SOS - Save our Sandwich or What Happens When Colleagues Learn Skills for Hostile Situations

Day 1

So we begin at 8am, that's where the story really fleshes itself out, with little help from the narrator. If you look around, you'll see faces, some deeply expectant, some made heavy from sleep, while the rest in a corner, gleefully watching. We'll come to the corner later. There's
a heavy set man, with lips and ears protruding, and his eyelids are wide open, as if inviting combat. Some may say that he's got it right - that it is, after all, a hostile training camp. His noisy coughs punctuate the silences, as screeching door handles provide a grinding chorus. And then, we begin.

The trainers, shipped from England, are ready with tools, kits, and video clips to demonstrate life skills in dangerous situations. The expectant ones are ready with pens and notebooks, the sleepy ones shuffle in their seats, trying to angle their arses to doze off again. The ones in the corner, well, remain where they are - exercising their peripheral vision to look around.

So the first trainer, starts off with a dizzying list of things that people need to watch out for - lot of it common sense. But as they get drawn in, the room begins to carry a worn look, as people suddenly realise with rapt attention that their lives have been missing lists, medical kits and tragically, some fitness. The trainer seems to catch the aura and he begins to further unleash darker stories about people being kidnapped and perhaps even dying. The coughs continue, and papers rustle with breathtaking speed, necks jerk downwards and in the corner, a man intently gazes into oblivion, fantasising about, er, a sandwich.

He imagines flattened meat, slapped on bread with fresh vegetables and as he reaches out with his hands, a ball point pen rolls off on the floor.

Okay, all of you! The trainer announces a short breakfast and the herd makes a noisy exit, and the world returns as a fuller, sated place once again.



12:55pm

By now, everyone is struggling to balance their burps with etiquette and the medic calls out for a volunteer. All eyes dart on the floor, and the wily trainer, picks out the most sleepy from the lot and puts him flat on the floor.

While the irony is on, our man in the corner, now fully comfortable in the cosy air conditioned room, finds himself slipping, going down, easy, and there finally. Sleep comes quickly and before the person next to him has point number 5 scribbled on his notebook from the power point, a light whirring noise, like a motor, jars him.

Turning around, he spots our man, who is now sporting a zen like aura, which makes him look no less than a Munch painting (no, not Scream), if you will. The harmony soon breaks when a sharp elbow pokes into our man's dreamless paradise.


4:30pm

The day has trundled along, with reams of white cloth spread on the floor, fake broken bones crying for relief and fake blood doing the rounds. As gory real-life incidents play out on screen, the mood resembles a tragedy, with people forgetting about medicine, and contemplating suicide.

Our man in the corner, who has now downed four cups of tea, and smoked an equal number of cigarettes, pledges to himself that he will conquer humanity's troubles by er, volunteering? No, no, he shrugs off the thought as soon it is about to perch on his head. Like a victor approaching an open arena, he broadens his shoulders, looks around and pledges one percent of his salary to the animal NGO, which had last week sent him letters to save donkeys suffering in brick factories of Nepal.

All right, everyone! See you tomorrow! The trainer's booming voice brings the curtains down.