Yes, two posts in a row. That's why endorphins and boredom don't mix...
*****
Me and my buddy were downing cold ones in a bar one early evening. We had just come from a christening, I was a godfather to a cute baby girl (Good luck, kid. I am probably the worst godparent in history). We were still full from the reception that followed, but the munchies set in on me, and I had to get a nibble.
I scanned the menu, and found TNT, a fancy name for stuffed green peppers. This was one of the more popular new barchows among the cheap watering holes. Typically, the green peppers were stuffed with cheese then wrapped in spring roll wrappers before being deep fried. It was usually mildly hot, the green peppers not really as potent as their red cousins, but had enough of a kick to put the exclamation point on a gulp cold beer. So I called the waiter, and ordered a batch.
It came, and it was a tad different from what we were used to. This wasn't wrapped, it was sliced partially open, then stuffed with ground meat and melted cheese, the green of the pepper still gleaming in its spicy glory. Excitedly, my buddy took the first bite, immediately after which he chugged down half a bottle of beer to suppress the fire burning in his mouth. It was effin' hot, I guess. I guess that should have been my cue to send it back to the kitchen, to be shoved down the chef's throat, instead I took a bite. Wow, it was effin' hot! (Hooray for Captain Obvious!) We suspect that had it been deep fried, the cooking oil would probably had taken out some of the natural oils that made the peppers hot, but since this was seemingly baked, all those essential oils were still there.
Out of sheer pride, we finished the whole plate anyway, downing half a dozen beers in the process. There were 6 peppers in all, I was sweating like crazy the whole time. You probably guessed that we didn't order the same thing again, of course we didn't. We got peanuts, plain, boring old peanuts. Peanuts are not hot, they're pretty bland if unsalted, they're the safe bet, and not hot. (Yes, that needed repetition)If a single piece of pepper were served along with our peanuts, we would have gone straight to the kitchen and fashioned out a new a-hole for the chef.
Moral of the Story: When embarking on a drinking session, check your pride at the door. This saves you a lot of inconvenience, and generally promotes better health.
Alternate Moral of the Story: Peppers of any color are hot, stupid!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Run for your underwear!
Went out for a nice evening jog, when suddenly the skies conveniently opened up and decided to drench me and my underwear half a kilometer from the nearest shelter. So I ran as fast as I could, my heart racing with every footfall, struggling to gulp down the heavy, damp air, all for the sake of keeping my undies dry. I didn't time my run for shelter, but I bet it wasn't impressive to say the least, as I saw grandpa and grandma zoom past me in their walkers.
You see, this particular jogging trail was a long ways from home, and I forgot to bring extra underwear and shorts. If I didn't keep my shorts dry somehow, there was a huge possibility that my friend, whose car I hitched in on, would disown me and literally leave me "out to dry". I've jogged in the rain before, it's a great feeling, but I'll bet walking the whole 15 kilometers home soaking wet after jogging at night isn't a good idea.
*****
This morning, still lazy to get up from bed, I started reading. That didn't last for very long, because though I love the author, I can't stand reading him, it felt weird. The author in question is (ahem) myself, and I was reading a collection of posts from this very blog, a birthday gift from a close friend (Thanks again, Jean!)
Why it felt weird, I have no idea. Maybe because reading back you see each and every grammar and spelling mistake that you made, or because it felt vain, or perhaps it was some literary form of incest. I try to picture some authors reading their own work, I conjured up an image of Mr. Hemingway, seated in a cafe somewhere in Paris, reading his own book, isn't that just wrong?
Back when we were kids, my sisters and I loved recording our voices on tape and grabbed every chance to belt out our favorite Sesame Street chorus or the occasional Menudo or Spandau Ballet track. It was fun, sure, until mom found the tapes and played it for the amusement of other grown ups. It was petrifying, listening to your own voice squawking "Rubber Ducky" (Ernie) or "Explosion" (Menudo) or "The Rainbow Connection" (Kermit) and hearing these adults laugh their guts out. We'd squeal our objections, throwing tantrums while were at it, anything just to make the torture end. In the same way, reading my own stuff gives me goose bumps, wondering if the people reading it were laughing with me or at me.
I took the time to find the "delete" button for this blog... you know, just in case.
*****
Went people-watching (translation: ogling hot girls) while having dinner at a mini-mall. Interestingly, the adjacent table, four girls, were people-watching as well (translation: ogling men). So I multi-tasked, people-watching while eavesdropping.
Turns out, there's a world of difference as to how men and women people-watch. When men do it, it's only about looks and sex-appeal. Women, meanwhile, seem to be reading a curriculum vitae and a bank statement when they watch other people. For instance, shoes are apparently a major category from which women base their opinion of guys. While any man would relish owning Kobe's Nike basketball shoes, it's just a normal rubber-soled shoe for the ladyfolk, which indicate a guy's immaturity. Same goes for wearing basketball jerseys, baseball caps, baggy pants, and unkept hair. The women favor leather shoes, or those expensive sneakers, because according to them, it's classy. (Huh?) Man-purses are okay as well, as long as they aren't waist-bags (which are dorky, fyi). Lugging around a small three-fold umbrella and/or a backpack? Not a good sign, golf umbrellas are the way to go, because it's terribly hard to fit those parasols on the bus or jeepney, and you won't carry around that backpack if you had the convenience of a passenger's seat or trunk.
For guys, a girl could wear wooden clogs, elephant pants, a feather in a cap and a really large bag for all we care, as long as she's hot and flirty-looking. Just seeing a hot chick throw a wink our way, we'd be re-enacting the great flood with our drool. And her wallet won't matter too much because, well, no one likes girls who are high-maintenance anyway.
Oh, if you happen to be a guy who loves shirts from Spoofs Unlimited, you're probably going to land pretty low on the totem pole. And wearing that shirt from "the Ateneo" or DLSU isn't going to get you higher either unless you look like you're at least distantly related to either Chris Tiu or Simon Atkins. (I'm currently burning my green and white shirt as I type this)
Another interesting insight, girls judge both guys and girls. Guys, on the other hand, see only girls. We manage to block other guys out of our line of sight, along with mangy dogs, shopping carts and trash bins. Oh, and we also don't see the shorts that girls wear under their skirts, we try to see past them, pretending we caught a glimpse of their undies.
On this note, I'd conclude that girls (at least those four) are more evil than men. Sure, we eye women as we would our steak (medium rare, please!), but at least we don't judge them based on their material possessions and social status.
*****
The differences between men and women people-watching might probably be a direct result of typical Darwinian selection. Girls could be more inclined to choose partners with the ability to sustain them and their future brood, while men need only partners who make them want to, uh, "breed" more often.
You see, this particular jogging trail was a long ways from home, and I forgot to bring extra underwear and shorts. If I didn't keep my shorts dry somehow, there was a huge possibility that my friend, whose car I hitched in on, would disown me and literally leave me "out to dry". I've jogged in the rain before, it's a great feeling, but I'll bet walking the whole 15 kilometers home soaking wet after jogging at night isn't a good idea.
*****
This morning, still lazy to get up from bed, I started reading. That didn't last for very long, because though I love the author, I can't stand reading him, it felt weird. The author in question is (ahem) myself, and I was reading a collection of posts from this very blog, a birthday gift from a close friend (Thanks again, Jean!)
Why it felt weird, I have no idea. Maybe because reading back you see each and every grammar and spelling mistake that you made, or because it felt vain, or perhaps it was some literary form of incest. I try to picture some authors reading their own work, I conjured up an image of Mr. Hemingway, seated in a cafe somewhere in Paris, reading his own book, isn't that just wrong?
Back when we were kids, my sisters and I loved recording our voices on tape and grabbed every chance to belt out our favorite Sesame Street chorus or the occasional Menudo or Spandau Ballet track. It was fun, sure, until mom found the tapes and played it for the amusement of other grown ups. It was petrifying, listening to your own voice squawking "Rubber Ducky" (Ernie) or "Explosion" (Menudo) or "The Rainbow Connection" (Kermit) and hearing these adults laugh their guts out. We'd squeal our objections, throwing tantrums while were at it, anything just to make the torture end. In the same way, reading my own stuff gives me goose bumps, wondering if the people reading it were laughing with me or at me.
I took the time to find the "delete" button for this blog... you know, just in case.
*****
Went people-watching (translation: ogling hot girls) while having dinner at a mini-mall. Interestingly, the adjacent table, four girls, were people-watching as well (translation: ogling men). So I multi-tasked, people-watching while eavesdropping.
Turns out, there's a world of difference as to how men and women people-watch. When men do it, it's only about looks and sex-appeal. Women, meanwhile, seem to be reading a curriculum vitae and a bank statement when they watch other people. For instance, shoes are apparently a major category from which women base their opinion of guys. While any man would relish owning Kobe's Nike basketball shoes, it's just a normal rubber-soled shoe for the ladyfolk, which indicate a guy's immaturity. Same goes for wearing basketball jerseys, baseball caps, baggy pants, and unkept hair. The women favor leather shoes, or those expensive sneakers, because according to them, it's classy. (Huh?) Man-purses are okay as well, as long as they aren't waist-bags (which are dorky, fyi). Lugging around a small three-fold umbrella and/or a backpack? Not a good sign, golf umbrellas are the way to go, because it's terribly hard to fit those parasols on the bus or jeepney, and you won't carry around that backpack if you had the convenience of a passenger's seat or trunk.
For guys, a girl could wear wooden clogs, elephant pants, a feather in a cap and a really large bag for all we care, as long as she's hot and flirty-looking. Just seeing a hot chick throw a wink our way, we'd be re-enacting the great flood with our drool. And her wallet won't matter too much because, well, no one likes girls who are high-maintenance anyway.
Oh, if you happen to be a guy who loves shirts from Spoofs Unlimited, you're probably going to land pretty low on the totem pole. And wearing that shirt from "the Ateneo" or DLSU isn't going to get you higher either unless you look like you're at least distantly related to either Chris Tiu or Simon Atkins. (I'm currently burning my green and white shirt as I type this)
Another interesting insight, girls judge both guys and girls. Guys, on the other hand, see only girls. We manage to block other guys out of our line of sight, along with mangy dogs, shopping carts and trash bins. Oh, and we also don't see the shorts that girls wear under their skirts, we try to see past them, pretending we caught a glimpse of their undies.
On this note, I'd conclude that girls (at least those four) are more evil than men. Sure, we eye women as we would our steak (medium rare, please!), but at least we don't judge them based on their material possessions and social status.
*****
The differences between men and women people-watching might probably be a direct result of typical Darwinian selection. Girls could be more inclined to choose partners with the ability to sustain them and their future brood, while men need only partners who make them want to, uh, "breed" more often.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Funny you should ask...
I should have started writing this post half an hour ago, I turned on the computer, logged-in, and started staring at the blank page when all of a sudden, I spied the peanut jar just sitting there, coaxing me. I paused and focused on it, their shiny dark skins were peppered with small crystals of salt, I could almost smell the roasted garlic and taste the spicy oil that coated each one. My hands moved away from the keyboard and reached for it, the clear jar slightly cool to the touch, and with opposable thumbs, the lid came undone... exposing the delectable treats for my satisfaction. Yummy.
Now that that's over and done with...
*****
No thanks to beer and fast-food, I'm once again moving up the scales. I'm using stress as an excuse this time, because it's vague and almost everyone complains about it once in a while, making it absolutely convenient. So after much procrastination, I've decided to do something about it by way of another diet plan. Less carbs and no dinner, that should do the trick in a month or so. Any questions?
Q: So how about evenings out for beer with friends?
A: Beers are exempted from the moratorium on carbs, and beer nights are not considered dinner. So unless I eat my friends to go with the beers, there should be no problem.
Q: Do you plan to exercise along with the diet?
A: I always plan to exercise, In fact, I planned on exercising just 5 minutes ago.
Q: So did you?
A: Hell no, planning to exercise is tiring enough already.
Q: How much have you gained, anyway?
A: Chug down a whole case of beer in 3 consecutive nights, you'll get the answer.
Q: Why diet? You're perfect the way you are!
A: Yes I am. But you know, sometimes it's nice to feel imperfect, so humanizing.
Q: What foods do you recommend is best for breakfast and lunch?
A: Food that once lived, roamed the land or seas, then died a bloody death.
Q: Are there any other exemptions to the no-carb rule other than beer?
A: There are a lot, in fact. Other alcoholic beverages with the exception of girly mixed drinks are okay. Also, 'halo-halo' is not considered carbs. Pizza, if of the thin crust variety, is also exempted for as long as they're generously topped with bits and pieces of dead animals.
Q: So what about bar chow? Beers are great with bar chow, aren't they?
A: Yes they are, but I only limit myself to the non-"carby" ones. And peanuts.
Q: Why are peanuts okay?
A: Do you really want to know?
Q: Yes.
A: Cause they make you poop.
Q: Isn't this an unhealthy way of losing weight?
A: Getting hit by a car while jogging is unhealthy as well.
Q: Why not go to the gym?
A: First, because they cost an arm and a leg. Second, they don't serve beer.
Q: What's your motivation for losing weight?
A: You, fatty.
Q: What's your target weight?
A: When my bathroom scale stops yelling at me to get off.
Q: Any thoughts on liposuction?
A: I hate needles, and what is it really but a really big one? Plus, it costs an arm, a leg and my left nut.
Q: What's the first thing you're going to do when you get down to your desired weight?
A: Order everything they've got at McDonald's for a midnight snack.
Now that that's over and done with...
*****
No thanks to beer and fast-food, I'm once again moving up the scales. I'm using stress as an excuse this time, because it's vague and almost everyone complains about it once in a while, making it absolutely convenient. So after much procrastination, I've decided to do something about it by way of another diet plan. Less carbs and no dinner, that should do the trick in a month or so. Any questions?
Q: So how about evenings out for beer with friends?
A: Beers are exempted from the moratorium on carbs, and beer nights are not considered dinner. So unless I eat my friends to go with the beers, there should be no problem.
Q: Do you plan to exercise along with the diet?
A: I always plan to exercise, In fact, I planned on exercising just 5 minutes ago.
Q: So did you?
A: Hell no, planning to exercise is tiring enough already.
Q: How much have you gained, anyway?
A: Chug down a whole case of beer in 3 consecutive nights, you'll get the answer.
Q: Why diet? You're perfect the way you are!
A: Yes I am. But you know, sometimes it's nice to feel imperfect, so humanizing.
Q: What foods do you recommend is best for breakfast and lunch?
A: Food that once lived, roamed the land or seas, then died a bloody death.
Q: Are there any other exemptions to the no-carb rule other than beer?
A: There are a lot, in fact. Other alcoholic beverages with the exception of girly mixed drinks are okay. Also, 'halo-halo' is not considered carbs. Pizza, if of the thin crust variety, is also exempted for as long as they're generously topped with bits and pieces of dead animals.
Q: So what about bar chow? Beers are great with bar chow, aren't they?
A: Yes they are, but I only limit myself to the non-"carby" ones. And peanuts.
Q: Why are peanuts okay?
A: Do you really want to know?
Q: Yes.
A: Cause they make you poop.
Q: Isn't this an unhealthy way of losing weight?
A: Getting hit by a car while jogging is unhealthy as well.
Q: Why not go to the gym?
A: First, because they cost an arm and a leg. Second, they don't serve beer.
Q: What's your motivation for losing weight?
A: You, fatty.
Q: What's your target weight?
A: When my bathroom scale stops yelling at me to get off.
Q: Any thoughts on liposuction?
A: I hate needles, and what is it really but a really big one? Plus, it costs an arm, a leg and my left nut.
Q: What's the first thing you're going to do when you get down to your desired weight?
A: Order everything they've got at McDonald's for a midnight snack.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Career Day
Apparently, I’ve been with the same company for nearly a decade, which I guess is just barely enough time to say that I know a thing or two about it. This doesn’t guarantee, of course, that I know my job well enough, probably why I receive the same whipping from my boss on a weekly basis. (Obviously, this week isn’t looking any rosier)
Interestingly enough, I was writing down the company history for a brochure I’m putting out when it dawned on me that in over 3 decades that the company has existed, there have been 3 “eras” that it has gone through, 3 generations with different sets of backgrounds that have held the reins of how the company sells itself.
Okay, fair warning, this is a really boring post where I talk about work and stuff that you don’t really give a crap about. There, now that that’s out of the way…
*****
Back in the day, when I was literally just a microscopic sperm cell in my dad’s nether areas, the company was founded by one man, with a strong sense of destiny. He was a metallurgist, with big dreams of turning dirt to gold, (or steel, or ferronickel, or bronze, or silver, or whatever he could sell, really) waiting for his chance to exploit his stellar education and bourgeoisie background to become a famous and highly regarded industrialist. So he put his name on the wall, and took on all takers. It didn’t matter what they asked him to do, as long as they paid him, it was going to be done.
He was successful at first, he peddled his name around and found friends and acquaintances who gave him projects here and there. One sweetheart deal after another, his fame and riches grew, banking on the Old Boy’s Club, of which he was a card-carrying member, of course. He soon found himself a millionaire, with a staff of professionals at his beck and call and pursuing his dream of even more fame and riches.
Soon though, a revolution was brewing, and when it came, he found his Old Boy’s Club in shambles. His friends, which were his best clients, had hied off elsewhere, taking their money and power with them. Now, the work came in trickles, and this was barely enough to pay the staff. One by one they left him, until he had but a handful of his most loyal employees with him. When the money wasn’t enough to pay them, he gave them promises of a better future with the company, giving them their very own stake in his name.
From out of this mess, one of his chemists took it upon herself to come up with a solution. She called on her colleagues, fellow chemists working in different companies and asked how her company could find work for them. They told her of a new field that was new to the industry but was about to get big, and soon, the company shifted from alchemy to environmental testing. She came to her boss with this new direction, and in a short time, work was flowing back into the company again. So began her era at the helm.
For the next two decades, the company grew slowly but surely. The fraternity of chemists had sustained it with small but continuous work, each looking out for one another, and as long as each delivered their own end of the bargain, an age of progress and stability came forth. She made sure every client got everything they asked for and more, that the lab was humming as a well oiled machine would, and everybody was happy.
She had climbed the corporate ladder to oversee the whole company, with the old boss content to play golf with his buddies, see his name still in bold letters across the façade of the building, and collect his dividends. Of course every once in a while he’d show up and make sure everything was going smoothly, but for the most part, she ran the show and ran it well. That is until they realized that progress was ironically about to tear them to pieces.
You see, as the company grew, more and more people took notice of how successful it was. Thus, more and more people thought it would be a wonderful idea to do the same thing! Soon, the company’s piece of the pie got smaller and smaller, nearing disastrous proportions as the shrinking pie would eventually fail to satiate the company’s growing appetite. Prices were dropping to keep up with the competition, but no new business was coming in. The new boss needed help, and they needed it fast.
Several attempts to get another warm body to stem the tide fell in vain. They first looked to the guild of chemists to recruit somebody from the inside that would give them an advantage in securing sweetheart deals, but this didn’t work. Lab rats, by nature, were bereft of the natural instinct to feed off the work of others. Next, they tried to look for professional sales people to bring in a bigger piece of the pie, but these animals were too greedy, wanting more of the pie for themselves rather than sharing it with the others. So that didn’t work out either.
Then, as panic ensued, the boss-founder stepped in to get a handle on the whole situation. He knew what he was looking for, a species of sewer rat, with the lowest morals, easily trained to steal and cheat, possessed with a cunning ability to weasel his way out of the tightest spots through deceit and lies, yet dumb enough to live off crumbs. So he hired me.
It was chaotic at first, the lab rats detested this sleazy dark creature which did nothing but grow his balls (figuratively) and snooze the day away (literally). I was put under the charge of the new boss while mentoring under the old one. While the new boss didn’t want anything to do with me, the old boss was honing my inherent skills as a lowlife, instinctively feeling that this was the new direction that the company needed to take.
Eventually, I was tasked to get more clients. I didn’t for the life of me know how, but I tried anyway. Of course, I failed the few first hundred times, and basically collected crumbs for nothing. This was about to change to everyone’s surprise, though, even myself.
While in the past 2 decades, the company made sure it did the best it could on what it did, I on the other hand, realized how easier it was to do what the company didn’t. I subcontracted all the work that we didn’t do, and made it look as if we did it ourselves. For the same lazy reason that I did everything else I did, it was a heck of a lot easier this way. Because of the overhead that our company was burdened with in comparison to our smaller upstart competition, I couldn’t win any new projects based on price alone. To win I had to regale them with our technical superiority and unparalleled quality. Of course, I had no idea how to do that on my own given I wasn’t a lab rat nor even remotely familiar with what the company did exactly, so fat chance. I found the only jobs I could win were those that we didn’t do, primarily because that meant the competition didn’t do those as well. So all I had to do was look for someone who could do what was required, pass the work on to them, add a sizable margin of profit, and pass it off as if we did it ourselves. Simple, easy and best of all, it worked!
Is that evil? To some extent, perhaps, but it is a business and not a public service so all’s fair.
Well anyway, I did get the hang of the business, but not of what we actually did, and this started the new thrust of the company under this evil new direction. It wasn’t about the Old Boy’s network and sweetheart deals, nor about colleagues helping one another out, this is cutthroat competition at its most basic. I was exploiting the people that did all the work and selling them to the highest bidder. Quality of service and all that crap took a backseat to how to get the other guy’s money in the most efficient and cost-effective way possible. Threading the thin line between satisfying and disillusioning the customer is the real challenge, exceeding expectations is considered wasteful and an opportunity lost.
Maybe it was a mistake hiring someone to sell what he couldn’t create, one whose basic principle was to get the most out of what the other guy did. The lab rats sure detest me now, but the bosses take a look at their shiny new cars and that excessive expense account the company could now afford and seem to enjoy what I do. The company has grown five-fold since this change in direction, and already, the pressure is on to keep up the pace lest the others keep up.
Make no mistake, this is not a Jerry Maguire-esque epiphany. The evil I do is necessary to keep jobs and turn a profit. If it weren’t for what I do, the turtle-paced growth would surely have stalled, putting it all in a precarious state of life or death. Without hell, heaven is useless, and the absence of greedy bastards like me would see humankind still wandering in the desert, chasing after what the vultures left behind.
Do I like doing my job? No. But do I like having one that pays the bills? You probably know the answer to that.
Interestingly enough, I was writing down the company history for a brochure I’m putting out when it dawned on me that in over 3 decades that the company has existed, there have been 3 “eras” that it has gone through, 3 generations with different sets of backgrounds that have held the reins of how the company sells itself.
Okay, fair warning, this is a really boring post where I talk about work and stuff that you don’t really give a crap about. There, now that that’s out of the way…
*****
Back in the day, when I was literally just a microscopic sperm cell in my dad’s nether areas, the company was founded by one man, with a strong sense of destiny. He was a metallurgist, with big dreams of turning dirt to gold, (or steel, or ferronickel, or bronze, or silver, or whatever he could sell, really) waiting for his chance to exploit his stellar education and bourgeoisie background to become a famous and highly regarded industrialist. So he put his name on the wall, and took on all takers. It didn’t matter what they asked him to do, as long as they paid him, it was going to be done.
He was successful at first, he peddled his name around and found friends and acquaintances who gave him projects here and there. One sweetheart deal after another, his fame and riches grew, banking on the Old Boy’s Club, of which he was a card-carrying member, of course. He soon found himself a millionaire, with a staff of professionals at his beck and call and pursuing his dream of even more fame and riches.
Soon though, a revolution was brewing, and when it came, he found his Old Boy’s Club in shambles. His friends, which were his best clients, had hied off elsewhere, taking their money and power with them. Now, the work came in trickles, and this was barely enough to pay the staff. One by one they left him, until he had but a handful of his most loyal employees with him. When the money wasn’t enough to pay them, he gave them promises of a better future with the company, giving them their very own stake in his name.
From out of this mess, one of his chemists took it upon herself to come up with a solution. She called on her colleagues, fellow chemists working in different companies and asked how her company could find work for them. They told her of a new field that was new to the industry but was about to get big, and soon, the company shifted from alchemy to environmental testing. She came to her boss with this new direction, and in a short time, work was flowing back into the company again. So began her era at the helm.
For the next two decades, the company grew slowly but surely. The fraternity of chemists had sustained it with small but continuous work, each looking out for one another, and as long as each delivered their own end of the bargain, an age of progress and stability came forth. She made sure every client got everything they asked for and more, that the lab was humming as a well oiled machine would, and everybody was happy.
She had climbed the corporate ladder to oversee the whole company, with the old boss content to play golf with his buddies, see his name still in bold letters across the façade of the building, and collect his dividends. Of course every once in a while he’d show up and make sure everything was going smoothly, but for the most part, she ran the show and ran it well. That is until they realized that progress was ironically about to tear them to pieces.
You see, as the company grew, more and more people took notice of how successful it was. Thus, more and more people thought it would be a wonderful idea to do the same thing! Soon, the company’s piece of the pie got smaller and smaller, nearing disastrous proportions as the shrinking pie would eventually fail to satiate the company’s growing appetite. Prices were dropping to keep up with the competition, but no new business was coming in. The new boss needed help, and they needed it fast.
Several attempts to get another warm body to stem the tide fell in vain. They first looked to the guild of chemists to recruit somebody from the inside that would give them an advantage in securing sweetheart deals, but this didn’t work. Lab rats, by nature, were bereft of the natural instinct to feed off the work of others. Next, they tried to look for professional sales people to bring in a bigger piece of the pie, but these animals were too greedy, wanting more of the pie for themselves rather than sharing it with the others. So that didn’t work out either.
Then, as panic ensued, the boss-founder stepped in to get a handle on the whole situation. He knew what he was looking for, a species of sewer rat, with the lowest morals, easily trained to steal and cheat, possessed with a cunning ability to weasel his way out of the tightest spots through deceit and lies, yet dumb enough to live off crumbs. So he hired me.
It was chaotic at first, the lab rats detested this sleazy dark creature which did nothing but grow his balls (figuratively) and snooze the day away (literally). I was put under the charge of the new boss while mentoring under the old one. While the new boss didn’t want anything to do with me, the old boss was honing my inherent skills as a lowlife, instinctively feeling that this was the new direction that the company needed to take.
Eventually, I was tasked to get more clients. I didn’t for the life of me know how, but I tried anyway. Of course, I failed the few first hundred times, and basically collected crumbs for nothing. This was about to change to everyone’s surprise, though, even myself.
While in the past 2 decades, the company made sure it did the best it could on what it did, I on the other hand, realized how easier it was to do what the company didn’t. I subcontracted all the work that we didn’t do, and made it look as if we did it ourselves. For the same lazy reason that I did everything else I did, it was a heck of a lot easier this way. Because of the overhead that our company was burdened with in comparison to our smaller upstart competition, I couldn’t win any new projects based on price alone. To win I had to regale them with our technical superiority and unparalleled quality. Of course, I had no idea how to do that on my own given I wasn’t a lab rat nor even remotely familiar with what the company did exactly, so fat chance. I found the only jobs I could win were those that we didn’t do, primarily because that meant the competition didn’t do those as well. So all I had to do was look for someone who could do what was required, pass the work on to them, add a sizable margin of profit, and pass it off as if we did it ourselves. Simple, easy and best of all, it worked!
Is that evil? To some extent, perhaps, but it is a business and not a public service so all’s fair.
Well anyway, I did get the hang of the business, but not of what we actually did, and this started the new thrust of the company under this evil new direction. It wasn’t about the Old Boy’s network and sweetheart deals, nor about colleagues helping one another out, this is cutthroat competition at its most basic. I was exploiting the people that did all the work and selling them to the highest bidder. Quality of service and all that crap took a backseat to how to get the other guy’s money in the most efficient and cost-effective way possible. Threading the thin line between satisfying and disillusioning the customer is the real challenge, exceeding expectations is considered wasteful and an opportunity lost.
Maybe it was a mistake hiring someone to sell what he couldn’t create, one whose basic principle was to get the most out of what the other guy did. The lab rats sure detest me now, but the bosses take a look at their shiny new cars and that excessive expense account the company could now afford and seem to enjoy what I do. The company has grown five-fold since this change in direction, and already, the pressure is on to keep up the pace lest the others keep up.
Make no mistake, this is not a Jerry Maguire-esque epiphany. The evil I do is necessary to keep jobs and turn a profit. If it weren’t for what I do, the turtle-paced growth would surely have stalled, putting it all in a precarious state of life or death. Without hell, heaven is useless, and the absence of greedy bastards like me would see humankind still wandering in the desert, chasing after what the vultures left behind.
Do I like doing my job? No. But do I like having one that pays the bills? You probably know the answer to that.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Boy do I need a good night's sleep!
It's half-past four in the morning, and with a glass of brandy in hand, I am trying to get some shut eye after a sorry poker loss. Just wasn't my night, and maybe a long lay-off from this unforgiving game had done me in. No matter, though, it was fun being with friends. Besides, it was a small price to pay for unlimited pizza, beers and other goodies that the birthday boy had prepared. Not bad at all, I say.
*****
You may have noticed a sharp decrease in the number of posts on this here blog. Contrary to conventional wisdom, no, I still don't have much of a social life. This phenomenon may be more correctly attributed to my life sinking down to such depths of boredom that there really isn't much to talk about. Sure this blog is about nothing, but that "nothingness" has been so little in coming that it can be more accurately described as in a state of vacuum. It's complicated, I know, I might need to explain a bit further here, you see, imagine events as binary numbers... 1s and 0s. This blog is mostly about the 0s, which is nothing while 1s are for somethings. But add to this set-up an event such as -1, this is where I am now.
I bet you're even more confused than before, don't worry, I'm in a pickle as well about this, which is why I'm shutting up about it right now.
*****
Maybe the recent sweltering heat has fried my brain a medium-well that it cannot process my random thoughts into random posts. I do not work well in this environment, as evidenced by the lackluster performance at work. In the colder months, January and February, it was all well and good. But March and April were total disasters, and the only explanation that I can come up with is this heat. Well, more of an excuse, actually. May isn't looking that great either, which is why I'm really looking forward to the coming June showers to cool things off and kick off a renaissance of sorts in the workplace as well as the blogosphere.
*****
So you made it this far? Wow, you must be even more bored that I am. Somehow, I pity you for wasting all that time to read this. So you didn't learn anything, probably got a little bit irritated, and wasted precious minutes of your time better spent if you had just gnawed on that ballpen or pencil instead. Sure, I'll say I'm sorry, but that doesn't change anything, does it? Why did I even publish this if I knew I'd be sorry for it? Beats me.
*****
You may have noticed a sharp decrease in the number of posts on this here blog. Contrary to conventional wisdom, no, I still don't have much of a social life. This phenomenon may be more correctly attributed to my life sinking down to such depths of boredom that there really isn't much to talk about. Sure this blog is about nothing, but that "nothingness" has been so little in coming that it can be more accurately described as in a state of vacuum. It's complicated, I know, I might need to explain a bit further here, you see, imagine events as binary numbers... 1s and 0s. This blog is mostly about the 0s, which is nothing while 1s are for somethings. But add to this set-up an event such as -1, this is where I am now.
I bet you're even more confused than before, don't worry, I'm in a pickle as well about this, which is why I'm shutting up about it right now.
*****
Maybe the recent sweltering heat has fried my brain a medium-well that it cannot process my random thoughts into random posts. I do not work well in this environment, as evidenced by the lackluster performance at work. In the colder months, January and February, it was all well and good. But March and April were total disasters, and the only explanation that I can come up with is this heat. Well, more of an excuse, actually. May isn't looking that great either, which is why I'm really looking forward to the coming June showers to cool things off and kick off a renaissance of sorts in the workplace as well as the blogosphere.
*****
So you made it this far? Wow, you must be even more bored that I am. Somehow, I pity you for wasting all that time to read this. So you didn't learn anything, probably got a little bit irritated, and wasted precious minutes of your time better spent if you had just gnawed on that ballpen or pencil instead. Sure, I'll say I'm sorry, but that doesn't change anything, does it? Why did I even publish this if I knew I'd be sorry for it? Beats me.
Monday, May 17, 2010
The weekend in reverse
Tonight I laced up for an early evening jog around the old alma mater, as suggested by my friend with a metal ankle. He picked me up at home without warning, which was great considering that if he had told me he was picking me up, I would have had a number of excuses handy to skip it. This was the first time in months that I'd be going out for a jog, so I said my prayers and readied myself for the impending heart attack.
The result of the entire effort proved my earlier suspicion that I was way out of shape. I was gasping for breath in the final stretch that I stopped and walked just as I saw the 2.2 kilometer mark a few meters away, a pathetic 17'51" as I crossed the finish-slash-pedestrian lane. I was almost 3 minutes above my last time, don't even ask about the succeeding lap.
Though it was a miserable run, I had a lot of fun and my sweat-drenched shirt was a sort of trophy that I smile upon. This was the start of getting back into form, as well as penance for all the iced teas and carbohydrates I've been devouring as of late. The aching sensation in my hamstring and calves tells me I did good tonight, and now I'm thinking of doing this during the weekdays a lot more often. Wish me a heck of a lot of luck, people!
*****
It was a very late night, the clock just about to announce midnight, when a buddy of mine called about getting some coffee. Being so easy and cheap, I agreed and picked him up 15 minutes later, not even sure where a cafe was still open. Well, we drove around for a while until we stumbled across one, which was closing in half an hour, but we still went in and got our coffee fixes anyway. As we sat across each other, we realized how strange it was that two men were sipping caffeinated beverages when at the back of our minds, it was really an ice-cold beer that we had to have.
We left even before my coffee warmed down.
The funny thing was, this buddy of mine wasn't supposed to be drinking, and yet we were. His doctor had advised against alcohol, some sort of problem with his liver becoming fat, which he told even before we went for coffee. This fact of knowing about it left me a bit guilty, sure he was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, but I was dumb enough to push him over and order a beer. My bad, but the beer was all good for sure.
*****
I had a dream the night before, which was so eerily life-like that I remember every bit of it until now. Strange that I do, usually I forget about whatever dream I have the first 2 minutes after waking up.
Anyway, the dream I had was about 2 hot young girls. I had just dropped off a buddy of mine at his house in some posh subdivision just after midnight when on the way back I spied these 2 hot girls, in their friday night best walking in high heels toward the village gate around a couple of kilometers away. Being a kind-hearted citizen, I stopped, opened my window and asked if they would like a ride to the gate. "Are you sure it's alright?" they asked, my heart went out to them, naturally, "Of course it's alright.". They hopped in.
"Thanks for the ride, my name's Hanika, her's Nicole."
"I'm The-luckiest-man-ever. Where are you guys headed to anyway?"
"Some-hot-chick-bar-that's-in-the-same-direction-to-where-you-live"
"Wow, I'm actually headed home and it's right in the same direction as where you're going. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere near-my-place?"
"Yeah, if it's alright with you."
"Don't worry, it is." (I wonder how my breath smells?)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (Is my hair ok?)
"So why were you guys walking this time of night anyway?"
"We couldn't call a cab from her place, we just sneaked out of her parent's house."
"Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!" (Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!!!)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!)
"So what do you do?"
"Oh, were students."
"Oh you are? What are you studying?" (Please say pole-dancing, pretty please?)
"I'm in some-course-I-couldn't-care-less-about, Nicole's taking up another-course-I-couldn't-care-less-about-either."
"Ahh, in the same school?"
"Yep, at some-school-I-couldn't-care-less-about-too."
"That's cool. I went to this-school-that-I-hope-will-impress-the-crap-out-of-you-two."
"Wow!" (Worked like a charm!)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (I wonder if my sister's home?)
"Isn't it kinda late to be going out still?"
"Yeah, but we had to go to this other party earlier." (And the real party hasn't yet begun!)
"Really? What party was this?" (If she says pole-dancing party, I'll give up smoking for good!)
"Our friend's debut." (HUH? Debut means 22nd birthday, right?!)
"Your friend, meaning your neighbor or something?" (OH PLEASE SAY YES!)
"Our classmate back in high school." (Ok, you both took the 7th grade four times, right?)
"Oh, so you're how old again?" (Lord, give me this one and I'll sacrifice a whole pig for you, please?)
"I'm 18..." (Uh oh)
"... and she's 17." (Crap, I'm too pretty to go to jail!)
"Oh, is that so?" (Where are my legs?! I can't feel my legs!!!)
"So how old are you?"
"An-age-younger-than-33-but-still-a-lot-older-than-18." (C-R-A-P)
small-crappy-talk-small-crappy-talk-small-crappy-talk... (C-R-A-P)
"Well, this is the best I could do for you guys. There's a cab, do you want to see if that cab will take you to your party?"
"We'll be okay here. Thank you so much, guy-who-looks-like-he's-seen-a-ghost!"
At this point, they both shook my hand, which could only make matters worse, as I swear at their ages, they still had the cooties.
"Pleasure's all mine (until it wasn't), take care, guys!"
"Yes, we will, thanks again!" (You sorry S.O.B!)
If this wasn't a dream, then you could imagine how far worse I would feel.
The result of the entire effort proved my earlier suspicion that I was way out of shape. I was gasping for breath in the final stretch that I stopped and walked just as I saw the 2.2 kilometer mark a few meters away, a pathetic 17'51" as I crossed the finish-slash-pedestrian lane. I was almost 3 minutes above my last time, don't even ask about the succeeding lap.
Though it was a miserable run, I had a lot of fun and my sweat-drenched shirt was a sort of trophy that I smile upon. This was the start of getting back into form, as well as penance for all the iced teas and carbohydrates I've been devouring as of late. The aching sensation in my hamstring and calves tells me I did good tonight, and now I'm thinking of doing this during the weekdays a lot more often. Wish me a heck of a lot of luck, people!
*****
It was a very late night, the clock just about to announce midnight, when a buddy of mine called about getting some coffee. Being so easy and cheap, I agreed and picked him up 15 minutes later, not even sure where a cafe was still open. Well, we drove around for a while until we stumbled across one, which was closing in half an hour, but we still went in and got our coffee fixes anyway. As we sat across each other, we realized how strange it was that two men were sipping caffeinated beverages when at the back of our minds, it was really an ice-cold beer that we had to have.
We left even before my coffee warmed down.
The funny thing was, this buddy of mine wasn't supposed to be drinking, and yet we were. His doctor had advised against alcohol, some sort of problem with his liver becoming fat, which he told even before we went for coffee. This fact of knowing about it left me a bit guilty, sure he was old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, but I was dumb enough to push him over and order a beer. My bad, but the beer was all good for sure.
*****
I had a dream the night before, which was so eerily life-like that I remember every bit of it until now. Strange that I do, usually I forget about whatever dream I have the first 2 minutes after waking up.
Anyway, the dream I had was about 2 hot young girls. I had just dropped off a buddy of mine at his house in some posh subdivision just after midnight when on the way back I spied these 2 hot girls, in their friday night best walking in high heels toward the village gate around a couple of kilometers away. Being a kind-hearted citizen, I stopped, opened my window and asked if they would like a ride to the gate. "Are you sure it's alright?" they asked, my heart went out to them, naturally, "Of course it's alright.". They hopped in.
"Thanks for the ride, my name's Hanika, her's Nicole."
"I'm The-luckiest-man-ever. Where are you guys headed to anyway?"
"Some-hot-chick-bar-that's-in-the-same-direction-to-where-you-live"
"Wow, I'm actually headed home and it's right in the same direction as where you're going. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere near-my-place?"
"Yeah, if it's alright with you."
"Don't worry, it is." (I wonder how my breath smells?)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (Is my hair ok?)
"So why were you guys walking this time of night anyway?"
"We couldn't call a cab from her place, we just sneaked out of her parent's house."
"Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!" (Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!!!)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (Oh you naughty girls, the both of you!)
"So what do you do?"
"Oh, were students."
"Oh you are? What are you studying?" (Please say pole-dancing, pretty please?)
"I'm in some-course-I-couldn't-care-less-about, Nicole's taking up another-course-I-couldn't-care-less-about-either."
"Ahh, in the same school?"
"Yep, at some-school-I-couldn't-care-less-about-too."
"That's cool. I went to this-school-that-I-hope-will-impress-the-crap-out-of-you-two."
"Wow!" (Worked like a charm!)
small-talk-small-talk-small-talk-small-talk... (I wonder if my sister's home?)
"Isn't it kinda late to be going out still?"
"Yeah, but we had to go to this other party earlier." (And the real party hasn't yet begun!)
"Really? What party was this?" (If she says pole-dancing party, I'll give up smoking for good!)
"Our friend's debut." (HUH? Debut means 22nd birthday, right?!)
"Your friend, meaning your neighbor or something?" (OH PLEASE SAY YES!)
"Our classmate back in high school." (Ok, you both took the 7th grade four times, right?)
"Oh, so you're how old again?" (Lord, give me this one and I'll sacrifice a whole pig for you, please?)
"I'm 18..." (Uh oh)
"... and she's 17." (Crap, I'm too pretty to go to jail!)
"Oh, is that so?" (Where are my legs?! I can't feel my legs!!!)
"So how old are you?"
"An-age-younger-than-33-but-still-a-lot-older-than-18." (C-R-A-P)
small-crappy-talk-small-crappy-talk-small-crappy-talk... (C-R-A-P)
"Well, this is the best I could do for you guys. There's a cab, do you want to see if that cab will take you to your party?"
"We'll be okay here. Thank you so much, guy-who-looks-like-he's-seen-a-ghost!"
At this point, they both shook my hand, which could only make matters worse, as I swear at their ages, they still had the cooties.
"Pleasure's all mine (until it wasn't), take care, guys!"
"Yes, we will, thanks again!" (You sorry S.O.B!)
If this wasn't a dream, then you could imagine how far worse I would feel.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Working it
My boss sort of reprimanded me a few days ago, apparently I wasn't working too hard. He notices I've been in the office a lot, on time even. Reports submitted on time, cooperation with the operational side of things have been better, and the imminent expansion of our branches and services is getting along fine. I couldn't agree more with him, I do need to work harder.
His idea of work entails:
1. Going out to play more golf
2. Getting together with clients and guzzling a few pints with them
3. Attending more "fellowship" meetings (which are actually parties thrown by all these associations and groups where you drink even more booze)
4. Staying away from my desk, all to be able to do more of the above.
*Sigh*
Work is so damn hard.
Sure, you're probably thinking of how lucky I am to have this job. But trust me, it's not at all easy. Sometimes, I wish I were just some drone in a cubicle "processing" something, being told what to do and how exactly to do it. Hanging out at the water cooler or the pantry, catching up with all the office gossip and planning some new way to irritate the receptionist. Ahh... life's so much simpler that way.
*****
The mere fact that kids rarely think of themselves growing up to a career in sales is enough for me to realize that I didn't get that job I've always wanted. This might be a result of watching mom an afternoon at home, shouting curses at the encyclopedia salesman telling him to get his foot off the door. Sure she might get rid of this guy now, but a few moments later the vacuum cleaner salesman is ringing on the bell and knocking on the door (tapping the window, too), and I think to myself no way am I going to end up like that loser. Fast forward a few decades and I look in the mirror and think Jehovah's Witness. Crap.
How did I get here, anyway? What sort of education did I get to land this gig? How bad was I in the past life to be reincarnated sandwiched between "anti-christ" and "pond-scum"? Well, as a public service, I present to you the steps to how I got here:
1. Never listen to your parents
A good gauge of knowing how much you listen to them is by counting how many times your name is called (or shouted) out aloud in instances such as "Hap, go take a bath!", or "Hap, stop playing in the rain!", sometimes "Hap, sewer rat is not a pet!". My favorite would have to be "Hap, stop that or I'll ______!!!", usually succeeded by a loud thud or slap.
2. Be invisible in high school
The cool kids end up as drunks or work the family business into its ruin. The nerds and geeks inherit the earth and become filthy rich. Us invisible kids end up working for these nerds, selling utterly useless stuff to the cool kids, accelerating their downward spiral.
3. Get wasted in college
The best way to prepare for any exam is to loosen up with some alcohol the night before. You deaden your senses for the failure you are to become even if you did study anyway.
4. Make sure you get the most out of college
Simple, you try to get the most years you can possibly get out of college without getting kicked out. Alcohol is recommended. Some of my batchmates became doctors and lawyers already while I was still an undergrad, on appeal to be re-admitted as a student.
5. Learn to beg
Doesn't matter what your begging for, it might be for a passing grade, for the folks to let you use the car, a hooker's (or to be PC: exotic dancer) phone number, the Dean to not kick you out of school or for your dad to stop hitting you on your backside with his belt. Remember, selling is begging.
*****
Sometimes, I wake up and hate myself for my job. With the weight of my golf bag on my fragile shoulders, forgetting to remove the spikes from my shoes, I head over to the bar and order another round of beers for our table. Life can't be reduced to hitting balls, eating bar chow and drinking beers, can it?. Who the heck wants to be a salesman?
His idea of work entails:
1. Going out to play more golf
2. Getting together with clients and guzzling a few pints with them
3. Attending more "fellowship" meetings (which are actually parties thrown by all these associations and groups where you drink even more booze)
4. Staying away from my desk, all to be able to do more of the above.
*Sigh*
Work is so damn hard.
Sure, you're probably thinking of how lucky I am to have this job. But trust me, it's not at all easy. Sometimes, I wish I were just some drone in a cubicle "processing" something, being told what to do and how exactly to do it. Hanging out at the water cooler or the pantry, catching up with all the office gossip and planning some new way to irritate the receptionist. Ahh... life's so much simpler that way.
*****
The mere fact that kids rarely think of themselves growing up to a career in sales is enough for me to realize that I didn't get that job I've always wanted. This might be a result of watching mom an afternoon at home, shouting curses at the encyclopedia salesman telling him to get his foot off the door. Sure she might get rid of this guy now, but a few moments later the vacuum cleaner salesman is ringing on the bell and knocking on the door (tapping the window, too), and I think to myself no way am I going to end up like that loser. Fast forward a few decades and I look in the mirror and think Jehovah's Witness. Crap.
How did I get here, anyway? What sort of education did I get to land this gig? How bad was I in the past life to be reincarnated sandwiched between "anti-christ" and "pond-scum"? Well, as a public service, I present to you the steps to how I got here:
1. Never listen to your parents
A good gauge of knowing how much you listen to them is by counting how many times your name is called (or shouted) out aloud in instances such as "Hap, go take a bath!", or "Hap, stop playing in the rain!", sometimes "Hap, sewer rat is not a pet!". My favorite would have to be "Hap, stop that or I'll ______!!!", usually succeeded by a loud thud or slap.
2. Be invisible in high school
The cool kids end up as drunks or work the family business into its ruin. The nerds and geeks inherit the earth and become filthy rich. Us invisible kids end up working for these nerds, selling utterly useless stuff to the cool kids, accelerating their downward spiral.
3. Get wasted in college
The best way to prepare for any exam is to loosen up with some alcohol the night before. You deaden your senses for the failure you are to become even if you did study anyway.
4. Make sure you get the most out of college
Simple, you try to get the most years you can possibly get out of college without getting kicked out. Alcohol is recommended. Some of my batchmates became doctors and lawyers already while I was still an undergrad, on appeal to be re-admitted as a student.
5. Learn to beg
Doesn't matter what your begging for, it might be for a passing grade, for the folks to let you use the car, a hooker's (or to be PC: exotic dancer) phone number, the Dean to not kick you out of school or for your dad to stop hitting you on your backside with his belt. Remember, selling is begging.
*****
Sometimes, I wake up and hate myself for my job. With the weight of my golf bag on my fragile shoulders, forgetting to remove the spikes from my shoes, I head over to the bar and order another round of beers for our table. Life can't be reduced to hitting balls, eating bar chow and drinking beers, can it?. Who the heck wants to be a salesman?
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