What My Colleague is Thinking About

Time changes, new faces Old best friends, new strangers. New watch just to keep up with the paces. New game plan, off to new places I got a feeling I can win this race I’ve found my pace. The only thing that you can do for me is please stay out my way. No come around my way, unless you got something to pay I’m trying to find a place where I can free my mind. Where I don’t need my 9, ain’t to need for crime I ain’t worried about losing, focused on winning. God forgive me for my sinning, but this is the beginning… Fly Union – Long Run

Sometime this afternoon, while I was on a break from work; my music player set on shuffle, a song of intense maturity started to play. Long Run by Fly Union is a track about everyday life experienced by the musician. It highlights how he defines his hustle on how he tries to find ways to ‘free his mind’ and how death can be around the corner at any moment.

The lyrical composition together with the sound of the beat and the singers’ crisp voice was something like a trance. Before I knew it I had played the song more than 10 times; it being 4 minutes and 21 seconds long so do the math. My colleague looked over the cubicle division with the most intriguing look on his face and blurted out:

Hey Nyash, you playing the same song over and over again. Are you okay?

I couldn’t muster up the energy to respond. All I could do was nod my head in some sort of agreement. Little did I know that I looked like one of those guys in a club who desperately want to dance but, all they can do is bop their head to the beat; hip-hop style. What a shame. I didn’t think that I was being rude. Here I am listening to a truly ghetto song at the office on full blast. It only came to me later on when I attempted to try and reverse our roles.

I ain’t too ashamed to say that it was a daydream. Around lunch time just after my hip-hop trance, I decided to play a game in my mind. I call it ‘What My Colleague is Thinking About’. I’m sure the title kinda gives you the gist of the matter at hand. So here I am, forming rhyming words and sweet-nothings out of syllables and similes, hoping that they correspond with my colleagues facial expressions.

When you picture this exact moment, it does look kinda creepy. The social media guy is starring at me while chewing his gum and licking his lips ferociously. Thats just me guys and yes I can confirm that it was a long abusive stare but, I could have just lied and said I was pacing up and down thinking of new ideas to increase our company ROI (return on investment) on social media. But, thats the easy way out. Anyways back to my little game: It dawned to me that, what if my colleague was thinking of the earlier moment when I was all Funkmaster-Flex, full blast with the music. So for a split-second I put myself in his shoes and out came the shame of my life:

Whats this guy doing, is he okay in the head? Why is he so violent? Oh God, why is he bopping his head so much? Can’t he hear himself? He’s humming now, he’s humming! Like who does that? He’s actually humming! I can literally hear him breathing. Its like he’s about to have an aneurysm.  How can he work and turn up at the same time? Damn thats gangster, nah thats ratchet!

I delightfully sank deeper into my chair with a bit of shame and laughter caught in-between my mind while hoping that it wasn’t what my colleague was thinking of. Its a fascinating thing what music can do to you. One man’s lyrical masterpiece can be another man’s piss-pot! Not to say my colleague wouldn’t have liked Fly Union; he is more of a Reggae type of guy though so yes, he wouldn’t have liked it.

We later on laughed about it while binding some papers; how one of my colleagues talks to herself out loud while the other is a human-humming beatbox and we still all a happy family despite my elusive adjectives during my regular daydream-game(s).

Wait until everyone starts playing ‘What My Colleague is Thinking About’…I don’t think all the adjectives in the whole world would be enough to accommodate us….


Photo Credit: Pexels

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