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?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
There's not a single atheist in hell
Saturday night, Archie and I hit Metrowalk for a nightcap around midnight, a bit tired already from a quiet drinking session out of town, but still game enough to meet some friends. It suddenly occurred to us, that thing we've been missing the most part of our lives, partying the night away with REALLY HOT CHICKS. Pardon the all-caps and the chauvinism, but that's the only way I can do justice to the state of shock we both found ourselves stupefied in. Right from the parking lot till we decided to call it quits, they were everywhere... young, lithe creatures, made-up and dressed down. I could barely keep my cigarette between my lips as my jaw kept dropping down to the floor, along with my boxers.
I wondered if somewhere we hit a tree and died, and went to heaven? I'm sure Archie will agree: There are no atheists in a war, as well as when surrounded by such wonderful urban nymphs, you'd be praying to all the gods for such a night to never end.
Sometimes, ONLY at some times (ahem), I wonder why I don't get to hang out with more of these creatures. The possibility that they may be shallow, materialistic, dumb even, are there, granted, but they sure are gosh darn nice to look at. Better yet, you can dumb yourself down with beer and yak out gibberish and reduce yourself to a friggin' moron, but sure enough they won't mind, and Einstein, Leonardo and Newton sitting on their own there on the other table will be drooling with envy that you're with these creatures and they're not. There's a time for everything, for brilliant conversations, faith, epiphanies and recollection, I'll be damned if there's not a minute for the shallow, sensuous and indulgent!
We drank our beers, wishing we were at the next table, or the next, or any of the other tables for that matter, sipping scotch instead and getting our game on with "them". "They" knew we were looking, and let us, evil and manipulating, amused and taking pleasure from our frustration. What would James Bond have done? Or Vinnie Chase? Not sit here alone with this guy, for sure. Ahh, but they're fictional heroes, and us, real losers, so stick together we did. Crap. Suddenly, I realized that we might have hit a tree somewhere, died and went to this hell. There are no atheists in a war, nor in hell.
*****
Vinnie Chase and James Bond sat at the same table, surrounded by urban nymphs, scantily dressed, made up and wearing contact lenses of every color imaginable, with margaritas in hand ready to kill of what few brain cells they had left. Both men were laughing, more out of pity than amusement at what these creatures had to say. This happens on a daily basis, a curse of some sort, perhaps. Suddenly, like little lemmings, all the girls stood up to go to the washroom, Vinnie and James were alone at last for a more intelligible conversation. They eye the two men sitting on the table opposite them, having beers over conversations about life, hopes and dreams.
"Look at those two, Vin. Buddies, enjoying the special bond between men, brothers in arms." said James, as the waiter hands him his martini, shaken, not stirred.
"I know, been there for hours. Bros before hos, eh?" as Vinnie tweets his 5 minute update for his fans.
"This life of ours, shallow and full of earthly pleasures. Devoid of passion and character."
"I know what you mean, bro." answers Vinnie, ready for another tweet while pouring yet another shot of tequila.
"Don't you sometimes wish there was something more to our lives than beautiful women, money and fast cars?" They both take a look at the two other men, considering what bond they have, what they've been through. How they are closer to finding the meaning to their lives.
The girls were walking en masse back to the table now. As they took their places, surrounding the two men, Vinnie raises his shotglass against James' martini, "Sure glad we ain't those two losers!" as both men laughed their toasts, after which they took a couple of girls into each arm and relished their godhood.
I wondered if somewhere we hit a tree and died, and went to heaven? I'm sure Archie will agree: There are no atheists in a war, as well as when surrounded by such wonderful urban nymphs, you'd be praying to all the gods for such a night to never end.
Sometimes, ONLY at some times (ahem), I wonder why I don't get to hang out with more of these creatures. The possibility that they may be shallow, materialistic, dumb even, are there, granted, but they sure are gosh darn nice to look at. Better yet, you can dumb yourself down with beer and yak out gibberish and reduce yourself to a friggin' moron, but sure enough they won't mind, and Einstein, Leonardo and Newton sitting on their own there on the other table will be drooling with envy that you're with these creatures and they're not. There's a time for everything, for brilliant conversations, faith, epiphanies and recollection, I'll be damned if there's not a minute for the shallow, sensuous and indulgent!
We drank our beers, wishing we were at the next table, or the next, or any of the other tables for that matter, sipping scotch instead and getting our game on with "them". "They" knew we were looking, and let us, evil and manipulating, amused and taking pleasure from our frustration. What would James Bond have done? Or Vinnie Chase? Not sit here alone with this guy, for sure. Ahh, but they're fictional heroes, and us, real losers, so stick together we did. Crap. Suddenly, I realized that we might have hit a tree somewhere, died and went to this hell. There are no atheists in a war, nor in hell.
*****
Vinnie Chase and James Bond sat at the same table, surrounded by urban nymphs, scantily dressed, made up and wearing contact lenses of every color imaginable, with margaritas in hand ready to kill of what few brain cells they had left. Both men were laughing, more out of pity than amusement at what these creatures had to say. This happens on a daily basis, a curse of some sort, perhaps. Suddenly, like little lemmings, all the girls stood up to go to the washroom, Vinnie and James were alone at last for a more intelligible conversation. They eye the two men sitting on the table opposite them, having beers over conversations about life, hopes and dreams.
"Look at those two, Vin. Buddies, enjoying the special bond between men, brothers in arms." said James, as the waiter hands him his martini, shaken, not stirred.
"I know, been there for hours. Bros before hos, eh?" as Vinnie tweets his 5 minute update for his fans.
"This life of ours, shallow and full of earthly pleasures. Devoid of passion and character."
"I know what you mean, bro." answers Vinnie, ready for another tweet while pouring yet another shot of tequila.
"Don't you sometimes wish there was something more to our lives than beautiful women, money and fast cars?" They both take a look at the two other men, considering what bond they have, what they've been through. How they are closer to finding the meaning to their lives.
The girls were walking en masse back to the table now. As they took their places, surrounding the two men, Vinnie raises his shotglass against James' martini, "Sure glad we ain't those two losers!" as both men laughed their toasts, after which they took a couple of girls into each arm and relished their godhood.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Bird-brained part two
A couple of days ago, a loud, horrid squawk tore at my eardrums from outside my office window. Accustomed to the high pitched chirping of the common brown sparrows that frequently buzz around anywhere I go, I took a peek out of the venetian blinds to inspect what god-awful monster must be dying just outside. I was expecting a big black crow haunting my office, but then the sight of this deep-blue bird with intense yellow streaks came as a surprise. It was maybe a foot and a half long from beak to tailfeathers, and was surely the most colorful flier I've seen so far this close. It squawked a couple more times before taking to the air.
Of course, I googled up my description of what I saw, but came up empty. I never could count upon my googling skills for anything, especially not to find information regarding some strange and uncommon an occurrence such as this. So sorry to disappoint you, but no, I have no clue what kind of bird that was.
Anyway, upon seeing that bird fly away, I thought it best to declare a cigarette break. I needed to think recent events through. First, there was the dead bird stupid enough to dart straight for the clear glass window a couple of weeks ago, now this? Entire cultures once based their everyday decisions on our flying friends, sightings and visions of strange birds were regarded as potent signs and omens, who am I to disregard them now?
Trouble is, I've the faintest idea of what this all means. Been having enough trouble focusing at work, unearthing the mystery of these avian sightings is way beyond me even at my bored-most. Maybe it's a calling, that I should be a bird-watcher, or that it's high time that I spread my wings and fly? Or it could be a reminder of just how small my brain is, perhaps an indication that my current staple of fried chicken, chicken franks and hard boiled eggs has gone overboard.
*****
That day at lunchtime, after my delicious meal of spicy chicken wings, I got around to asking my officemates it they saw any peculiar birds lately. No one saw anything of interest, so I had a go at filling them in on my new discovery. Of the four present, three of them agreed that I should've caught and took the bird home as a pet-slash-prize. The other one wondered how it tasted over beer. Clearly the office is going to the birds...
*****
A month ago, I was reading the papers when I chanced upon an article about the death of another Philippine Eagle, the fourth casualty of those hatched in captivity, if I remember right. I couldn't recall if this one bled to death from a bullet wound, what I did remember from the article was that the third casualty was captured and eaten by a couple of villagers not too far from the eagle's sanctuary. Eagle-eye soup must really be that good.
*****
Not a lot of people know that the whole of the prestigious Ayala-Alabang subdivision is a bird sanctuary. They've signs posted and all, a testament to the respect and love the residents have for our feathered friends. They've got gigantic television screens flashing this accord right outside the village gates, fair warning to the outsiders to check their BB guns with the guard, as well as tell the birds that they're welcome to shit-spray their shiny cars and meticulously hand-woven country club shirts. Curiously, while glancing upon the giant television screen proclaiming this fact, a scooter-driving delivery boy whizzed past me and proceeded into the village, the box on the rear of the two-wheeler declared the letters "KFC" in bright crimson.
I knew I shouldn't have laughed, but that sight just cracked me up.
Of course, I googled up my description of what I saw, but came up empty. I never could count upon my googling skills for anything, especially not to find information regarding some strange and uncommon an occurrence such as this. So sorry to disappoint you, but no, I have no clue what kind of bird that was.
Anyway, upon seeing that bird fly away, I thought it best to declare a cigarette break. I needed to think recent events through. First, there was the dead bird stupid enough to dart straight for the clear glass window a couple of weeks ago, now this? Entire cultures once based their everyday decisions on our flying friends, sightings and visions of strange birds were regarded as potent signs and omens, who am I to disregard them now?
Trouble is, I've the faintest idea of what this all means. Been having enough trouble focusing at work, unearthing the mystery of these avian sightings is way beyond me even at my bored-most. Maybe it's a calling, that I should be a bird-watcher, or that it's high time that I spread my wings and fly? Or it could be a reminder of just how small my brain is, perhaps an indication that my current staple of fried chicken, chicken franks and hard boiled eggs has gone overboard.
*****
That day at lunchtime, after my delicious meal of spicy chicken wings, I got around to asking my officemates it they saw any peculiar birds lately. No one saw anything of interest, so I had a go at filling them in on my new discovery. Of the four present, three of them agreed that I should've caught and took the bird home as a pet-slash-prize. The other one wondered how it tasted over beer. Clearly the office is going to the birds...
*****
A month ago, I was reading the papers when I chanced upon an article about the death of another Philippine Eagle, the fourth casualty of those hatched in captivity, if I remember right. I couldn't recall if this one bled to death from a bullet wound, what I did remember from the article was that the third casualty was captured and eaten by a couple of villagers not too far from the eagle's sanctuary. Eagle-eye soup must really be that good.
*****
Not a lot of people know that the whole of the prestigious Ayala-Alabang subdivision is a bird sanctuary. They've signs posted and all, a testament to the respect and love the residents have for our feathered friends. They've got gigantic television screens flashing this accord right outside the village gates, fair warning to the outsiders to check their BB guns with the guard, as well as tell the birds that they're welcome to shit-spray their shiny cars and meticulously hand-woven country club shirts. Curiously, while glancing upon the giant television screen proclaiming this fact, a scooter-driving delivery boy whizzed past me and proceeded into the village, the box on the rear of the two-wheeler declared the letters "KFC" in bright crimson.
I knew I shouldn't have laughed, but that sight just cracked me up.
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