Tit for tat.

1992. Kolkata. One of those weird years when nothing went right for the better part if the year. At work in that hotel I was in, there was constant melodrama. Workers fussy. Supervisors fussier. Guests at their horrible best. New money had started to happen in Indian economy. Some people with that new money had started to flash their true monkey faces. We had to bear the brunt. My boss had a strange morning work schedule. He would sit in his crummy office and call for all the cash report print outs. He would also call for all the kitchen order tokens. He would sit the entire morning and match the orders to the bills generated. He, a guy who's supposed to look after the entire food and beverage section - food preparation, food quality, bar stocks, menus, banquets, marketing, sales and people at work, used to do bill validation! The first time I saw that, I nearly laughed. But evidently, the ownership, Sindhis, loved that bit. Somebody was looking into every penny that dropped. So, I had to grin and bear. In the bargain, some of us, next in line had to cajole the system into functioning properly. We were not of rank but we had to still give orders in a half request way and do a lot of weird stuff to enable the right things. And many a time the results were ghastly. So, one day, the baker went off to Bihar early evening on an emergency. The next guy had to come in and do the breakfast rolls for next morning's breakfast buffets. He didn't come. No one could track him down. I sent someone to his house. He was told by the wife that he works in another bakery every evening and he will be back late night. So, the decision came down to the fact that we had to buy next day's breakfast croissants and brioches. I didn't have that decision making rank. The boss had retired for the day. No one willing to sign. The owner used to live in premises. I had to get him to sign the challan. Rang the bell of the house. Bearer opens door. I say my stuff. Bleary eyed owner father comes out. I say my problem. He asks why did I come to him. I said I need the cash. I am not authorized. Neither is anyone else. He berated me for the next five minutes while I silently kept looking at the watch because the bakery where I could place the order, down the road would close in half an hour. Finally he says that me and my boss should meet him tomorrow at the office in the morning. I get the signature. Get the breakfast bread by 11 pm. Breakfast happens nicely the next day. Dutifully, the next morning at 11.30 am we line up in front of the senior owner's office. One can hear the sounds of Shakespeare Sarani from the outer chamber. We are called in. The boss is seething already but he has not yet started abusing me. The owner does his soliloquy for ten minutes. The boss does his bit for the next five. His contention being that these young kids are very impertinent and callous. They need to be taught some lessons. They both want to take the bread money out of my pay. I count in my head. Oh, so the whole salary is nearly gone. I can't say a thing there. So, keep the head down and walk out of the office. The boss grins and tells me that this is what will happen if you go over my head. He looks like a cheap version of Joginder when he says that. I know I have to leave the job. But I cannot be docked with the bill. So, I get a surprise check on the bar inventory done. We find six bottles of Johnny Walker Red Label excess. Now, I know all excesses are sent to the boss's office. Just like that. I let it go. Then I ask the barman where the excess went. He tells it went to boss. I say bill that. New system. Bills have to be made for everything. Later, it will be shown cancelled. He is cool and makes the bills. Next morning the world breaks into war. Who made a bill for the excess bottles? Barman says I told and he did. Boss calls me in. I simply tell him that all consumption is to be billed and that's what I have done. He says but excess isn't consumption. I tell him but you taking the bottles is. He cannot go to the owner with this. We both know he's been doing trades with the booze. Now he cannot cancel the bill without word going out. The bill is equivalent to his pay. Tit for tat. My salary was never docked. Never lay a hand on a Bengali's salary. His mind will start ticking.