Tied Up and Smothered with Blood and Gore

The lights went out at 9AM. I took a couple of candles from my room, brought it down to my office, lit one up for my boss and the other one I put on my table. By elevenish, we pushed through with the weekly meeting even though it was dim enough to lose Khalid in the dark. From last week's nine attendees our office staff count reached 17. Men in ties. Yes, including me.

By noon, I called up Johana, a self-confessed fag hag, for lunch and coffee. And finally, at the mall, after the blackout at the office, after the surprise population explosion, after a heavy meal at the Filipino restaurant, after a cup of mint mocha, and after engaging in heavy flirtation (bordering into sexual harassment, really) with a Lebanese working in a perfume shop, I went out of the mall, found a van, and got myself sucked.

Bloodsucked, that is. The Red Crescent (it figures why they don't use Red Cross in a Muslim country) was holding a blood donation drive. I have always wanted to donate blood but never had the chance to do so back home. I dragged Johana to the Red Crescent van and convinced her to do it with me. No, not sex but the bloodletting. Good intentions aside, I had hoped that they can classify my blood because I don't know what my blood type is. Unfortunately, they can't do it in their van. I went ahead with the donation anyway and watched as my blood flowed through the narrow tube and slowly filled the blood bag. Somehow I found this relaxing if not mildly erotic.

The next day, I thought I'd mellow down from the halloween motif--orange tie on black shirt--and grabbed an earthy color from the new set of clothes that hung from my disposable cabinet. When my boss saw me, he congratulated me again for finally looking like an executive. I smiled and told him that I'm glad I put a smile on his face, otherwise my 500-riyal shopping spree would have been put to waste. Already, I had supplied the proper tone to my new look--smartass.

It turned out I had every right to be grumpy. The accountant slash registrar slash cashier left the office for a month-long vacation and I was given two out of three of his tasks. They would have given me the registrar job as well if my Arabic was good. Thank God for small miracles.

The task at hand is daunting. The accountant was so old school that he did everything in scribbles on manually-lined graphing paper. I told the boss right away that I'm not up for the job. It's ironic that I hired an accountant to do all the gory stuff for my biz back in Davao while I'm here doing accounting for somebody else's biz.

The effects of multi-tasking are glaring. For one, I haven't attended to my blogging ritual. I also felt a bit of stress. It might be the tie. It might be the bloodletting hangover. It might be the horror of facing numbers. I'm celebrating an early halloween and they're not giving any candies.

Read more...

Put a Cam in Our Office and We'll Head to the Emmys

Khalid's idea of private talk is speaking to another person alone in a room and in a thousand decibels. "YOU KNOW, THESE EGYPTIANS ARE REALLY BAD!", Khalid said as soon as he settled in his seat inside my office. After his first sentence, I closed the door so nobody can hear us talk although it was really an act of hope.

For almost an hour, we sat there talking in the dark as Khalid had abruptly interrupted my nightly Youtube session with his nightly rant. I thought of suggesting to him about starting his own blog, but I figured he'd have a hard time spelling "www".

Khalid is the King of randomness. Anybody who has said in his profile that he's the kind of person who can talk about anything under the sun can talk to Khalid. He talks so randomly but strings it together in one breath that you start to erase your caffeine high speculation and confirm your schizophrenia diagnosis on him.

For your consideration, dear members of the Jury, presenting exhibit A: a section of the transcript of our conversation:

K: I hate these people, they are not good, they
are bad. You know, my brother-in-law called me this afternoon and they told him
that I was not around. But I was and they did not tell me.

J: Maybe
they didn't see you around and couldn't leave their desk to find you.

K: But they know that I am around because I went with them to pray to the
mosque. They are bad. I don't trust them. But I met with my brother-in-law
because I need to buy things for my parents. Me, I don't think I will marry
soon. Because women, they are the devil. I cannot be left alone with a woman in
a room because I will do something to her. It is the nature of man. And if you
don't do anything to a woman, she will think you are not a man. But my sister is
going to Sudan for a vacation, I'm going to send my parents something special.
Because you know, parents, they are second to Allah. If you disrespect your
parents, you go to hell. If you disrespect your mother, you go to hell. You
know, the mother, you cannot call her by her name, you have to call her mother.
If you call her by her name, you go to hell. This is because she cared for you
for nine months and after you were born, she fed you with her breasts. For two
years you sucked her breasts. Because a mother's breast is better than any
scientific formula because it is from nature, it's natural. And so, it has to be
for two years. But after two years you have to stop sucking your mom's breast.
This act is called...in English it's called....I can't remember it...

I wanted to suggest "perversion" but because the conversation was
starting to sound wrong and I had become uneasy, I tried to change the subject
back to Mustafa.

J: So, do you still talk to him?

K: These
Egyptians, they are all like that. They are bad. Don't you think?

J: Actually, I think that a person can be good or bad regardless of race.
If a Filipino stole from you, I wouldn't want you to assume that all Filipinos
are thieves. If a Sudanese did a bad thing to me, I'm sure you wouldn't want me
to generalize that all you people are like that. So, I think that race doesn't
play a part as to why he is bad.

K: Yes, I know what you mean.
You are kind, and sincere but you are a romantic. The thing is, it's in their
blood. Ok, goodnight, I have to evacuate.

Khalid left the room hurriedly but by 'evacuate', he really meant "to defecate". Hitting two birds with one shit, as it seems.

The next day (yesterday), we had our first organizational meeting. For the first time since I started work here seven months ago, we found all nine staff members cramped in my boss' office. I was excited since I suggested this bit of exercise. Unfortunately, they weren't going to speak in English just for my sake. I was outnumbered. So I pretended to understand anyway until it was my time to speak.

"I'm just happy that we have this meeting. And I'll be looking forward to this once a week so we can have a chance to air our suggestions and concerns. My only request is that each person should have his own office stationary set, from staplers to notepads. It's essential to make work faster by not running off to another desk just to get punched," I said and noted the nods and smiles everwhere. "That's all," I added feeling proud of myself.

Mustafa spoke last. And although I don't understand Arabic, I got the gist of his little speech. The mere mention of "New Horizon", our rival training center, meant that he was broadcasting his big plans for the future. I almost cursed myself for coming up with that stupid office stationary set request.

I said almost. As I looked around, none of the staff was smiling or nodding his head. I got the people's vote for most adorable officemate, yipee! And right then and there, I decided that in future meetings, I'll give any big idea directly to the boss--to whom it will matter most anyway--and air suggestions that will benefit the team on staff meetings.

Today, our accounts guy told me to get the office stuff from the nextdoor bookshop. Without looking away from the computer monitor, I asked him "now?" And he confirmed. So I told him "ok". Two hours later I'm still online. I guess everything's back to normal and running smoothly.

Read more...

On Middlemen: Somewhere in the Middle

Vince and Stuart were dancing to "Spanish Eyes" when Stuart said, "Fancy staying the night?". Vince thought it was expensive knowing that they were in a posh hotel but he decided that they might as well try 'threes' again. Stuart smiled and whispered "cut out the middleman." They then made their way out the crowded ballroom, past the hotel lobby until they reached the grand staircase. Then, they both went up to the hotel room.

The UK version of QaF (special thanks to my mom who sent me the complete 10-episode series) made up for what it lacked in length with heartfelt performance and touching moments. If the scene above seems vague, let's just say that two's a company and three's a crowd, thus, "cutting out the middleman". I've given enough spoilers so that's the farthest I can go. (UK:US, Vince:Michael, Stuart:Brian)

I went through all that trouble to arrive to this point: I'm currently a middleman, the straight kind anyway.

I've officially gotten involved into trading various products and commodities like Liquified Natural Gas, Crude Oil, LPG, MAzut100, Cement, what-have-yous. When my mom first introduced me to this world I was as confused as Ashley Simpson doing the hoedown.

Then we started communicating with my aunt from the US and it turns out that she is also into trading. I couldn't help it, obviously. I know that my boss is always looking for products and I have an aunt who's always looking for buyers. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, really.

Eventually, well, more like a day later, I found myself e-mailing people from all parts of the earth and sending information that I only have a vague understanding of. I never knew, for example, that ASWP meant "any safe world port" or that LOI stood for "letter of intent". I'm learning at least two new acronyms a day and so far, most of the alphabet is now covered. My illusion of trading, that it's as simple as buying chocnut from a sari-sari store, started to fade into a more serious reality--the right information in the wrong hands could be very dangerous.

Before all these though, I was already aware that some people think that middlemen are not necessary in any kind of business. Back in college, I had this classmate who felt strongly against job placement agencies that he decided to put up his own Security Guard Agency to help protect the common gardo versoza. He said, that unlike other 'parasite' middlemen, he'll make sure that his agency will not take advantage of the job-seekers. I wonder if he stuck to his strictly 5% cut up to this day.

I sympathize with him in that view, but I also understand that a lot of people won't trust a service worker, especially a security guard, unless he's from a certified agent.

I don't know. As a middleman, I can't say that I am a parasite. Okay, in trading, a middleman gets paid in ridiculously high amounts of moolah but my aunt's contacts wouldn't have known about my boss if I didn't give the extra effort to mention to her that "hey, my boss does oil too". I see it as being the right person at the right time with the right amount of conscience--said amount leaning towards negligible. And don't tell me you would naively say you'll settle for a hundred dollars when they're waving a six-figure commission in front of you.

It's an easy job, this trading thing. You sit in front of a computer, send and receive emails, act as a channel of communication. My aunt says that I can retire early if any one of these deals gets closed. But my boss was quick to say that there will be a lot of inquiries and only one out of a hundred will get signed. I'm 'channeling' three products as of the moment. So far so good, and if not, then there are still 97 chances to go.

Oh, and if you still can't take Vince and Stuart out of your mind and wondered all this time what they did after they went up to the hotel room, highlight for spoilers: they only slept. If you know QaF and want to watch the scene, follow this link, otherwise, don't bother.

Read more...

Emerging Bloggers Emerge on Ten Emerging Blogs Post

The day I posted my candidates for the Ten Emerging Influential Blogs of 2007 was the day my blog had the most clicks ever. From a sad average of 20 clicks a day, it rose to 67. A couple days later, it was back to reality.

I can't wait to post 2008's list. LoL.

Read more...

Edmar Is Here

I was trying to be comfortable on my bunk bed while listening to Kat's usual complaints and Van and Derf were exchanging jokes about Sulpicio lines, entertaining Louella and Arnold who resigned to the fact that we picked the wrong ship and decided to be typical Filipinos and laughed at the situation we're all in. After bitching about how awful Sulpicio Lines' ship was and agreeing that we have boarded a ghost ship for there were no passengers except us, we directed our attention to the PA system which, playing in mono, gave life-saving instructions that could be useful in case the rusty ship turned into a submarine; that's if the instructions were clear. Then, the last two Spanish words that survived the history of the shipping industry, "puera visita" blasted three times through the PA system, except that it came out as "pwira bisita, pwira bisita, pwira bisita" (you can tell that at this point, the announcer was proud of himself for speaking in Spanish, if Spanish had a Bisaya influence). We echoed the phrase until we got tired of it. Finally, as we settled in our bunk beds, we took turns reading vandalism from the walls of the cabin. One particular vandal became special to us and will always be remembered. You would, too if you've read it yourself. Written in bold letters, patiently scribbled using a blue point pen up to 72 pt size in what appeared to be Arial with Grunge Scratches, was this confusing declaration: "Edmar Is Here!".

What made it more funny was the fact that earlier on that trip we were convinced that we have boarded a ghost ship. There were only two things possible with "Edmar is Here": one, that Edmar skipped English class quite often, and two, Edmar's ghost was there (or is here, according to Edmar).

Dateline: Doha, Qatar. Edmar is here. Really here. He's the boss' maid's husband. He arrived three months ago and the boss transfered him here in the office for two weeks now, thereby stripping me off of my title as the only Filipino working in the office.

Edmar is the kind of Pinoy you don't want the other races to base their Flip stereotype on. It's not good to judge the book by its cover, but a couple of amateur tattoos can tell you a lot about the person. He hails from the northern part of Luzon. He's the kind of Filipino that Rex Navarette makes fun of in his routine--wer for where, soaf for soap, etc. Although Edmar is a blast to talk to in kanto-level conversations (ie "nakakain na ako ng tao" or "I have eaten a man" -- a statement that can only come from a post-fried brain), I'd avoid speaking to him when other officemates are within earshot for fear of being accused of racism. While it's casual in the Philippines to refer to blacks as negros, Edmar doesn't realize that the term became a #1 hate slur the moment he boarded the plane in NAIA, thus, I panicked when he talked to me in Tagalog but uttered the word "negro" in front of our Sudanese officemates! He doesn't hate the Sudanese, it's just that he doesn't have a filtering system installed.

On his second month, Edmar converted to Islam and has since introduced himself as Rashid to Muslims here in the office. Abandoning Christianity, however, doesn't mean turning your back on infidelity, smoking or thoughts of violence. Being the officeboy prone to abuse involving tea and coffee, Edmar gets to meet everyone working here and has already formed his own (so far accurate) generalizations about our officemates. Not a week goes by that I won't hear him announcing to me that he will punch this guy or bludgeon that guy.

"Jef, sarap sana tumira, ano?" ("Jap, delicious if hit, what?" would be an Edmar translation; formula derived from "Pareho ang numero = The same the number") Edmar said to me the other day, reminiscing his junkie days while he was preparing tea for some guests. Edmar is probably on withdrawal as I write this.

At one point, I actually asked Edmar if he ever boarded a Sulpicio Lines ship. He said no. I was disappointed. But that means the search is still on for the real Edmar. For now, Jap is here.

Read more...