23.03.04; Tuesday Thrust; 14:35

 

No. of pre-“retrenchment” powwows AND post hold up mourning/celebration held: 1. Non-hold up related lost belonging/s: The remaining gym guest pass. Loved one left to confess about the robbery: my Dad. Calories lost this noon: 200. Items successfully packed: “Not a single pant,” – Mark Darcy. Guest blogger while I’m away: Edzelove.

 

Dear Niwee,

 

Push the turtle. I’m days away before my working ass turns age 1. Am I happy? Sure, VL with pay looms. Am I leaving, as planned? Not yet. Am I really happy?

 

It is funny how recent incidents compelled me to go sentimental about this job.

 

My empty wallet and my firm refusal to barbecue my piggy banks led me to this bank (I decline to name names here. By the way, it’s HSBC) and drop my credit card application. Yeng and I are on our usual chatty mood whilst the rest contradicts. My hair was down and carefree as if hair dryer is an unreachable item from where I hailed. I’m garbed with a jacket that lifts a middle finger to the climate, a cheap parody of Topshop shirts (I’m exaggerating here), very casual pants and red shoes that made an officemate wonder if it were stolen from Ronald McDonald himself. The female agent looked sure I’m HIV-positive when she handed me the stapler, the security guard treated us as if we were high school rascals who decided to retire as mall rats and apply as bank robbers. We were both silent about our respective observations when the female agent interrupted our thoughts with an octave exclamation, “Ohhhh, you’re from Sykes!” I was tempted to elaborate my paying power.

Let me quote a friend’s haloscan:

 

Yuch! You are working at a call center or probably at a dico club? I think that you’ve become very cheap!

 

To compare my job position with a gyrating whore is indeed blood boiling. Is it the mere similarity that both disciplines embrace graveyard shift? Is this person arguing that both call centers and brothels are money factories? Or we do have 0 brain activity coupled with 0 ass activity?

 

No defensive remark is coming out of my mouth.

 

 

 

 

Hell, no.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fine, call me spineless.

 

 

FUCK.

 

I’m not gonna start with a typical bilingual’s struggles. I won’t emphasize the frequency of our flirtation with sickness. Two words. Customer service. If this is not the typical ‘nuff said’, then bring me a saleslady who manages to smile while giving service all throughout his/her shift. Look no further. Let’s scour the whole of Manila.

 

 

Yuch! You are working at a call center or probably at a dico club? I think that you’ve become very cheap!

 

 

Know what? I know better. Based on this person’s language proficiency, she’d end up being crushed by a grammarian’s stiletto on Judgment Day. My friends and I would be around, farting our way to hell.

 

 

X’S 1: Congratulations to the Denmark batch for turning a year old by tomorrow. BLOWOUT!!!

 

X’S 2: We’d be right back after these “reminders”. Take it away, Edzelove!

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