Fifty Shades of Blue
As a sane, rational, educated woman, I always make decisions based on data and scientifically proven facts. A few years ago, I got an interview call from a premier management institute. I don’t think I’d ever wanted something as badly as I wanted a seat in that college. So I did the first thing a woman does when placed at such important crossroads - I went shopping! I looked far and (3.17 inches) wide for that perfect dress. I finally chose a Turquoise* blue, full-sleeved shirt after I developed the first signs of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from excessive mobile browsing. After the interview, I felt I only had a small chance of making it through. Imagine my surprise when, a few weeks later, I got a letter saying I’d made it. I had a hunch that I owed my success to the it’s-definitely-a-colour shade of blue shirt.
Summer placements at a B school are chaotic times. I knew I had to put my best foot forward to get the lucrative consulting internship.
So in addition to my Gucci shoes, I wore my now-Tiffany** blue shirt, and voila! I had an offer from my dream firm. Since I needed to collect sufficient data to prove the shirt was lucky for me, I quit jobs every few months, so I could interview with a new firm. I was made an offer every time I wore my ill-fitting, now Alice blue shirt, and was rejected every time I wore something else. I looked at the shirt with reverence, got it dry cleaned and stowed it away in a dark, dry corner of my wardrobe.
I was telling a friend about my lucky shirt the other day, but she pooh-poohed the idea, saying it was just coincidence and nothing else. In order to prove her wrong, I rang up a few consultants and asked if there were any openings with firms that I may not be suitable for. I finally found a construction company that was looking for a driver for its spanking new bulldozer. I walked up to the dark corner, unwrapped my shirt, and felt my confidence rising as I wore it.
I could tell the two gentlemen sitting in the room were impressed with my gait, but I knew it was the blue shirt weaving its magic. “Have you had any experience with a bulldozer?” they asked. “I have about nine years of experience bulldozing. My husband can vouch for that”, I responded cheekily. They laughed a loud, boisterous laugh, just the sorts one would expect from the bosses. I took it as a good sign. “How many years of driving experience do you have?” they asked. “I’ve driven my teams up the wall for about five years now”. I knew my friend would start believing in the miracle of my Powder blue shirt when I heard the next question. "Can you parallel park?”. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and saw shades of blue dancing in psychedelic patterns. I walked out with a big smile on my face, offer letter in sweaty hands, as I looked at the beautifully parked bulldozer and my shirt with pride.
Since my scientific experiment backed my claim, my friend finally believed in my lucky shirt. I told her not to tell anyone about it. Needless to say, the entire world knows about it now. I have a queue of job seekers outside my door waiting to borrow the shirt. I am willing to give it to anyone who can correctly guess what shade of blue it is. And oh, you get a Maya blue bulldozer free with it.
*Google up the colour, men
**Google this up too. I promise there’s nothing more appealing to women than a man who knows his shades of blue
Summer placements at a B school are chaotic times. I knew I had to put my best foot forward to get the lucrative consulting internship.
So in addition to my Gucci shoes, I wore my now-Tiffany** blue shirt, and voila! I had an offer from my dream firm. Since I needed to collect sufficient data to prove the shirt was lucky for me, I quit jobs every few months, so I could interview with a new firm. I was made an offer every time I wore my ill-fitting, now Alice blue shirt, and was rejected every time I wore something else. I looked at the shirt with reverence, got it dry cleaned and stowed it away in a dark, dry corner of my wardrobe.
I was telling a friend about my lucky shirt the other day, but she pooh-poohed the idea, saying it was just coincidence and nothing else. In order to prove her wrong, I rang up a few consultants and asked if there were any openings with firms that I may not be suitable for. I finally found a construction company that was looking for a driver for its spanking new bulldozer. I walked up to the dark corner, unwrapped my shirt, and felt my confidence rising as I wore it.
I could tell the two gentlemen sitting in the room were impressed with my gait, but I knew it was the blue shirt weaving its magic. “Have you had any experience with a bulldozer?” they asked. “I have about nine years of experience bulldozing. My husband can vouch for that”, I responded cheekily. They laughed a loud, boisterous laugh, just the sorts one would expect from the bosses. I took it as a good sign. “How many years of driving experience do you have?” they asked. “I’ve driven my teams up the wall for about five years now”. I knew my friend would start believing in the miracle of my Powder blue shirt when I heard the next question. "Can you parallel park?”. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and saw shades of blue dancing in psychedelic patterns. I walked out with a big smile on my face, offer letter in sweaty hands, as I looked at the beautifully parked bulldozer and my shirt with pride.
Since my scientific experiment backed my claim, my friend finally believed in my lucky shirt. I told her not to tell anyone about it. Needless to say, the entire world knows about it now. I have a queue of job seekers outside my door waiting to borrow the shirt. I am willing to give it to anyone who can correctly guess what shade of blue it is. And oh, you get a Maya blue bulldozer free with it.
*Google up the colour, men
**Google this up too. I promise there’s nothing more appealing to women than a man who knows his shades of blue