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The two men strolled into the hall to order tea from white-uniformed waiters. As they returned, Kumar said, “We are in big trouble,” and motioned for Thakur to be quiet. Back in his office, Kumar handed him a letter from the World Health Organization. It summarized the results of an inspection that WHO had done at Vimta Laboratories, an Indian company that Ranbaxy hired to administer clinical tests of its AIDS medicine. The inspection had focused on antiretroviral (ARV) drugs that Ranbaxy was selling to the South African government to save the lives of its AIDS-ravaged population.
As Thakur read, his jaw dropped. The WHO had uncovered what seemed to the two men to be astonishing fraud. The Vimta tests appeared to be fabricated. Test results from separate patients, which normally would have differed from one another, were identical, as if xeroxed.
Thakur listened intently. Kumar had not even gotten to the really bad news. On the plane back to India, his traveling companion, another Ranbaxy executive, confided that the problem was not limited to Vimta or to those ARV drugs.
“What do you mean?” asked Thakur, barely able to grasp what Kumar was saying.
(On a related note, I enjoyed Inferno. I can get over eminent book writer Dan Brown’s quirky, yet precarious writing style if the plot, written using a quilt fashioned from African Mahogany that once belonged to erudite, although not overly handsome forty-year-old carefree college athlete Robert Langdon, is exciting and gets my eyes white, like a shark about to attack. The Lost Symbol’s plot was boring, but Inferno’s isn’t. It’s not as good as The Da Vinci Code, which keeps the tension up by not revealing the main mystery until the very end. Inferno’s mystery, on the other hand, is pretty much revealed a third through the book, after which we’re left with an enjoyable scavenger hunt. During the book’s final twenty or so percent, the plot eventually does collapse under the weight of its own complexity and becomes unbelievable and somewhat annoying. But overall, it was an almost entirely enjoyable read.)
You’re so sensitive. You’re so emotional. You’re defensive. You’re overreacting. Calm down. Relax. Stop freaking out! You’re crazy! I was just joking, don’t you have a sense of humor? You’re so dramatic. Just get over it already!
If you’re a woman, it probably does.
Do you ever hear any of these comments from your spouse, partner, boss, friends, colleagues, or relatives after you have expressed frustration, sadness, or anger about something they have done or said?
When someone says these things to you, it’s not an example of inconsiderate behavior. When your spouse shows up half an hour late to dinner without calling—that’s inconsiderate behavior. A remark intended to shut you down like, “Calm down, you’re overreacting,” after you just addressed someone else’s bad behavior, is emotional manipulation—pure and simple.
Many people in creative fields share, to varying degrees, a psychological phenomenon known as “impostor syndrome.” Those who experience this syndrome doubt their own competence in the face of overwhelming evidence of their skills. They have difficulty internalizing their own accomplishments.
Alexander Bruce, sole creator of the multiple award-winning, $1 million-plus grossing Antichamber, travelled to the Game Developers Conference all the way from Melbourne, Australia. Instead of enjoying congratulatory conversations with the developers he admired, he decided to sleep most of the week away in his hotel room. Alone.
“I go to something like GDC and everyone else is way more excited for me than I actually am for myself. Because I’m only seeing problems.”