Cutting The Fat

From a facebook profile I just saw:

"Only for people that I know, whom i met in the past or my close relatives. Apologize for the attitude, just want to limit this facebook account to people that I communicate often."

He has 669 friends.

Showgirls

Yesterday I had a meeting with the procurement department of a large company here. These are the people who make the final decisions regarding who will be awarded a large project.

Procurement people are relatively lower-paid, administrative types. Ironically, they are also charged with making decisions worth millions of dollars.

The boss of this department breezed in quite late to our meeting. He was very smooth and slicked back and well dressed. "Natty" came to mind.

His clothes and shoes tended toward nightclub: a little OTT for the office but somehow not tacky. His clothing had to be designer (real designer) and I guessed Versace. Either way, his ensemble was far beyond the limits of his salary. His haircut would not have been cheap either, and I think I spotted a trace of foundation around his eyes. If I had to choose, I would have said he was more ghetto than gay,

How could he afford all this get up?

Singaporean Non Sequitur Number 4

One of my new team members is called Kum Yeung Kok.

Or Keith, for short.

I think I'll call him Dirty Keith.

Catch A Cloud And Pin It Down

I often bump into Maria while I'm en route to somewhere else.

My somewhere elses are not supposed to be on Maria's route - yet I often spot her nearby, chatting or eating. I think it's called Hanging Around.

This morning I realised how she gets away with it.

Maria uses some kind of smoke machine technique. She must crank it up the moment she sees me coming around the corner. By the time I get close to her, I'm so busy wondering where all this fog came from that I forget to ask what she's doing in it.

Like most brilliant techniques, The Maria Method is also very simple:

1. Get to him first. Don't give the boss an opportunity to ask you any questions. Make sure you're the first to speak.

2. Generate urgency. Notify him of a situation where you need urgent answers from him.

3. Make it all his fault. Find something that he hasn't done.

4. Imply that he's interrupted you, and head off in a rush.

5. When things are really dire, give him the thumbs up as you scurry off.

Her method loiters on that lazy end of the productivity curve, where regulars puff away on cigarettes they've scabbed off single mothers. Ergo Maria excels at it.

What does this look like in action? This morning was a perfect example.

Maria took 2 days leave last week without notice. This morning I tried to find her from 8.30 onwards to no avail. I headed out at 10:30 for a meeting. As I my lift opened at the ground floor, we crossed paths. She had her tote bag over her shoulder was clearly just arriving for work. I instinctively checked her bag for signs of bootleg.

In an instant, Maria deftly stuck her left foot out to hold the doors, while at the same time awkwardly twisting her body to look back at me. This was a contortion designed to look at once uncomfortable, yet dedicated (touché indeed):

"Mr Anthony!"

-- "Hi Maria. How are you?"

"Good good but yes about your expenses and everything there I have now done them but I need you to check quickly before submitting ..."

-- "But you didn't send them to me to review? "

"Yes yes - I'll send again [lie] and you check OK?"

-- "They were supposed to be finished last Wednesday."

"I know! So a quick review from you is better OK? I want to finish all today so what time you coming back?"

-- "I have to go to a meet ... I'm not umm ...--"

And with that she released her foot, jumped into the lift and shouted back a "Do it quickly, eh?" and was gone. I didn't see her give me a thumbs up, but I felt it sear into the back of my neck.

Maria was off-line all day and not responding to my phone calls or sms. 5 hours later I still hadn't received that email from her.

By 4.30pm I eventually got hold of her. I asked where she had been:

Me: "Where have you been today Maria?"

Maria: "What Mr Anthony?"

Me: "Where have you been? I was looking for you."

Maria: [pause] "Now just come from toilet."

It's incontrovertible, right? But I persisted ...

Me: "I've been looking for you all day."

There is a long pause. I felt myself receiving a warm hug from a false sense of accomplishment. Then this.

Maria: "Because ... I'm looking for the ... your relocation. So I leave my laptop so i'm signed out from computer. They say give me this, and give me that, but until now I cannot get anything from them. First they ask i have to wait. then they say they will service someone then no one calls for 2 weeks. then they asked me to give screenshot."

Incontrovertible again.

There is very little work value coming from Maria. Clearly I'm in the hands of a professional and it's time to give up.

My only option is to bite my bottom lip and approach her about a potential role in her sly grog racket. Stay tuned.

She'd Outpester Any Pest

Indonesians are very friendly, even in the office. I often have people drop by my desk for a chat - whether I've met them before or not. As the only white person permanently stationed here, everyone knows who I am. Sometimes they sit down and ask me where I'm from, whether I'm married and if I've had lunch yet. In that order.

For those who know me, we talk about various other things. Here is an example today:

Me: "Hi H - how are you?"

H: "Anthony hey! [there is always excited surprise] You know we're not having this meeting any more on Tuesday. [sits down next to me] They've changed management or somethinglikethat and the VP no longer has this project on his KPIs or somethinglikethat so not interested to meet.

Me: "OK. Well let's keep trying though. Just have dinner with him or something."

H: "Sure thing. Hey by the way have you lost weight?"

Me: "I don't think so."

H: "You look like it [looks me up and down] ... in your face maybe?"

Me: "I think it's probably my haircut. Whenever I get my hair cut people think I've lost weight. I drink too much to be skinny."

H: "Yeah maybe. I never drink. Do you drink every weekend? Or every day?"

Me: "More like every weekend. It's too expensive here in Indonesia to drink every day. Why don't you drink? Is it because of religion?

H: "Not really. More cultural I think. None of my friend drinks. [sic] So what about Vietnam? Is it expensive there? [tone of voice is excited surprise again]

Me: "No - it's cheap. About 1/3 of the price of here."

H: "Yeah? Hey Anthony you know Maria?"

Me: "Maria?"

H: "Yeah - Maria W. Maria who used to sit there [points] and then she moved to the 18th floor."

[At that point I realise it's *my* Maria but do not let on.]

Me: "Yes yes I know her."

H: "Well she came up to me the other day and said 'Hey H - I have a friend who sells alcohol cheap - you wanna buy some?' but I said no, because I never drink anything but maybe you could ask her?"

Me: "She asked you what? She has a friend? What do you mean?"

H: "Yeah ... I don't know. Maybe she knows people and they don't pay the tax or something. But you should ask her hey? She says very cheap."

Me: "Thanks for the tip."

So now I know what Maria is doing instead of arranging my phone or managing my expenses. She is bootlegging sly grog to her muslim coworkers. That girl never ceases to impress.

Red Whistle

Jakarta traffic is notoriously slow and painful. Fact.

That's why I moved to an apartment close to the office. My travel time is 15 minutes in normal traffic and 25 minutes in worst case scenario peak hour. Even for this short trip, my newly acquired traffic obsession monitors all signs of danger.

This morning was smooth and my little journey was unmolested by circumstance. Or paedophiles.

However, about halfway along I suddently found myself stuck in a gridlock and only able to move 100 metres in 30 minutes. This was in a normally empty, 100m stretch of road. It was completely jammed so I assumed there was an accident or something.

It did turn out to be an accident, but not quite the type I expected.

As we edged to the front I saw the problem. There was a man wearing dirty brown pants pulled up too high, alongside a filthy baby blue t-shirt which had a tattered "PARKING" patch on one sleeve. He was blowing a bright red plastic whistle and waving his arms like it was nobody's business. This was not ordinary waving and pointing - it was more like a European at the beach, caught in a rip.

I've seen a lot of bad traffic cops here but he was not one of them. This guy was clearly freelancing. A Jakarta peak hour version of the sorcerer's apprentice

As for his audience, no one - not one pedestrian, or driver - was laughing or yelling or showing any signs of frustration. They just seemed to be trying to obey him, even as he urged them to prang into one another.

I was definitely worth the wait. As we passed him, I thought that I must be wrong: that he was possibly legitimate. So I took a double-take. I looked back to see him sternly guiding a minivan into a motorbike with one arm, while urging a non-existent lane to come forward.

He was having a great time and no one was complaining so who am I to pass judgement?

I hope he's there tomorrow.

Falls

Apparently, when we go to Africa in September we are going bungee jumping.

I'm not scared of heights, but don't really like the sensation of falling. I' m more a fan of the roller coaster climb, as it were.

Needless to say when I think about this impending event I've been a bit nervous.

So I logged on for some details of the company that runs it, to put my mind at ease. I expected some safety messages and the like. Maybe thick harnesses and clean, efficient attendants.

I didn't expect to Darren perched up there in his red shorts, ready-setty-going on the edge of a metal grill with a frayed rope tied to his ankles.

Before

Darren looks far too eager, even if there is a camera on him. I wonder if Darren is blind ... new reality tv show where they play practical jokes on disabled people. Perhaps they told him he's at the swimming pool?

Either way, there seems to be something wrong with Darren. He must be sick. Or a Christian.

As if that wasn't enough, they have decided to make it clear that this flimsy rope was not just for show - it's for you. To fall fall with. Here is a "no one could have survived it" shot.

Goodbye, Darren. You were loved.

Then I realised.

This is not a bungee rope and those red shorts are not normal attire even for potatoes on safari and Darren is clearly not well.

This is not bungee jumping. This is euthanasia.

I'm being euthanased ... and without my permission! If this is going to be my Starlight Foundation moment, I at least want a fucking wish.

My wish is that Corey goes first.

And then I'm going to put on some red shorts and jump with my life in the hands of the frayed rope.

My tombstone should imply that I had a reason to jump, like cancer: "We saved him from having to endure a painful death". Otherwise I would seem foolish.

Bloody Women

Last month I removed myself from the Australian electoral roll. I had heard that Rudd was about to introduce legislation to apply retrospective income tax for returning residents and this was the clearest way to demonstrate my non-resident status.

Then Rudd gets kicked out.

Then we get our first female PM (finally) who also happens to be my favourite sitting member. (No filthy puns please Cheesel). She's no Paul Keating, mind, but still great.

Then she calls an election today. Our first evah female PM goes to our first evah female GG to request a double dissolution.

And here's me - a lifetime of taking my voting and my feminism seriously - now unable to vote for a female PM that I admire.

It's not fair. And it's all my someone else's fault.

I have a small loophole ... the enrolment de-listing forms weren't technically signed by me. They were forged on my behalf by a pensioner with cheap make-up and bad hair. If I'm prepared to rat her out then I will be able to vote. She may wind up in the big house while I'll be living it up in the polling booth. It's very, very tempting.

It's only fair, in fact. What to do? I think I'll sleep on it.

And as for you old girl ... sleep with one eye open. That's the price you pay for committing crimes against the Australian public.

Cold Comfort

Must be comforting for Cheesel to hear that she is not alone.

A Will O' The Wisp

New good things about Maria:

Example 1: bribery tips

Maria: "Mr Anthony here is your new Police card."

Me: "What's it for?"

Maria: "You have to carry it with you."

Me: "Why?"

Maria: "In case Police stop you and ask for it."

Me: "Why would they do that?"

Maria: "Just put it in your wallet ok?"

Me: "There's no room in my wallet for another card. Also , I need this card for my residency so I don't want to lose it. Why would they stop me? Like ... when I am drink driving?"

Maria: "Yes. Maybe."

Me: "Then I can just bribe them when I'm drink driving? I don't need to carry this card. I'll just give them money?"

Maria: "No more than 100 thousand, ok?" [It's about $10]

Me: "No more than 100 thousand? For drink driving?"

Maria: "Drink driving or other things. 100 is enough. No more."

Me: "Thanks for the tip."

Maria: "Yep."

Then she turned on a dime and was gone.

Example 2: Dehors

Maria doesn't like being at her desk. This means she will happily do any errand to avoid it - pay bills, top-up my phone, buy stamps, pick up dry cleaning, get me something for lunch. I find this far more useful than booking meeting rooms and conference calls.

At 11:30am today she went for her usual 15 mins Friday prayer-followed-by-lunch. Maria's Friday lunch typically lasts between 2 hours and forever, depending on how many cigarettes she wants to cram into it. I try not to need her on Friday afternoons but at 1:45pm today I needed to call her back for an errand I didn't have time for.

I sent her straight back out to buy phone credit and she reacted as if I had asked her to take the rest of the afternoon off. Which I suppose I had.

Potastic

The potato has finally achived its rightful place.

Wonder what goals I should set for the next year?

Or maybe I've now achieved everything I've ever needed to. Maybe this is it?

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 9

I'm becoming obsessed with nannies.

Just today

Just spotted another one in the office, trailing behind a child who was on the arm of its mother. This one was in a uniform (white, basic pantsuit with pink trim on collars and front pocket).

I guess they came to pick up mum at the office. It's just like having a husband, but without the sex. I hope.

I imagine her barking at the nanny on arrival:

"I'll take it from here, Yanti!"

Just yesterday

During lunch I a woman arrive with her 2 kids and a nanny in a yellow uniform. They sat down at a table of 4. This left a spare seat, because the Nanny remained standing through the meal, in case someone needed something. Anything.

This was in a food court.

I kept trying to sneak a stare and in the end I snuck a photo.

I did not look up at them at all after the photo, just in case they thought I had taken a photo. I try to completely deflect the situation when I am being sneaky like this and never look back at the scene of the crime.

Clearly, though, they all caught me.

Just in general

I keep noticing nannies everywhere, actually. I think it's because they are every fucking where. I was at the mall the other day with a friend and said "Hey look - there's another nanny!"

He just said "What's up with you and Nannies?". I think I also spotted an eye roll in a nearby reflection. The handy thing about the malls here is that there are reflections everywhere. Learn to use your mirrors and you need never miss anything. Much like the gym.

Turns out that whole nanny thing this is not such a novelty for Indonesians, who see nothing odd about all this childcare servitude. Some of them use the term "my servants" to refer to those in their employ.

No wonder the nannies smack the little fuckers when their parents aren't watching. Least that's what I imagine happens.

My Weekend In Pictures

An ordinary weekend in J-town.

Friday evening 19:30

For some reason my taxi stand had no taxis in it. Instead, there were a couple of tanks parked there.

I looked left:

I looked right:

Then an ojek (illegal motorbike taxi) driver in a yellow t-shirt cheerily jumped into the frame.

I took a close-up him before jumping on the back of his bike with my laptop bag and shopping. Looks safe, doesn't he?

The trip could be best described as "knocking the potato's elbows and bags into lots of stuff - mostly other traffic".

Later I found out that the reason for all the security was that the Swiss Ambassador was meeting the Indonesian President nearby. My colleague explained that because Switzerland houses much of Indonesia's wealth, so they take such matters seriously.

Saturday 16:00, the noodle shop downstairs from the gym.

If you've only got enough money for one artwork to adorn your entire noodle store, why not commission a picture of the Ku Klux Klan enjoying your fare?

Sunday Morning, Harvey Nichols

I forgot to take a photo of the t-shirt on the other side, which was even better. It simply said "Cowboys are cooler than Ninjas"

Sunday afternoon, Grand Indonesia

Athletes advertising Reebok.

The age of Sharipova is finally over and we are now embracing the idea of grimacing lesbians endorsing global brands. A fugly way to move product.

A whole city dedicated to Cheesel.

Friday evening, 22:00, beside Loewy's bar and restaurant

Overheard at the bowling green:

"Trish, what's Anthony up to now? Last I heard he had moved to Vietnam."

-- "Oh Madge - he's living in Indoneeeesia now! He's always been interested in other cultures and it sounds like he's really fitting in well."

"That's lovely. I bet he's a hit with the ladies."

All this - and I haven't even included the circumcision or my house warming.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 8

From someone's CV:

Languages

· Bahasa Indonesia = Mother tongue · English = Fluent · Chinese = Poor · Traditional languages = Fluent

Such impressive language skills ... so why does he decide to tell us that his Chinese is fucked?

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 7

There has been a toddler running around our office today making noise.

Every now and then, someone will bring their kid into the office. This is usually during school holidays or some other time when they can't arrange childcare at short notice. It was pretty common in Australia and even Vietnam, where every 6 months or so would be some type of "kids in the office" day. Wot larks.

Nothing unusual about this, right?

Nothing schmuthing

This toddler is being stalked. As he runs along the corridors and between desks, there is someone trailing behind him, wearing a stained yellow t-shirt and looking like an insolent teenager. Come to think of it, she probably is an insolent teenager.

Tha't's right. This toddler comes with a nanny. A bored nanny.

Aren't you supposed to bring kids to work because you have run out of childcare options? What's with the nanny? Why doesn't she take her toddler and her plain face to the mall? Why? Why?

It's confounding.

On the subject of nannies though ... in Indonesia they are quite common. At "nice" restaurants it's not uncommon to spot the family sitting there and the nanny in tow to attend to the child(ren). Sometimes there is a kids table and a couple of uniformed nannies serving them.

Even the gym offers childcare. Just dump your kid in the bright yellow room and a grim nanny appears to look after him.

Because that's the thing: Indonesian nannies are always grim.

Bored and grim, in fact.

Or more accurately ... bong-smokingly bored and infanticidally grim.

Scissors

I received an invitation on my desk today from a colleague.

His son's face was splattered all over the card like an American milk carton. It was all in Indonesian so he explained it was a party for his son. This Saturday from 11:00-14:00.

Me: "Oh ... is it his birthday?"

Him: "No. It's his - umm - scissors."

Me: "Scissors?"

Him: "You know ... [starts peforming a one-act play]"

I'm not good at charades so it took me a while. An embarrassing while, as it turned out, but I finally got what he was saying.

This Saturday I'm going to a circumcision. A three-hour circumcision.

There are so many concerns I have about this but two in particular are playing on my mind:

1. What do I wear?

2. What do I bring?

3. Would it be impolite to turn up drunk?

I know that's more than 2 ... but who do you think you are? Maria or somethink?

How Do You Solve A Problem

Maria is helping me get a postpaid phone number.

Just like in Vietnam, it requires an enormous amount of paperwork including full copy of passport (all pages), mother's maiden name (slutface), etc.

After a strong nudge, Maria filled out as much as she could and came to my desk to guide me in the remaining areas.

Me: "Religion? What should I put?"

Maria: [laughs] "Something. I don't know. Just put Christian."

Me: "Really? Isn't religion like Catholic or protestant or something?"

Maria: "Christian. It's stupid. No one cares."

I didn't bother clarifying whether Maria considered the question itself to be stupid, or the Christian.

The next section was Marital Status, which I loved because there were only 2 options:

1. "Married"

2. "Not Yet Married"

Finally we got to hobbies.

Me: "Hobbies? They want to know my hobbies?"

Maria: "Yeah. Just write 'hanging around'"

Which I did.

It was only later that I realised she may have been trying to insult me. Other secretaries would suggest that I may like golf. Or swimming. Or reading.

Not mine though. Maria seems to feel that the most her yet-to-be-married christian boss could amount to in his spare time is to hang around.

And she's kinda right. Ok mostly right. OK right.

I like her pluck.

Farewell Trend

Last time I thought it was a one-off but there seems to be a pattern in the farewell emails here.

This farewell email just came through, with the following final sentence:

"Lastly please accept my humble apology should any of my action, thoughts, expressions or words caused displeasure or misunderstanding to you."

It's cute.

Strange but cute.

Copas

I've just had a new entry approved in Urban Dictionary:

Copas

Please vote for this one. I have a chance of winning this race.

And while you're at it ... throw a bone the potato's way. It's still hovering at number 2 with little hope ... the Optus of Urban Dictionary.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 7

Me: Please make this your priority. We need to prepare now because the Jim will arrive Monday and only stay for 5 days.

Arup: Good.

Arup: That gives me some breathing time.

Me: Arup Why?

Arup: Oh I just read your sentence again. there is no breathing time right?

Me: Correct. no breathing. so chop chop please.

Arup: What Job?

Me: Never mind.

Arup: OK thanks Anthony.

Me: You're welcome.

Arup: :)

If this ever starts to feel normal, I need to leave. Or will be in so deep that I can't.

Maria Non Sequitur Number 1

For the last 3 hours, Maria has been wandering around the office with a bright lime green polyester handbag. I think she's trying to sell it because she held it up to me and asked if I'd pay 30,000 for it (about $3).

As I walked to my meeting room and saw her sitting in a pod, still clutching the green bag but surrounded by young men. They were all distracted from their work and chatting away in Indonesian

As I walked away I heard the word "Anthony" followed by a lot of laughter. A lot.

"This can't be a good sign," I thought to myself, so I turned around and said in perfect Indonesian slang "Hey - I understand what you're saying."

But I didn't understand. This is just a phrase I rehearsed to help me fit in. Fucking backfired.

A Flibbertigibbet

Excerpt from a conversation with Maria today:

Me: i need you to get 2 things quite urgently - we can discuss them when you come to collect the document.

Maria: will come after lunch.

Me: time please?

Maria: around 1

Me: ok fine but remember i have a long meeting at 13.30 so please don't be late.

Maria: ok

Maria: ok

I think that second "OK" was a little unnecessary. I spotted Maria's eyes rolling over it.

People in Indonesia take lunch very seriously and the default response to questions about when anything will be done, or anyone will be available, is "after lunch". While lunch typically goes from 12-1pm, After Lunch can be any time from 3pm to 8pm. However, when someone uses this timeframe on a Friday morning it usually signals that you will be chasing this again on Monday afternoon.

So in the end Maria came straight down. I don't think she liked the idea of having to wrap-up her lunch early. So I asked her of course:

"So you don't have lunch now?"

-- "Yes but my friends are leaving in 15 minutes later and I am eating at the EX so it's going to be a longer time to get back."

"But EX is only 3 minutes walk from here"

-- "Yes ... [big sigh] ... but ...[eye roll] ... I have other things like maybe stopping to look at things and also for smoking."

I couldn't argue with that. While Maria may be a bit slow off the cuff, and her excuses were lame, the confidence in her delivery was remarkable.

I then signed something for her. This elicited the following observation:

"So you're a left?"

-- "Left handed? Yes. It's very unusual in Indonesia isn't it?"

"Yes but also me. They say we will die earlier"

-- "You mean from smoking?"

"No. From left handed. Left handed die young."

-- "OK"

I still mumbled "smoker" under my breath. A whispered attack from someone frightened and on death's door.

On balance, though, I saw this as a breakthrough. Maria may be taking me down, but in this instance she's prepared to take a bullet with me. And she called me young.

Nearly dead, mind, but young. I'll take that.