I was called to the boardroom today. Yes, called to the boardroom like in The Apprentice. Similarly, I was there to get a job and similarly I had to stand out like a stream of bat’s piss i.e. shine out like a shaft of gold when all around is dark.
I got to the boardroom 20mins before the group interview was slated to start. During these 20mins, I got my chance to chat with the Managing Director and one of the general managers. I took the opportunity to expose myself a little before more of my fellow job scavengers arrived. Expose a little of my background and pathetic work experiences that is. Not my body. I would need to pay for a major dry cleaning of the carpet to clear away the puke if I’d exposed my body. Something I can’t afford now, so I’ll save the exposure of my body to a later time in the future.
I was offered the coffee, tea and biscuits placed on one shelf in the boardroom before the interview officially starts. I was tempted to cram every single of the biscuits into my vortex, even the plate, since I’d missed my lunch. But I figured it’s a bad move. Getting your potential bosses to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on you in the first meeting is definitely not good for impression, though it’ll be lasting. Neither is raining biscuit crumbs on their faces every time I talk to them a good idea. Worst that can happen is the biscuit getting stuck to your teeth and for the next hour of interview, everyone knows whether you had butter or chocolate flavour. Or both. In the end, I didn’t even eat a single crumb. It must have been a test. To see who has the tendency to pilfer office supplies if employed probably. After all, none of the 5 other people in the room even went near the biscuits.
The advertisement a few weeks ago specifically ask for bright graduates hot from the oven to apply for the various positions. Today, the boardroom smelled so fresh when we’re all inside that there’s no need for air freshener. Except for a certain corner of course. The candidate there was no doubt very fresh, in 1997 that is. Now, armed with an arsenal of almost a decade of work experiences, she’s like a stale fish trying to grab up the best spot in the supermarket freezer. That may not bode well for me because she happened to be one of the three others in my interview group vying for the same position as me. Then again, her experiences may work for her as well as against her.
More than half the candidates came from overseas universities, particularly from the Land of Oz. I was trying hard to suppress an urge to shout out ‘G’day!’ to them. Eventually it came out feebly when I cornered one of these local education quitters. I believed it came out sounding like ‘Go Die’ instead, judging from the shocked look I got in return. I jest of course. I just gave them a very Singapore greeting: ‘Wah...today hot hot day ah. Lucky here got air conditioner.’ This was one sentence I lived to regret later. Not half an hour into the interview, I was suffering from goose bumps and chattering teeth. Icicles were even starting to form. M Hotel, where I’d my interview, must be catering to Eskimo clientele considering how low they’d set the temperature of the air conditioner. Thank goodness some kind soul got them to adjust the temperature up for the remaining duration. Otherwise, they would have to drag me to the street to thaw.
The interview went pretty much like any individual interview with the usual sections like 'Summarise-your-miserable-life-story-to-just-1-minute' and ‘Brag-about-yourself-so-we'll-clamour-for-you’. Competition was tough. Aside from a couple of black holes, everyone else was bat’s piss. So I’d the challenge of being the brightest and most powerful stream of bat’s piss. This, I’d to admit I didn’t manage to be. But I was quite satisfied with my performance nonetheless, especially the last section.
In the last section, we’re divided into group of threes. Each group had to come out with a summarize proposal for a business conference and the rationale behind the choice of industry. A tad like The Apprentice, except we must be smarter, because we’re only given 10 minutes. Did up a pretty good proposal, though as usual, only one third of what I intended to say I actually did presented. At the end of the presentation, one of the girls in my group was looking at me with such adoring eyes that could melt butter. She praised that I was smart, which was obvious since the word ‘Smart’ is etched on my forehead. She just didn’t notice the other word which’s covered by my hair: Ass.
Oh well, at least getting a praise from a pretty girl is better than nothing. Hopefully, those in the second interview group are all morons and I'll only have to contend with those in my interview group. Still, I’m hoping to win the grand prize i.e. land the job.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Wet Affair 2
Earlier today, I was debating with myself whether I should go for a dip in the pool again. After all, I didn’t really swam much yesterday and I am adamant about making it into the next Singapore Olympics Swim Team. This is considering the fact that the Singapore team needs a bigger joke than they’d made this year and I’m patriotic enough to make it happen.
It was a tough decision. As the saying goes, once bitten twice shy. It was the case of once caught in the rain, twice a drenched chicken for me. And I didn’t want to be a drenched chicken, especially with the avian flu going around. The sky did look cloudy as well. I was indecisive on this matter and had paced around my living room for 1 hour, wearing thin the floor. What finally led me to the pool was the neighbour’s, who lived one floor directly beneath me, complain about how his chandelier was losing its gripe on the ceiling. I figured paying for the pool’s entrance fee is cheaper than paying the restructuring fee for my thinning floor, his ceiling.
The angels must have gotten bladder stones from yesterday’s relentless peeing for there wasn’t even a drizzle today. You may start thinking I must have had a blissful time at the pool. Wrong! I did manage to swim more laps than yesterday, but before I could even say thank goodness for the sun, the pool was invaded by little critters. These little critters from the neighbourhood primary school, all wearing either bright yellow, green or pink goggles, commandeered the pool swiftly like well-trained commandoes. All four corners were taken, leaving just a tiny centre lane to be shared among us, the poor folks who paid to come in to watch this circus.
Pity, that the pool space was wasted on these critters learning how not to drown instead of us folks who’re just honestly trying to make it into the Olympics team. Even the lifeguards were scared away by these critters. Or maybe it’s the presence of one group of critters who’re learning life saving skills that gave the green light for the lifeguards to retreat to their cave for poker session. How nice. I’d never felt so safe in my life before in a pool, knowing that I’d became a lab mouse if I started drowning to these bunch of 12 years old amateurs. It’s as reassuring as having an umbrella for a parachute if the plane I’m in become love struck and starts going for a kiss with Mother Earth. I’ll mostly likely be knocked senseless by the floats or get tangled by the ropes, apparatuses that supposedly should save my life, if they even attempt to save me. If I was drowning, I’ll sink myself faster if I’d even see one of them amateurs having a go at saving me. After all, in all probability, the ending will be the same.
One of the coaches seemed to have discovered the secret of winning Ian Thorpe. He was swimming with his duckbill cap on. That must have done wonders in the aerodynamics of swimming because in a blink, he’d swam back to where he’d started. Or else, he hadn’t moved at all. That’s when I reckoned that the sun had gotten to me and decided to leave. No point getting barbecued when I was going for one later anyway.
The barbecue/steamboat affair was a treat by the company I’m currently employed in as a part-timer. It’s a thank you dinner for all the hard work we’d put in the last project. I heard it’s the first time the company is treating part-timers in its god-knows-how-long of history. I felt so appreciated and valued, especially since it was only the second project I’d worked on. This made me resolved me to slack even harder because that was how I’d worked so far. If there’s a slackiest part-timer award, I’m sure to win it hands down. To compound things further, the pressure is on the full timers to get the work completed in time, not us part-timers. This gave me the license to work as I wished to. Flexible timing, no stress and even get treats. What better work can I look for.
I had quite a fun time there tonight. As fun as a barbecue/steamboat affair can go anyway. Apart from the usual banter about each other’s culinary skills and eating charred food, a couple of mind stimulating questions got tossed around as when geniuses gather usually do. One of the questions asked was why a person can down 2 litres of beer in a meal but not 2 litres of water? It’s the gas I ventured. It’s all in the psychology of enjoyment, another said. Nothing conclusive came out of this questions except a lot of burps and laughter.
Another question posed was, if a beer has an alcoholic content of 8%, poured into 4 cups, what’s the alcoholic content in each cup? I smacked my forehead immediately after hearing this question. Of course it’s 2% each! They think I failed my maths in school? It totally insulted my IQ.
Ha! I was just joking of course. Each cup will still have 8% alcoholic content. Don’t think I’m that far away from being a genius. If anyone of you had even hesitated for a second after reading that question, I suggest you retake your Primary School Leaving Exams again. Otherwise, you’re welcome to take lessons from me, certified smart-ass.
An additional question thrown out was, why is the manhole round (in America context)? Very thought provoking aren’t it? Well, I got a whole list of explanation which I’m not going to reveal to you. Because this is one of those surprise and totally irrelevant questions they pop in interviews. Go crack your brains or alternatively you can crack your piggy bank and buy my answers.
On my way back home, I heard on the news this interesting campaign by Taiwanese government on deterrence weapons against China. I can’t really recall the content, but the slogan goes something like if all Taiwanese purchase one cup of pearl tea (i.e. bubble tea) less each day, Taiwan can deter a Chinese attack. It’s nice to hear Taiwan is turning to weapons of least destruction. I do agree with them flooding China with pearl tea will cause considerably less damage. It may even fuel the pearl tea industry and hence stimulate its economy! Then again, did I mistaken that if each Taiwanese save on a cup of pearl tea each day, it'll equal to the cost of buying deterrence weapons? Anyway, if same principle applies in the local context, I’m glad to know I’ve contributed to Singapore’s defense in some way as I only buy pearl tea once in a blue moon.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Wet Affair
This early afternoon seemed like a good time to go for a swim. The sun was burning people’s asses, the breeze was blowing through their hair as if they’re out for a photo shoot by the beach, all with nary a hint of a darkened cloud in sight.
It seemed like a perfect day to check out who’s contending for the Top 10 Crispiest Girl of the Month in the west zone as well. Now, I did mentioned before I’ve no love for barbecued homo sapiens. However, when you’re as bored as I’m, watching such ‘competition’ ranked next to watching English soap drama Days of Our Lives on the list of Desperate Measures for Ultimate Boredom. I was hoping to catch some intense competition today, especially given that this week is a vacation for tertiary students. Sadly, I didn’t even have to borrow fingers and toes from others to help me count. Those digits from one of my hands were enough. But it’s okay. I was genuinely there for a swim after all.
Alas. THE CURSE worked it way again. Before I was even four laps done, it almost turned into night. Not the actual night but one where the ass-striking clouds replaced the ass-burning sun. Such is how THE CURSE works. Whenever I want to swim, it sends its ass-striking partner in crime to visit me. By the time I’m done with my fifth lap, the entire sky looked like a scene out of Independence Day where the heavens had forgot to pay their electrical bill.
Time to get out of the water. That I did and into the shelter I went hiding, hoping to wait out the rain and finish up my target of 10 laps later. Needless to say, when the angels started to pee, there were still some guys in the pool playing Who’s-Last-Out-Of-Pool-Before-Lifeguard-Haul-Our-Butts. I always find this sort of people totally selfish, because they’re depriving a village somewhere of its idiot. But you’ve to give credit to them. More often than not, they succeed in getting the duty lifeguard to blow the whistle till his entire face turned green before the last of them exits the water.
Today, the last guy out is probably in his thirties and trying to make a fashion statement. Why I say that? Because he’s wearing a pair of swimming trunk with blue floral prints. I’m not sure if girls will be turned on by such fashion. But if I’m a girl, I’ll definitely get turned on. My laughing fits switch to be exact. I won’t be able to stop laughing until reality kicks in and I cringe at the thought of what sort of guy will wear blue floral print trunk. Then again, I’m such a conservative guy that I may be presenting a bias view of fashion here. By the way, did I mention that I’m cute, naive, innocent and sweet as well?
I like it when it rains, watching those little droplets magically falling out of the sky. I like it even though it ruined my afternoon. Rarely do I get the chance to see the raindrops peter platter into a big pool of water. The rain, the tiny splashes, the unpredictable ripples and the rainy day smell and sound translate into a totally tranquil and sanguine time for me. I just have to ignore what I learned in school about these droplets carrying dust particles and whatnots on their way down.
Rainy days also mean there’s no better time to roost in the coolness of my bed. However, since I was going to wait out the rain, the next best thing to do was to read a book, which luckily for me, I did brought one along. It’s a collection of short stories by Stephen King. Ironically, the next story I came to was titled Rainy Season. Talk about coincidences. Thankfully that’s where all coincidences end for the story is about this particular night in a village that rains killer toads every seven years apart. I definitely won’t want killer toads landing on me when I’m only dressed in a pair of swimming trunk. No Sir. I want to be dressed less vulnerable than that.
One hour into waiting and I still saw no signs of the rain abating. Giving up the thoughts of anymore swimming, I went to get change. That’s when I realised I forgot to bring my towel. No big deal, since I’m almost dried from the hour of waiting. I’d just have to go home and shower. Problem remaining was how to get home in the rain? I’d no umbrella, not even a towel to shelter myself from the angels’ relentless pee. The only thing that can shelter me at least a little was my tiny sports bag and my swimming trunk. I relished neither options for fear of ruining the content of my bag or being mistaken for the new neighbourhood superhero respectively. If I want to be a superhero, I’ll design a better mask than just a pair of swimming trunk.
The solution to the problem I decided upon is age-old and simple. I’d waited for the time when the rain let up a little and ran home as if my house is on fire. Actually I walked, but the same urgency is there anyway. By the time I reached home, I was as wet as when I dipped into the pool, except with clothes on this time.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
High Tide on Last Train
What do you do when you’re on the last train home, with insufficient cash to take a taxi home and feeling the tide rising i.e. desperate to pee?
I’d to work overtime yesterday just to earn enough money to bring some eggs home. This is not an easy goal since eggs these days are worth more than a return air ticket to Phuket. I was actually having my rare streak of entrepreneurial spirit when I’d the intention to buy the eggs. I was hoping to exchange those eggs for the air tickets and then re-selling the air tickets to the highest dim-witted and cheapskate bidders on eBay. This will definitely make a good task for the contestants on The Apprentice: how much they can earn from a tray of eggs. At least the losing team gets to throw the leftover eggs at the winning team.
Being hardworking can have its drawbacks. Last night was the risk of missing the ride home. I’d got two choices then. Either I take the northbound train and transfer to the last feeder bus or I take the southbound train, risked missing the last westbound train and end up having to take a taxi from the city. I’d never feel more like a jackrabbit being caught between gun barrels on both sides. But being so much smarter than the jackrabbit, I made an astute decision and avoided being shot. Then, the question at the start of this entry surfaced.
Facing such situation, there are only three scenarios I can think of.
Scenario 1: I’ll have to alight and ‘release the pressure’ at one of the stations. After which, being broke, I’ve to rely on my overflowing charm to get a ride back. This is a good plan. Unfortunately, if used, it’ll cause a traffic jam and incidences of road rage from drivers, particularly pretty female ones, vying to offer me a ride home. Not that I mind watching a few cat fights for entertainment of course.
Scenario 2: I’ll hold it out on the train, crossing my legs close together and hoping the dam won’t crack under pressure and collapse. This is not too bad a plan, given that I’ve high tolerance. However, it’ll mean my fellow commuters may suddenly find me still on the floor, having died from bladder explosion. My name will forever be written in the book of ‘Funniest Ways You Can Die’ and I’ll live on as the Bladder Ghost on the northbound train in Singapore True Ghost Stories. My tombstone will probably have the wordings ‘Rest in Piss’.
Scenario 3: I’ll just ‘let go’, hoping that my fellow commuters who mostly are dozing already won’t notice. If they do, I’ll just blame the dripping condensation from the air conditioner. This is not a bad idea as well. I’m ‘relieved’ and don’t get blame for it. Nevertheless, I’m counting on the fact that my fellow commuters have the brain size of a pea. This is not a reliable assumption since it’s known for a fact that the brain size of an average Singaporean is like a marble. Any brain size bigger than a pea is a call for trouble.
So which of these choices did I chose? Luckily, this is nothing more than a hypothetical question, which didn’t occur, nor I wish for it to happen in the future. I arrived safely at my stop without feeling a desperate need for release. Nonetheless, I almost peed in my jeans on the walk home. It was eerily quiet last night, on top of being misty and all. I couldn’t discern if the few I saw were human or good brothers (i.e. ghosts) out for a glide. I could feel the hair rising on my nape and hands throughout the walk and at one time, I even felt like I’d step on someone’s toes.
Maybe I’m just a timid guy. After all earlier in the night when a flying cockroach landed on me at a coffee shop, my scream would have put all world-renowned sopranos to shame. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t get an offer to join an opera on the spot. That’ll definitely save me efforts to get a job.
I said in jest of course. I didn’t scream but I did hear some when I sent Mr (or is it Ms?) Flying Cockroach over to the next table. It created mayhem with chairs overturning, drinks spilling, hands flailing and mouths in the classic ‘Ahhh’ shape. I believe Mr Flying Cockroach even went for a little dip in one of the beer glasses before flying rather drowsily away. Now, those girls at the other table, they definitely could have qualify for an opera. Just imagine all these in slow motion. Definitely a Kodak moment.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Out of Sync
These few days I feel a little out of sync with my daily life. It’s as if a screw has gotten loose from the kind of daily routine I’ve been leading for the past month. I’ve been trying to find that screw, but didn’t manage until today and found that I can’t fix it. Like a fool staying up all night to find out where had the sun gone, it dawned on me that this week is the one-week school vacation.
Ahhh!. My mouth was open so big in realization that I could have taken over the lion’s job at the circus. But I’ve no desire to taste the head of the ringmaster, so the lion don’t have to queue up at the unemployment office yet. No wonder my brothers are at home for the past 3 days during the day. Luckily, I’m no longer studying in university. Otherwise, I’ll be so envious that while I’m slogging and freezing my ass off like an Eskimo in the library, they’re at home surfing por…erm…educational websites.
Nowadays, they’re the ones who’re green-eyed, since I’m on an involuntary extended holiday. Like I always tell them, it’s not easy to be in my position. One has to really work hard in life as I’ve done, such that all employers in Singapore are so impressed that they give me an extended holiday simultaneously without me asking. Who says bosses in Singapore are slave drivers?
Now, even though I’m on an extended holiday, my brothers’ vacation doesn’t bode well for me. It only means one thing: increase expenditure on my part. For someone who’s income is flowing not like Niagara Falls, but like a tap PUB cut off supply to, this is obviously a major predicament. It’s slightly too late to rectify the problem. However since today, I secretly hope that they’ll have some activities in school so I don’t have to play maid to buy and pay for lunch. Their staying at home also indicates the end of my territorial sovereignty over the entire flat during the day. Sharing is not exactly a big virtue of mine, so daily I’ve to mark the boundaries of my territories like a dog. As in the mentality of marking territories of a dog, not the physical act of marking territories.
If you’re wondering why I only become conscious today that this week is school vacation, that’s because my brothers don’t make nuisances of themselves. They don’t scream, blast music out loud or behave like madmen. Neither do they act like Marilyn Manson. In fact, they’re well behaved like monks. The only disturbance from them is their snoring that lasted till lunchtime. Well, only 4 more days till school reopens. Guess the only way is to bear with it.