Recently I read (and loved) Boy by Roald Dahl. If you’re a Roald Dahl fan, you’ll probably love this book. Even if you’re not, it’s still fun. The book covers up to when he was twenty years old. He’s a great story teller and had some pretty amazing experiences as a kid. It’s clear, too, where the motivation for some of his characters and stories came from (in one story he explicitly states that it was the motivation behind Charlie and the Chocolate Factory).
Without further ado, some quotes:
‘God works in mysterious ways,’ she said, which was her stock reply whenever she didn’t know the answer.
Behind the moustache there lived an inflamed and savage face with a deeply corrugated brow that indicated a very limited intelligence. ‘Life is a puzzlement,’ the corrugated brow seemed to be saying, ‘and the world is a dangerous place. All men are enemies and small boys are insects that will turn and bite you if you don’t get them first and squash them hard.’
The Headmaster, while I was at Repton, struck me as being a rather shoddy bandy-legged little fellow with a big bald head and lots of energy but not much charm. Mind you, I never did know him well because in all those months and years I was at the school, I doubt whether he addressed more than six sentences to me altogether. So perhaps it was wrong of me to form a judgment like that.
Back (apologies for my handwriting!)
The text of the postcard is:
This is the two-page long romance novel called, “If Incest is Wrong – Let God Strike Us Down With Lightning!”
It ends … suddenly.
Say, How’s Your God Doing?
A little while back I wrote about an experience I had as an intern where I learned I was less valued than a paperweight.
This is a happier internship story from the same place.
The same summer I started interning there, two guys were hired. One, Sukru from the previously mentioned story. Two, Prasad. Sukru was from Turkey and had just gotten either a PhD or Masters, Prasad from India (“south central India” – he said this to me and I almost laughed in his face, I wanted to shout, “south central in the HOUSE!” because I’m white). Prasad also had a big fancy-pants degree.
Prasad came to work for a little while, and he got himself somewhat acquainted with everything, but he had a trip planned to go back home to India. After a brief while of having him around he was off. A few weeks (felt like millennia) later he returned.
He brought back with him sweets from India. He went cube-to-cube saying, “sweets from India?” and holding a box of foodstuffs at people. It was adorable and scary. I grabbed something, said thanks, and then forced myself to eat it because he was going to stand there until I tried it.
“Mmmm,” I said at 8:00 am to this incredibly sweet bread-like thing, “yum.”
The BEST part of his return was a conversation I overheard. Except for the odd influx of Prasad and Sukru, the company was very whitebread. And oldish.
Oldish whitebread guy: Hey Prasad! Welcome back!
Prasad: Oh, thank you.
Oldish whitebread guy: You got a haircut!
Prasad: I cut off my hair as a sacrifice to my god.
Oldish whitebread guy: ……….Oh.
Watch for a future video where I do my impression of Prasad, who was impressively nervous over the smallest things.