It became normal to have electricity cuts, he just could not risk.

The “Baby” of his father was glaring. “How many times a week does he wash his car?” he mumbled. He pushed the button of the remote control and opened the door of the garage. Alas, a huge American four-wheel drive was parked just in front of the door. He started to feel his stomach. He must learn to tolerate such unfortunate developments of the city turning into a huge village, but this was not the time of making philosophy.

There was no note on the windshield. There was no visible note explaining where the owner of the car might be. It was still very early, but could any time of the day be proper to honk and disturb the neighbors?

“I have some 45 minutes… I wanted to go early, spend some time to overcome my anxiety. I have time. I can wait for the driver of that car to come,” he thought.

The sons of the old lady at the ground-floor flat had such luxurious four-wheel drive cars. They were rich and involved in the carpet trade. He knocked on the door of the old lady’s flat. No avail, the car was not of either of her sons. He spent the next 20 minutes knocking on the doors of all flats in the building, and the two adjacent buildings, his anxiety climbing, face turning red and voice getting louder and louder.

Back in front of the building, he decided to ask assistance of the service personnel of the nearby apartments. A street-long search was now underway. “What the hell is this? Which animal owns this car?” he yelled in despair, realizing that even if the driver of the car was found, he no longer had sufficient time to make it to the interview on time.

As if the driver and his gang of merry men were waiting for someone to yell “Which animal owns this car?” all of a sudden an army of vagabonds emerged from a nearby shop with long and thick sticks in their hands, yelling “Who is the animal? How dare you?”

The desperate man realized the imminent threat all of a sudden. He was angry. “Sorry I did not mean it,” he quipped, in full awareness of the “law of the powerful.” But it was too late. Instead of going to the interview, he landed in hospital with serious injuries.

He must have been lectured well to respect the rule of the powerful…