That Other Stuart Diver

For the past week there has been a lot of construction next door - including yesterday's noisy extravaganza of digging and earth moving. Dirt mountains are popping up everywhere. There is more equipment than people; quite unusual for a building site in Vietnam.

I woke up at 3am to the sound of an avalanche. I didn't know I could identify the sound of sliding dirt at thirty yardsbut there you go. Dirt was sliding in large quantities, right next to the house, and I knew it.

I started to wonder whether my apartment building would be joining it and - I'm ashamed to admit - wondered whether I could get in a quick nap before escaping. Srsly.

I was very, very tired. And really, really didn't want to get up. But it kept going and going and going. I started to imagine being winched out of the rubble by emergency workers ... wizened men operating on no sleep, rubbing their stubbled chin and looking worried ... coffee being drunk in the background ... spotlights and ropes ... fluoro yellow jackets. Then I realised where I was.

It wasn't fear that made me get up ... it was the realisation that Vietnam has no emergency services and I would have to do all the saving for myself. There was a parallel realisation that no matter how many people in this country seem happy to wear their pyjamas during the daytime, I was not one of them.

I eventually got up - all pre-Thredbo like - and popped my head out of the bedroom window. I could see an earth digger thingo shifting piles of dirt off the street. It seemed to be doing a poor job - pushing dirt along and missing key piles. It was more like rubbing than lifting.

Then I saw him.

The older security guard from downstairs - the one who has to wake up to open the door when I come home late - seemed to be in control of the digger. He was perched behind the wheel in a dangerously proactive show of confidence. It was so odd. The family from downstairs was also wandering up and down the street and around the digger, aimlessly supervising the event. They were quite unconcerned, like hey were watching TV.

Even the old lady was out there on the wander. She wasn't in pyjamas so I figured she had been rostered on. She seemed to think she was in charge though. Old person charge ... much like an old man at a car lot. I almost expected her to kick the tyre of the digger. She noticed me staring out of the window and smiled politely, like we had run into each other at the shops.

Her grandson (20 yo security guard) was also there, wandering around the front of the machine smoking cigaretts, artfully avoiding the arm of the digger as it swung towards him. The little kids weren't there but I spotted a teen - possibly a bored neighbour or a spruiker from one of the brothels up the road.

Then the Canadian guy who lives above me started shouting:

"What the fuck are you doing? This is fucking stupid! You're fucking stupid! How can you be so fucking stupid?!" and so on and so forth.

When he first started yelling everyone stopped for a moment and stared at him.

They were more curious than alarmed, like distracted kittens. The silence lasted about 10 seconds. The minute the Canadian stopped to draw breath, they started it all up again.

I couldn't work out what was happening so I went back to bed. The Canadian guy was still screaming and the digger was going but I was tired. I already had an insurance policy - the little kids were asleep in the house and I figured that if there was any real danger, they wouldn't have been left there. And I actually love my pyjamas ... more than I care to admit.

Translation of the Year

From a photo exhibition a couple of months ago. How efficient this Vietnamese language must be.

'Ech' means frog. But this is no ordinary frog. Check out the grey translation below the red quote.

There is something else they don't want us to know.

Forget frogs.

I smell a rat.

A to B

1. Arrivals Wed 14 April 2010 19:30-21:00

What do you do when you're running a country with some of the longest customs queues in the world? Slow them down, of course!

Since 1 April they are taking fingerprints and photos of everyone arriving in Jakarta. This makes each person about 4 times longer to process, with all the requisite confusions and clumsiness that comes with it.

I've been through 3 times this month and it's painful. Childbirth painful. There are no extra counters or staff, so the queues now stretch further than ever.

My last queue stretched back, almost to the plane

This chaotic archipelago of over 17,000 islands has some of the worst border patrols in the world. People can wander in from almost anywhere—sea or land—via large stretches of unprotected borders. Someone got bored with this problem and decided to spend all their pocket money on dragging Jakarta into the 21st century. Lipstick on the pig.

2. Departures Thu 22 April 2010 04:00-05:45

Last Thursday was the first time I have ever (ever) forgotten to set an alarm or wake-up call for an early flight. My flight was the usual 6:15am, meaning that I aim to check out of the hotel by 3:45am.

I fell asleep watching tv and dreamt it was already 8am and I had missed my flight. This woke me up with a startle and a quick check of the watch. It was 4:00am so I tore out of bed.

Once this mini panic was over, I felt tireder than ever as I settled into my queuing routines.

The customs queue was less painful than arrivals - more miscarriage than childbirth - and afterwards I stopped at Starbucks for a coffee.

I smiled as I read this sign, imagining nasty empowered customers with strong throwing arms.

It's a messy promise.

3. Transit Thu 22 April 2010 08:45-09:45

I took this photo at Changi Airport.

It is a gaggle of Singapore Airlines crew members, heading to the T2 shuttle train.

"I'm gonna fuckin' flip if I have to go through another flight without enough napkins."

It's not a good photo but something about it describes how I feel on these mornings ... stumbling around aimlessly in transit after an early flight and a couple of hours sleep.

I stood next to them on the shuttle, listening as they compared volcano stories from European legs.

Sarah Connor

My email log-in has been playing up ever since I arrived in Jakarta. The email is still working, but I'm not receiving all the mails when I synchronise with the server. I am having to ask colleagues to forward some important ones to me.

In truth, our technology is very patchy in Indonesia ... even in the fancy new offices. I guess they ran out of money for new machines.

I can't connect to any printers.

Last Friday night my wireless log-in program wouldn't work at all. I even couldn't get on to the network.

Then on Sunday my chat log-in stopped working. I expected it was part of some scheduled maintenance which was supposed to happen on Saturday.

Yesterday, right when we were about to finish printing our amending our proposal, I received about 6 automated emails saying my access to this or that had been denied.

No one else seems to be having so many problems.

So why me?

Then I realised.

I've been terminated.

So I tried to locate myself on the intranet and couldn't. No picture, no profile. Just someone called Kevin who shares the same surname. So I attempted many combinations of my name. No result. I asked la Reina and she couldn't find me. She tried to reassure me that this was a machine error, not a personal affront, but I could feel it in my waters.

I tried to find my employees.Success! I clicked on the "reporting line" link on one of them and discovered that they she floating out there alone; head-less.

Then I found another. And another. All floating. Headless. Me-less

Why me indeed!

One machine sent me a note this afternoon to inform me that my "User Id Does Not Exist".

Then another quite coldly stated "Employee Not Found Or Deleted".

This is not supposed to happen in my company, where departure is an highly automated and efficient process. You hand in your key, then a series of switches get flicked in cyberspace and you're out before you hit the elevator button.

In Vietnam, though, it seems to be a little more painful. And slow. And they also ensure it starts early. They want to make sure you get to feel it, just in case you get any ideas about coming back.

Do you think they don't like me?

I am due to return back this Thursday and have so many questions.

Will my key still work? Will there be someone else's name on my desk? Will I find someone at my chair? ... Rigidly, stoically, proprietorially perched?

I'm kind of excited about my desk. Butterflies excited.

I mean ... whatever will become of me????

What will I say?

What will I wear?

How's about a black cape, a pointy hat and a large glass of water ...

"I'm melting! melting! Oh, what a world! What a world! Who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?"

You Say Password, I Say Recalcitrant Masseuse

I just got my new password issued for the Indonesian email account.

It's nokumm4u.

Dirty bastards.

Oh. And no comments please ... Cheesel reads this blog and she's getting old. Which means she now wets herself when she laughs or gets offended. Or plays golf. Or goes to the ATM. Or watches tellie. Or coughs. You get the drift.

The Potato Ascent Has Slowed

Please go and vote me up (and the competition down).

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=potato

I want to be number 1 by May.

Such heady life goals ...

Bell Weathers

"Hey - how's the project going?"

-- "Look at Anthony's hair - what do you think?"

[verbatim]

Late Broken News

A volcano?

When did this all happen?

The 110 Hour Week

This has been a 110 hour week. (Give or take a few taxi rides, some blog entries and 45 min helping Pete put lipstick on his PowerPoint pig.)

Sun 13hrs (8am-10am, 13-midnight)

Mon 20hrs (midnight-8pm)

Tue 12 hrs (9am-7pm, 9pm-11pm)

Wed 15.5 hrs (8.30am-10pm, midnight-2am)

Thu 18 hrs (8.30am-2.30am)

Fri 17.5 hrs (7.30am-8.30am, 9am-1.30am)

Sat 14 .25hrs (8.45am-11pm)

The hardest thing about this? That it is all completely in vain.

The second hardest thing? Giving someone a really clear, urgent instruction and seeing them staring at me 5 minutes later as they vacantly watch me give another clear, urgent instruction to someone else.

People's heads crane up from their laptops at any given distraction. It's incredible. Sometimes I do it just spark up a conversation with someone if they will stop.

[fully sick]

Rewording

Me to my client:

"We can't expect the supplier to provide for the full $1m of this bond. They are only providing $300k in services. Just tell them we only expect them to provide for the services they are providing."

The subsequent email that he sent to our supplier:

"Hearing form you about the BOND value, we need back to back with client us$ 1M.

understanding that it is not fair for you, the min of BID BOND is based on your services provided.

That is MIN requirement but we expect you accept us$ 1M. Pls be advice? thanks"

Let me use this analogy:

Say I am selling a car and are my steering wheel supplier. If the car doesn't work, I need to replace it. If the steering wheel doesn't work, I still need to replace it but send it back to you, to replace or refund to me.

My dear friend has said

"If the entire car doesn't work, we have to replace the whole thing but it's really only fair for you to replace the steering wheel. However, as we would have to replace the car are wondering if you wouldn't mind just replacing the whole car as well. Is that ok?"

Supply Chains

This may be difficult to follow, but bear with me.

Today I sent the following email to a colleague:

"We can't expect the supplier to pay for $1 million insurance. They are only providing $300k in services. "

My email is effectively saying:

1. I am selling my customer a car and you are my steering wheel supplier.

2. No matter what the problem is, if the car doesn't work I need to replace it.

3. However, if the problem is the steering wheel then I still need to replace it but will recover these costs back from you.

My colleague took my advice, played with it a bit and sent the following email to our supplier:

"Hearing form you about the INSURANCE value, we need back to back with client us$ 1M.

understanding that it is not fair for you, the min of BID BOND is based on our spending to you.

That is Min requirement but we expect you accept us$ 1M. Pls be advice? thanks"

If it wasn't incomprehensible it would be ridiculous. Effectively, my dear friend has told our supplier that.

1. If the entire car doesn't work, we have to replace the whole thing.

2. In all fairness, the maximum we could really ask you to replace is the steering wheel. I mean, we know you just supply the steering wheels ...

3. However, we are just wondering if you wouldn't mind just paying for the whole car to be replaced, even if it's not your fault. Is that ok?"

The 10am Deadline I Worked All Night To Meet

09:00 Good morning everyone. Is Ahmed there? Where is Ahmed?

Actually he called this meeting at this time to review his document so he needs to be here. It's the only thing missing before we can send this all out.

Let me call him.

09:15 [ring ring] Ahmed? Are you here?.

Where are you?

OK well how bad is the traffic then ...? Alright thanks. See you in 5.

09:30 Can anyone get through to Ahmed? His phone isn't answering.

09:31 Voicemail left.

09:32 SMS sent

09:30 Can anyone get through to Ahmed? His phone still isn't answering. Is he in the office?

10:05. Did anyone hear from Ahmed?

10:07. You saw him having a cigarette downstairs? Are you serious?

10:10 Hi Ahmed. The meeting did not happen yet because you were not there.

Did you finish that document yesterday at 2pm as promised? No? Why not? Well when do you think it will be finished? Ok then we'll look at it at midday is that OK?

Remember you promised the client to sent it at 10 this morning.

Yes ok that's good. See you then.

12:05 [ring ring] Has anyone seen Ahmed? We were supposed to meet. His phone isn't answering

12:07 Voicemail left.

12:12 SMS sent

13:15 Has anyone seen Ahmed? His phone still isn't answering.

What do you mean by "Friday prayer"? When will he be back?

Why 2pm? What's "Fridayprayerfollowedbylunch?" Is this a religious practice?

Oh. Right. Just hungry then.

Someone's Having A Riot ...

... and I wasn't invited.

No one even told me that this was going on outside today:

http://news.smh.com.au/breaking-news-world/death-toll-from-jakarta-protest-rises-20100415-segn.html

I mean ... how the fuck would I know? ... it's not visible from the Starbucks at the Plaza Indonesia innit?

We were working back late and someone said "Hey - have there been riots today?", to which my colleague replied "Oh yeah - I think some people are unhappy with destroying the tombs." but I think it was an issue of nomenclature.

If my President was called Bambang I would riot as well.

Email Of The Day

This, in response to some feedback I sent to the team last night on a document:

Thanks Anthony,

I believe that this issue is being addressed by theteam [sic] today….

Unfortunately I can’t help cause I got diarrhea today that makes me stay in bed.

Many thanks

Andre

I imagined Andre lying in bed, wishing he could get to work but incapacitated by stomach cramps. Trapped in a mountain of stained white sheets.

[sick]

[fully sick]

Email Of The Day

".. The quote is $ 67.8M and the budget is only $10M. Could you confirm how this extra cost will be managed and who will be responsible to pay for this extra cost?"

I mean ... fucked if I know.

But I love the matter-of-fact nature of this. Like we're just missing a contact name from some list.

Fame and Whores

2 weeks ago I had some customer service "issues" at the Grand Hyatt Jakarta, which resulted me personally writing emails to the Global Chairman and CEO in Chicago.

Since taking such initiative, my experiences at the hotel have become decidedly different.

Take this evening at airport arrivals, for example. As I emerged from Customs and into the crowd I was greeted by someone in a dark suit, holding a Grand Hyatt sign:

"Hello! Welcome back Mr Anthony!"

-- "Oh. Hello. Who are? - Umm. I didn't book a car did I?"

"Yes! I know pak! [Indonesian for 'Sir'] But we saw your name on the reservations! So we come to greet you!"

On arrival in the hotel as I emerged from the cab:

"Hello Mr Anthony! Please come this way!"

-- "Oh. Hello. Who are? - Umm. I have to check-in ..."

"No. Come this way. You check in at the room. You're Platinum now so no need with the desk."

He escorted me up the elevator, opened the door and simply handed me the key. No credit card swipe, no signed forms.

Now, everywhere I turn in this joint, people know my name. That's what happens when you bypass the Duty Manager and lodge your complaint directly with the Global CEO. Or as in my case, copy and paste it to the Global Chairman as well.

Even the cleaners know me by name. They give me a cheery "Hello pak Anthony" in the hallways in the morning.

As I pass all these smiling faces I can't help but imagine a photocopy of my passport on the staff notice board. There are pins in my eyes and a hastily-drawn moustache. I wonder why they chose a red pen for the moustache, and if the hole near my nostril was deliberate or a slip of the nib.

This is not how I wanted things to end at all. I didn't do anything wrong.

I simply asked them to cook my $35 steak with $35 worth of skill.

I just wanted my breakfast coffee refilled in less than 10 mins.

At best, I hoped they would identify and remove the most rancid grapes from my complimentary fruit basket before dumping it on the side table next next to the telly.

The fruit is a real life example from last night. There is nothing quite like the shock of bad fruit. It gets me every time. I start chewing and then come to a sudden realisation that things aren't right. Shock is the right word. A bruised apple or a soft grape can be quite mortifying. It's the same effect as when a baby eats dirt - everything goes in quite well, with chocolate expectations, until the baby suddenly realises that whatever went in is not so delicious. The face suddenly drops and the eyes tremble as the tongue frantically pushes its contents back out.

Back to the Grand Hyatt.

Indonesians are naturally friendly, especially in service situations. The Hyatt fuck-ups were actually an exception to the rule but regardless, I now miss them.

Service fuck-ups are far easier to handle than the hell they're putting me though.

My skilful complaining has resulted in the whole hotel turning up its service a few diabetes-inducing, sycophantic notches. But I didn't wanna be a contender and I didn't wanna be somebody, so it's quite painful.

Everyone knows who I am. Everyone. This must be what it's like to be famous. All eyes are on you, all the time. No wonder Angelina Jolie buys her babies from Africa because in an American orphanage, they'd all be staring at her and she'd have to pretend she was buying it for a friend.

I now need to recover the tatters of my reputation from this godforsaken smiling palace ... I need to give the staff something else to scribble onto my photocopied passport image. Maybe I could order a whore up to my room?

Actually, even better:

"Hello! Operator speaking! How are you this evening Mr Anthony?"

-- "Good thanks. Could I please book a wake-up call?"

"Certainly Mr Anthony what time would you like it for, sir?"

"-- "6:30"

"6:30 in the morning Mr Anthony? Would you like a second wake-up call 5 minutes later?"

-- "Yes please."

"Is that all Mr Anthony?"

-- "Yes that's all"

"Well I hope you have a nice sleep them."

-- "Why do you say that? Do you wanna come up?"

"No sir. I didn't mean that. I was just wishing you for a good sleep."

-- "You're quite welcome to come up. Really. You know where I am."

"That's OK sir. Good night."

-- "Night then. Sure you won't come up later?

"Ok then. After my shift."

Kafkaesque

Meanwhile, back at the office things have been hotting up.

I just found out that I had a new boss. This is how:

• My travel request was rejected on the basis of "email address not found".
• I looked up my manager on the intranet and he had disappeared. No trace.
• I looked up myself on the intranet and I was thankfully still there.
• My nominated "manager" was a new person.
• So I contacted her and yes, indeedy, she's my new boss.

Nobody knows where my manager's gone.

(But Judy left the same time.)

Perishables

The headline in the SMH read "Polish President Dies"

Silly me: I immediately thought that the CEO of a varnish factory had perished.

However, the words in the SMH revealed the truth:

"... some of the country's highest military and civilian leaders died when the presidential plane crashed ..."

Tragedy

"Kaczynski was on his way to attend commemorative ceremonies for the Katyn massacre, which decimated Poland's military and intellectual elite 70 years ago."

Irony

"Black ribbons appeared in some windows in the Polish capital ..."

... and this was before the crash.

Kaczynski Sought to Rid Poland of Corruption, Forge Ties to US‎ -

Kiss of death policy.

"There were no survivors on the Soviet-era Tupolev"

The plane probably did it.

"Russian news agencies reported that pilot error was suspected as a cause in the crash."

The plane definitely did it.

"Kaczynski, the identical twin brother of former prime minister Jaroslaw Kaczynski, had said he would seek a second term in presidential elections later this year."

Jaroslaw should turn up for work on Monday and pretend nothing has happened.

To Whit

As I watch this I just can't help thinking about the journey he took to this destination.

I see a full-length mirror. Mum's wig. An unflattering red dress. And some minstral makeup mishaps.

Sure, it's better than Teen vietnam sing The show perfect and so surprise!. But only just.

Cat Stand It

Just because ...

Right Jak-art-yer

After a few days back in Jakarta, it seems like my "Dumb Anthony" nickname has stuck.

It's really stuck.

One of my colleagues was recounting how he told his wife about the 2 Anthony's - Smart Anthony and Dumb me, the other one. Apparently she thought it was HIGHlarious!

As I thanked him for opening up all this to his family, I split my coffee down the front of my white shirt (providing him with another Dumb Anthony proof point.)

Probability

In the shitty upstairs restaurant at Noi Bai airport, Hanoi. I needed to go there for wifi and electricity:

"Excuse me. I can't hear the airport announcements from here."

-- "Yes?"

"Can I hear the announcements here? The flights? The times?"

-- "No. Can not. What time your flight?"

"It's 1.30 - to Singapore."

-- "That's ok. [smiles] Someone comes to tell you."

"Really? Always? They always come and check?"

[smiles and points at the escalator]

-- "Yes they come."

"Really? Always? They always come and check?"

[smiles and looks me in the eye]

-- "Not always"

"Sorry. But. They will come here or not?"

-- "Usually. Yes."

[Smiles again and looks down at the bottle of prescription pills that seems to have appeared in her hand.]

Cross-branded Promotion Of The Century

This week, Sensodyne toothpaste teamed up with Coca Cola in a cross-sell initiative at the Fivimart supermarket in Xuan Dieu, Hanoi.

Buy one tube of Sensodyne toothpaste, get 2 cans of Coke free. The cans were taped to the sides of the packaging, like panniers on a bike.

I returned to the supermarket with my camera but it was sold out. You'll just have to take my word for it.

It will take more than 90 years to top this. I'm calling it early.

This Just In

On Friday I received this email from Trang, the HR professional who was dealing with (then denying knowledge of), my pay issue.

She sent it to the entire company.

Subject: [Diversity] Branding Women: How to Look Professional

Dear Ladies,

Our physical appearance, our words, and our actions express to others the person we are within. I am sure that every working woman desires a look that promotes a feeling of polished and professional competency. A professional look includes clothes, hair, makeup, and accessories that work together to create a professional image.

You are invited to the roundtable “How to Look Professional”, specially designed for our female employees (male employees are welcome, too, of course), facilitated by Ms. Phuc. Make up experts are also here to share with us how to make best use of make-up to look professional and complete for a hard day at work (please bring your make up package with you to the roundtable too).
Time: 4.00PM – 5.30PM, Apr 02, 2010 (today)

See you all there!

Best Regards,
Trang

This must be what time travel feels like. It sounds like a June Dally Fucking Watkins brochure from the 70's. And I mean the early 70's.

I especially love how this is Vietnam's interpretation of a diversity initiative. If HQ saw this they would die.

The above does not mention the role of men, but it implies it. I should have turned up and played my part - sitting in the corner leering, with a hand down my pants.

I've seen these women. Make up experts? We should have spent the money on dentists.

They've got good tits though. Fucking right on! Yeah!

See You Next Autumn (aka Volenti Non Fit Injuria)

I am staying and working within the Plaza Indonesia complex, a swanky mall which greets you with uniformed doormen and polished marble. I hate the concept and will take any opportunity to escape its clutches. I departed the Plaza last Saturday evening during Earth Hour. I was going for a walk and selected an outfit which would help me be easily spotted by cars or muggers: fresh white t-shirt, new jeans and a pair of bright yellow thongs. I went past the security doorman and has to wriggle through a large crowd - sheltering from the dark and the rain while waiting for a cab.

Then it happened.

Grandpa took a fall.

Unlike the wet marble stairs, I was neither smooth nor polished. My thongs were no match. This was not any old fall. It was a public, dramatic, me-loudly-crash-landing-on-my-right-shoulder-in-front-of-everyone fall.

At any given moment, a walk around Jakarta can turn into an obstacle course. This is no Nanny State. You have to take care of yourself while working your way through unexpected humps, smooth surfaces and slippery landings. Potatoes - raised as they are on a diet of vitamins O, H and S - find the adjustment perilous.

I let out a gasp as I commenced my decline. I desperately tried to avoid hitting the ground ... slipping across, then down, then across again, then down again before eventually hitting hard ... awkwardly dancing for my life. I heard other gasps on my way down and they weren't from me. They were from the crowd, which by then could be called an audience.

The water and the gasps took me back to a memory I didn’t know I still had. It was the swimming carnival at Hurlstone Agricultural High School. I was in Year 7 and had entered the diving competition, an event requiring the least exertion. My chosen dive was a backward somersault tuck from a standing position: a safe choice requiring no coaching, low difficulty and nottoomuch turning.

Halfway through my dive I heard loud, audible gaps from the crowd. I was no gasp connoisseur but could tell these were not impressed gasps. These were gasps of fear. Scaredy gasps.

The somersault was over before I had time to wonder or worry.

Afterwards I was told that my head had missed the board by about half an inch as I flicked it back to prepare myself for the water. People couldn’t quite believe I had missed the board and told me so, repeatedly. I wanted to tell them that this had never happened during practice .... but how would I know ... maybe this near miss was my “thing”.

After this I retired from diving. Eric the Eel had met Greg Louganis and neither liked what he saw.

Back to the Plaza Indonesia stairs. After landing, I quickly put down my right hand to steady myself as I got up. Time was ticking and my fans were watching eagerly. My hand slipped again and I had a mini fall onto my funny bone, which recoiled and caused me to go down again.

This reminded me of the great flu shot collapse of 1999. I had had a busy week, followed by a flu vaccination, followed by 3 drinks on a Friday night. I was renowned for having unexpected consequences on Friday nights and this was no exception. We got outside of the Erskinneville hotel and I collapsed on the street. I got up, then went down again on my elbow as they called the ambulance.

Back to the Plaza Indonesia stairs. It a bit of scrambling on my part to get up. I can only imagine how this reinforced the image of a big clumsy potato to my new fans.

I heard people shouting the only English they could muster at short notice. Things like "Hey you – ok?" and "Hello Mister You!" and "Taxi sir?" I vaguely recall hearing the word “shoeshine” – a cruel irony indeed. I did not look back at my admirers though. I didn't need any more souvenirs of this moment and walked down the remaining stairs with caution. The thongs were unforgiving and it was still quite precarious, like ice skating at a cheap rink. Albeit with an alert audience.

These were some of the slowest seconds of my life.

I jumped into the cab and headed to the nice restaurant, a fairly fancy example of Indonesian fine dining. As I entered the room I looked down at my white shirt and realized it was covered in street dirt. My shirt looked like it had been smoking for 20 years and had now developed a hack.

It was too late to turn back though so in I walked. I told myself that perhaps if I behaved really nice, or posh, they would think the dirt was a contemporary print? These were desperate measures.

I have a sore shoulder to go with my bruised ego. Newer bruises have also been appearing quite regularly without notice, a flashback to childhood. The front number pad of my phone has also gone missing, so I need to make phone calls with a pen.When I wake up it feels like I had a really tough work-out the night before.

Moan moan moan. I miss my nanny.

Call Centre Bangkok

I used to spend a lot of time helping large organisations find clever ways to make call centres more efficient. These days I help them find even cleverer ways to shrink or eradicate them.

Last Monday I was in a call centre in Bangkok for the day, mostly listening in to calls while observing how the operator works.

This is called “buddying” and is very common for training and assessment. There are 2 things most customers don’t know about call centres:

a) there could be someone else plugged in and listening to your call; and
b) your call is probably being recorded and stored for 6 months.

It’s been years since I was in a call centre. I forgot how incredible it is to see operators speaking slowly to a customer while their hands are going nuts in parallel. They maintain this calm, even script while jumping frantically from screen to for little pieces of information ... compensating for the failures of IT. It is not unusual for an operator to access 8 different programs during a 4-minute call and have 25 applications open at any one time. There is a lot of copying and pasting of your phone number or customer id.

CC Operator is a great job. By lunch time I had decided to spend my retirement achieving 3 goals: a mathematics degree, a weekend job in a corner store and a part time job as a call centre operator.

Most of the calls were in Thai, so I spent my time making other observations.

A Floor Full of Eskimos
On one particular floor everyone was dressed like grannies with rugs on their laps, shawls and bomber jackets. I spotted one girl in a beanie. At first I thought it was theme day. Then I realized. – imagine living your whole life between 29 and 36 degrees, then getting a job where you sit for 8 horus in a room artificially set at 21 degrees. It must be freezing. I can’t even imagine where they could buy this type of clothing in Bangkok.

I’m Not There
2 of the first 4 people I sat with pretended I wasn’t there. Not even a hello. I was sat down by their supervisor and they stared straight ahead at their screens. As I plugged my headset in and made myself comfortable, it was like mounting an old draught horse. My old Clydesdale was just looking straight ahead at the screen, biding her time. This must be what’s it feels like with an old street hooker. I thought about Miss Celie looking at the ceiling, bored while Danny Glover ploughs

In all fairness they were probably just uncomfortable about not speaking English – Thais are generally very to strangers, if a little embarrassed to speak English in an office. It still felt strange though.

What The Fuck Are You Wearing?
I sat next to one girl who was wearing slippers with a big purple felt kitten perched atop. I drew a picture of this slipper, then hid it with my thumb (imagine if I was caught drawing her feet – it would be very difficult to explain). Each kitten had a large green pretty bow its left ear, with sparkles all over it.

I looked across at her neighbour and she was wearing kitten slippers as well. What are the chances? Unfortunately, probably high 90’s.

Fatsville
There was a section on one floor where nearly every operator was quite overweight. It is unusually for Thai people to be overweight, much less a whole department. There are various snacks on every desk – sliced green mango, little sweets or mini biscuits or wrapped things. This is a typical Thai thing, where eating occurs all day. The snacks in Fatsville seemed to be healthier than the other sections. There was more fruit and less refined sugar – so it confused me.

The Gay International Desk

In the afternoon I spent 30 minutes on the “International Desk” - a hotline for grumpy potatoes with slow internet connections.

At last, I could listen to English speaking customers so I needed to be very focused and “catch up” on time I wasted worrying about rugs, snacks and slippers.

My host was very friendly and asked me where I was from (Vietnam threw him) and how long I’d been in Bangkok (1 day threw him) and what I was doing there. I explained that I wanted to see how he used the system, what worked well and what didn’t work well, also what the customers say and think.

“I’m just here to watch – you have nothing to fear,” I lied, neglecting to mention the bit where I stab him in the back in my report to the CEO.

I also mentioned how important this half hour would be for me, especially because I will understand the customers ... so I would really appreciate his help showing me through the software and explaining what he likes and hates.

He smiled while ignoring me. He had picked up on the fact that I was Australian, so turned his phone off and jumped onto Facebook. We spent the next 15 minutes “off line” from the queue while he showed me photos of his sister who is studying in Sydney. I eventually found the nerve to interrupt and ask if he could take some calls.

This guy was a little gay, which not unusual for a call centre but in Thailand is often includes a touch of makeup and a mountain of hair. Asian hair responds well to strong gel.

He was softly spoken, with an ethereal air to him. It was that typically Thai behaviour that appears to be agreeable and caring while actually not giving a damn. This is not to be confused with being grin fucked in Vietnam... because Thai people are not deliberate or malicious about it. It is just a cultural habit to be agreeable and friendly at all times, whether you mean it or not.

And my young gay friend did not mean it at all. I wrote down some of my favourite dialogue from him. You have to remember that the potatoes are mostly task driven, frustrated customers while their operator is kind, gentle, polite, softly spoken and uncaring.

Customer 1
A Dutch woman of about 55:

[Call introduction and request of customer number and password to identify her.]
“Thanks so how can I help you today?”
-- “I’d like to pay my bill.”
“OK please go to the ATM or 711.”
-- “But you just sent me and sms to call this number to do a phone payment!”
“Hmm yes I see but we cannot do that yet …”
-- “Why not?”
“The service is only available in Thai.”
-- “But you sent me the sms in English.”
“Yes the sms is in English but not the payment service. The payment service is only in Thai.”
-- “But why did your company suggest that I call you on this number? Why would I call and give you all these details if you can’t do anything?”

[I wrote down his next sentence verbatim.]
“ Anyway yes but if you do try you can’t do it because you will spend the time for nothing …”
-- “So how can I pay?”
“Hmm yes 711 or ATM ok?”
-- “That's all?”
“Yes.”
-- “OK bye” [click]

These calls were comforting to me. I felt less lonely for I had found others: others just like me.

Customer 2
An Australian guy – about 30 yo and fairly well spoken. He had probably been to a private school, but come from a working class family. He was really pissed off but remained reasonable.

[The operators hears “speak English” whispered into his ear through the headset, then the call drops in.]
“Hello international desk this in Bunchai speaking hair body help shoe?”
-- “What’s wrong with your internet?” [This customer was strong out of the blocks but my operator was stronger]
“Hmm actually I don’t have that information yet but I think you have a problem with your internet today do you?”

Customer 3
This customer also sounded Dutch, female and 50-ish. The technician had not yet arrived to her house.
“Hello international desk this in Bunchai speaking hair body help shoe?”
-- “You said someone would come here in 24 hours and now it’s been 48 hours!”
“Hmm oh 48 hours already? That’s a long time more than 24 hours. Let me find out please”
[Puts her on hold and chases up an answer …]
“OK so they come in next ½ hour. So you have to keep waiting for them longer now.”

More Email Wars

Then this, from the CFO:

Anthony,

I realize from the email below you have concerns. Today is my last day and it is also quarter end so I am probably not going to be able to deal with this matter fully today.

The recent change made in no longer making payments to employees in USD I understood it to be only affecting a small number of transactions like mobile phone allowances for a few people. If I understand your email below it seems that you were receiving some additional payments in US dollars. I need to get HR and Treasury to establish the facts and address the questions below and we will come back to you.

Will come back to you on this as soon as possible.

Regards,

His first sentence cracks me up. I think I was pretty clear in my other communications that I was talking about my pay, not my phone allowance. I imagine him in his tunnel: it is already very well lit, but he is still walking down it searching for more light at the end.

Selective amnesia is the birthplace of changed policies. Everyone needs an "Oh really? I had no idea. That changes everything" clause to cling onto and I hope this one is his.