Chandrasamy modelling agency

It was a friday 9:40am and I was dressed down for work in a turquoise min-dress and quirky shell necklace, but my 4 inch white nine west heels were clicking impatiently on the newly cemented pavement as I walked towards the bus stop near my place. Despite having spikes as footwear, I could easily win a marathon stutting at lightning speed. was in a mad rush. Because after all, I was late for work. Very very late. Like almost an hour late.

As I reach a bend, I almost crashed into this dark skinned dude who look like he just crawled out of bed and is on a hunt for some breakfast at the nearby food stalls. Mid-20's looking, nothing spectacular, nothing memorable, except for a patch of pimply growth on his forehead, and I quickly forgot about him after 3 seconds, because the only thing on my mind at the moment was how can I teleport myself to office.

Anyway, a hundred metres ahead and someone slightly panting from behind me called out: "Hello, excuse me?"
I spunned around and it was that Indian dude.

Me (with a smile) : "Yes?" (I looked around half expecting that I dropped something)
Him: "Urmm, hello, I own a modelling agency, and I think you are gorgeous. Would you like to join?"

I surveyed that dude quizzically for about 2 seconds, before deciding that it was probably a scam (like a certain someone who has an online model portal and who tells wannabes that they can be famous for just S$50 of administrative fees) after deciding he didn't fit the profile of someone who can survive in the fashion and beauty industry.

Despite my impatience, I decide to not be a biatch and politely refused. But he didn't give up.

Him: "Well? Perhaps you could give me your number?"
Me: "Just out of curiousity, which modelling agency is that?" After a measured pause, "I know quite a few model bookers in town, so which one do you manage?"

After a string of hemming and hawing, he murmured something that sounded like Chandrasamy Models.

I was speechless from not knowing to laugh or cry, and wanted to tell him that even if his agency existed, I highly doubt his clientele base would be interested in my yellow skin.
I wouldn't look convincing in the pictorials for a sari boutique nor a prata TV commercial. The satire would be lost on me in a similar Camlin market pen commercial Http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CKthceSGlyM
My yellow face will stick out like a sore thumb on billboards in Mustafa.
And where on earth is that supposed agency based? Mumbai or Chennai?

In the end, I just gave him a long meaningful stare, shook my head and walked away because I was really horribly late.