That flunky in white shirt

Before I get into more details, lets get a few things straight.
  1. I love wearing white shirts. Especially if they are made of linen. And if they are from Cotton World Corp. Or UCB. So much so that I wear them that often that if I was famous, it could have been my trademark. Much like Steve's black turtlenecks and Jeff's pale blue shirts. 
  2. Of course when you live in Delhi and you work requires you to be inches away from dust and grime and other things, these white shirts would get dirty. And crumpled. And after a while, despite how well you wash them, they would look pale and old. Even if they are new. Even CWC and UCB shirts look old after you have worn them three or four times. 
  3. The way I dress is none of anybody's concern. I like the way I dress and I want to be comfortable. If given a choice between dressing up for a party in a three piece suit where I may get an opportunity to meet a really hot woman vs dressing up in a white shirt and shorts (or a faded jeans hanging low), despite it being unacceptable in any respectable event, I would chose the later. I like being comfortable with my clothes and I dont give two hoots about what others think of it. Well I did change a lot, thanks a lot to constant feedback from sgMS, Rr and Neo's wife. I was like a 100 times worse than what I am right now.
  4. I love my beard. I know it looks bad and is scrawny at best. But I love it. Probably more for the convenience of not shaving every day. I love it so much that I dont mind keeping one.
Now that we have established a few ground rules, let me come to the reason why I was prompted to write this post. No wait, not prompted, but FORCED to write this. I mean no one held my hands and made me type this thing up but I was so furious that I had to write this. 

Today at work, why have I been talking about work lately on this blog? I have never been the kinds to actually talk about work! Anyways debate for a different day. So today, at work, I was standing with my boss and there were some 100 more men behind me in a huge hall working on something. The client, who I may add, is probably half my age and yet probably one-tenth senile than I am, ambles across the hall, points a finger at me and tells my boss, how can that flunky in white shirt dress up like that and come to work. 

The flunky in question here is, me! The white shirt in question is what Rr bought for me. Her fashion sense, IMHO, is better than anyone I have met (including sgMS). Dress up like that means a white shirt, a blue jeans and a pair of white shoes. Work means construction of a huge hall where we had some 100 other men who are lot less fortunate than I and have very limited means to spend on their clothing. If someone asked me, I would have said that I was looking great in what I was wearing. Ofcourse the belt and the socks did not match but thats ok. I am not really fashion conscious and like I said in point 4 above, I dont give too hoots!

It dint piss me off that he commented on the way I dress. I have more enemies that Obama, Osama, Anna Hazare combined for the way I dress. What fucked my head was the reference to me as "that flunky in white shirt". What the fuck! A flunky! I mean I know that I am a nobody and tomorrow if I was to disappear from mother Earth, no one would miss me but I hated being called a flunky. Google defines flunky as
A person who performs relatively menial tasks for someone else, esp. obsequiously.
Am I a flunky to my boss? May be. Did I like being called a flunky? Hell no. Will I do something about it? Ofcourse Yes!!

And thats about it. Really.

P.S.: Fiction! No, really. I mean it. I cooked this up because I dint have no shit to work on today. 

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