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27 October 2009

Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate

I’m sitting in a 3-day training course in Kuala Lumpur. It's being held in a conference room at the Renaissance Hotel, so named because ... yes ... yes ... I know ... we've been there before. I've been there before. I've been here before.

My boss, who is running this course, laughed as he boasted during his introduction on Day 1:

"I saw how the other business units got funding approval so just copied what they did, swapped out the business unit name and submitted it!" That's why his the boss. It's so Kafkaesque.

Like the previous course, this one includes a PowerPoint presentation delivered by Peggy. Her topic is project management so I assume it will be exactly the same PowerPoint presentation ... slide by slide. She even started her presentation with a quiz and by giving out little prizes she bought in Duty Free.

As I was walking back into the room after a break, Wendy (who is coordinating this training course) grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to one side. She looked friendly but earnest. Alert but not alarmed. Maybe a little alarmed.

W: "I've seen Peggy's slides. I've seen them. They're exactly the same! She even starts with a quiz! You don't need to go. Skip out while you have the chance!"). I felt like I was James Bond, being briefed at the 11th hour by Moneypenny.

But Wendy was too late. I had already suggested this to my boss; that I had seen Peggy's presentation recently; that I didn't need to sit through it again. Unfortunately he had other thoughts. Wanted me there in case Peggy wanted to know something about Vietnam or Indonesia.

So here I am now. I'm sitting through the same Peggy material and listening to the same opening quiz. It's my GroundPeg Day.

P: "Great answer Karina. And as your special prize I have a wonderful keychain, all the way from Hong Kong ..."

In August, her keyring prizes were from Melbourne Airport so she's clearly made some script adjustments this time. I have that to thank her for.

The funny thing about this quiz is that I still don't know any of the answers. Didn't listen last time; didn't listen this time.

Maybe that's why I'm still here. Maybe I've been banished to a circle called Peggyhell, trapped until I finally listen and learn and move on. Maybe if I don't learn from her - or until I do - I need to keep jumping over barrels and climbing up ladders. Maybe I will be forever doomed to this presentation. If I had known this from the beginning I would have paid attention in the first place.

I think this is probably the proof I've been waiting for. That God exists. And I ain't talkin bout no nice God, neither. God must be behind all this. And what a vengeful God he has turned out to be. Just as I suspected he would be: the Sky Bully.

'Fuck God', I tell myself, 'he's not the boss of me'.

So here I sit, perpetuating my same routine of typing, nodding, typing, looking up and smiling at Peggy as with more nodding. Still using fall pretences to win Peggy's favour. Actually, given the precedent I set last time I think I have to. She expects it of me.

In the interest of diversity, this time I've added a supplement to my vigorous nodding. I'm interrupting Peggy with Dorothy Dixers. She's loving me. I should hate myself. But I don't. I lap it up like a hungry kitten. A cute little hungry kitten. With little white bits on his cute little paws. I am Sox.

These are small mercies though. If I think about all this long enough, this little learning loop I'm trapped in, I feel doomed. I am Dante, trapped in another circle. Of course I am no ordinary Dante. I am a bespectacled Dante. With greasy hair and narrow slumping shoulders.

I realise that I have no control of my fate. My head is swimming. Nothing is changing. I contribute heartily to the break out sessions but my heart isn't in it. What am I doing?

She asks a question to the group. My hand shoots up as I bite hard into this apple. I throw a fake smile and a nod and I answer Peggy's question. I don't know the answer but I guess it correctly. She's digging into the bag. Another keyring. I am now the proud owner of an ugly keyring from some souvenir store at Hong Kong Airport. For the first time today, my smile back to Peggy is genuine.