In the everyday hustle...

Standing in line at the ticket sales point of aero contractors in MM2, amidst the constant hum, buzz and chatter prevalent in this environment, I overhear fragments of a conversation...the reasonably appreciable voice of a female marketing agent trying to sell some sort of product or service to an adult male, who just happened to have the gruffest of grunts as voice and didn't sound like a nice or easy to deal with person at all.
"Sir, please let me just show you some of our..."
"I do not have that kind of time...My business determines my location at any time."
"Where do you have...?" The airport noises made it difficult to hear as much as I would have loved to, especially the saleswoman’s pitch…the scene had an odd ring about it; like a madly driven, love-stricken woman trying to win the attentions of a man. For a moment, I’d gone off-beat, the gruff voice broke me out of the reverie.
"Dubai, UK, America, France, Germany, India, China..." Seemingly showboating now.
"Sir, if we were to give you seven days at any location of your choice where would that be? We have facilities in Asia, Europe..."
"I have told you before; business determines my location at any time."
"Sir, where are you based, I can..." At this point, the marketer is rather rudely and abruptly cut-off by the increasingly impatient and totally unpleasant gruff voice.
"Look young lady, I am a very busy man; you have my card...call me to find out where I am." With that and a quick shuffling of feet, this signalled the end to a conversation even I found as disturbing and discomfiting as perhaps the lady did.
At this juncture, I couldn’t help but turn around to catch a glimpse of the actors.
The ghoul of a man (and I mean it literally), clad in a white, simply cut native attire; neck, wrists and fingers, bejewelled extravagantly, carrying a laptop bag and an array of handheld electronic devices that make SLOT look like an antique shop; just about dragged his considerable mass over to one of the ticketing cubicles of another air carrier and proceeded to deliver a harangue to the unfortunate occupant.
The marketer, a pretty, black, petite lady spotting jeans and a brown tee-shirt with the insignia of some kind of travel agency, tourism group or leisure resort stood alone a feet or two behind me. She was bent over a file folder, rapidly scribbling away on a notepad, more in a bid to avoid embarrassing stares than anything else I suspected. She caught my stare and just for an instant I can sense a bit of dejection and frustration in her eyes. I smile and offer what I hoped to be an assuring nod. She smiles back and returns to her jotting.
It’s crazy…the things we have to go through, all the B.S we have to take, dues we have to pay just to make this money!