But How Do You Make Her Stay? And Listen To All You Say?

Friday Prayer (followed by lunch) is an important weekly event. The Prayer and the Lunch support each other in some sort of symbiotic time wasting relationship. The two are inseparable, which is why I call itPrayerFollowedByLunch.

I have already learnt not to schedule meetings during this period. I have also learnt not to rely on Maria for anything on a Friday afternoon. She may not be Muslim but she certainly avails herself of Islam's benefits.

If I need to do anything at this time I make sure it's not with locals. I have blocked time out from my calendar every week to ensure that I don't forget.

In other news ...

This month we have had a lot of people in the office, visiting from different countries. Most of them are working with me and they don't always have access to book our local meeting rooms or conference calls. I asked Maria to help certain people. Then over the last couple of weeks she expanded this catchment area. Maria is even offering her booking service to many of the self-sufficient local people as well; I don't know why.

For some reason Maria makes all these bookings under my name. She has access to my calendar so has decided to use it liberally. This means that *I* receive emails from people all around the world, asking if I can reschedule this or that call or giving reasons why they will or won't attend or asking me what the meeting is about and why they are invited. You gotta hand it to Maria ... ask her for a favour and the punishment is both swift and creative.

I've asked Maria to stop booking them under my name - to user her own name and and on whose behalf. This means that any questions will be emailed to Maria and not me. She promises she will do that, then seems to put the phone down and return to my calendar for more bookings.

Last Friday there was also a problem with my calendar and things were disappearing. Maria had booked a big meeting under my name but many people didn't receive the invitation.

I knew nothing of this until someone who sits nearby me said: "Hey Anthony - are you running the Friday prayer from now on?"\

To provde that this was my calendar's fault, and not hers, Maria sent a screenshot of my calendar to everyone in the group. For reasons of privacy Maria decided to block out details of my remaining meetings, except for one.

This is what she sent to a large group of people that I mostly did not know:

It came with an explanation which read "As you can see from Mr Anthony's calender, this meeting does not appear anywhere".

Of all the things to leave unblocked, why keep the one that makes me look ridiculous? The only think I can be sure of is that this was not deliberate.

I wrote her the following email:

Maria

Please don't send my calendar to people without my permission.

If I want people to have access, I will give it to them.

Thanks

Anthony

I didn't get a response but later we crossed paths in the lift area. She was leaving work for the day and (for whatever reason) dragging a large wheelie bag behind her. I greeted her as we walked past:

A: "Good night Maria. Have a nice weekend."

She turned around, stopped, smiled and said

M: "Mr Anthony your calendar has a problem."

A: "Yes I know. But please don't send copies of my calendar to people."

M: "But then if saying they didn't receive the invitation so I wanting to show them it isn't even in your calendar even when it was before so then the calendar is wrong and they don't think it's another thing."

I felt the swish of bullets as they whistled past my ears.

A: "Next time just tell them there is a problem ... no need for evidence. This is not a court room."

She nodded, quite satisfied with this. At the same time one of the other secretaries walked passed with a friendy "Maria! What is this bag? Where are you going? Somewhere?"

Maria's reply was a curt "Nowhere. Bye"

And with that she waved a perfunctory farewell to the Chairman of Fridayprayerfollowedbylunch, swivelled around on a heel and rattled off towards the exit.

I believe that she was going nowhere. I think the bag is what she uses to haul her sly grog.

Todo Sobre Mi Concha

Indonesia is known as a conservative country.

For one, it's full of Muslims. And Muslims cover their women in sheets. And all that other stuff. Right?

At my gym, the men change very discretely under towels. It sometimes feels like a girl's boarding school from the 1950's, including the leering from the sluttier ones and occasional covert behaviour in the shower room. (I'm not sure what the latter ritual involves, but it's best described as "peeking through the curtains".)

Bloody men, eh?

Last June a local popstar had his laptop stolen from his home and various (consensual) videos of his sexploits were leaked onto the internet. He is now charged under anti-pornography legislation ... supersized by some adultery charges. This could mean 10 years gaol, also known as a decade of non-consensual sex sans video recorders.

One of women in said videos was his girlfriend, a local soap opera star. She must have used all her acting skills to deny this: she claimed it this was a remarkable likeness and has been left alone.

So it's fair to assume that Indonesians are very coy about all that stuff. Right?

Wrong.

Some time ago I posted an entry about a local beauty parlour, which has some inventive ways of markeing its core values. This is their latest offering, just in time for Ramadhan.

I don't know about you, but this gives me a disturbing (and perplexing) visual.

What could this bowtie be made from? (Pubic hair? Henna? Silk?) Exactly where is it positioned? And why? Is it just for formal occasions? Why does the cat have a mohawk?

Call me a traditionalist, but regardless of its origin I believe the bowtie would go perfectly with a pack of Double Long Shock Sea Horse condoms.

There is obviously a whole stack of cunt references here, but I just don't understand them. Stay tuned. Or help me.

She Has Curlers In Her Hair - I Even Heard Her Singing In The Abbey

The office Social Club recently launched a competition, with entries to be posted on their Facebook group.

I have no idea what this competition is for, but Maria has submitted a video entry.

She is dressed as a famous Indonesian pop star, with hair in flowing ringlets which are moving in the breeze. The breeze is being created by a small fan operated by one of her crew. Maria is heavily made up and lip-synching to the pop star's latest hit.

This video also features 2 of Maria's colleagues, playing characters from the pop star's real life: her current boyfriend and his ex-wife. Apparently, before getting with Maria's character, he caught his wife cheating on him and this eventually lead to their divorce.

The boyfriend is played by a small, thin man from level 18. I think he works in the Security office. His ex-wife works on our floor, in Finance. The only other character to appear is the person holding the fan, who inadvertently wanders into frame a couple of times.

About 3/4 of the way through the video, while mouthing some very gentle and loving lyrics, the ex-wife walks slowly behind Maria and the boyfriend. Even though Maria's back is to this woman, she reaches back and gives her a wallop to the head without even needing to look. Further proof of her Jedi skills.

In other news ... today I also received an email from our finance auditor, asking why my receipts have still not been sent to them after repeated requests. Clearly Maria has not been spending enough time at her desk. This has created an increasingly bad outcome for me. However, after seeing this video I'm pleased to know that her time is not being wasted. My financial well-being is a sacrifice I'm prepared to make, for the greater good.

Goddess Of Love

Ramadhan is on. This means that 90% of this country is fasting. They eat at about 4.15am, starve themselves all day, then gorge again at nightfall. Add a bit of vomit in the toilet and you could be at a private girl's school.

Ramadhan is a time of reflection for many. The night before it started, I received about 5 group messages which said "Mohon Maaf Lahir Batin", which translates into a fairly longwinded "Sorry from the bottom of my heart for my wrongdoings, physical or spiritual, deliberate or not, in the past year". So much easier than confession, which might explain why I even got one from a Catholic.

Many businesses make small adjustments. The gym closes earlier. Bars blacken out the windows (or hang shower curtains) so that people can't see their cheersing heathens from the street. Nightclubs don't advertise - or even hold - any special parties. And as I found out last week, some restaurants start serving beer in coffee cups.

"Could we have two Bintang beers please?"

During the day, when fasting is in full swing, I see some of my Muslim colleagues buying food. They claim that they're buying it for Ron but I'm quite sure they sneak a few nibbles for Now.

I spotted a very overweight colleague in the lift last week. People's weight is openly - non-judgementally - discussed. I asked if he was fasting and he said that yes, he was.

Me: "So what time today do you break your fasting? 6pm isn't it?"

-- [rubs his stomach and smiles] "5:55! Have you seen my stomach? 5 minutes is a long time!"

There is a nearby restaurant called Aphrodite (singular), which is strange because there are quite a few scattered around the space. The Aphrodites are quite nude and tittastic ... except during Ramadhan when they clad and covered all the way up to the Hijab.

"Thanks for leaving my handjob hand free ... after all, a girl's gotta eat."

There are some really nice things about Ramadhan, like allowing the slowness and physical weakness to help you calmly reflect on life - often while avoiding work. Also the ritual of breaking fast with friends and colleagues. And the changes in traffic patterns (or more accurately, traffic jam patterns).

Catch A Nanny By The Toe

Nannies came up in conversation again this morning. Surprise surprise.

This time I got some fresh insights into the beggar story. Lia claims that she can sometimes tell it's not the beggar's baby. It's in the way it's being handled. Or occasionally the baby is too pale and chubby to cut it as a beggar.

And yes, most nannies are definitely unhappy with their kids. And their lot. And the kids on their lot. And the lot.

Me: "Apart from rentals, are there any other nanny related scandals that have become well known in Indonesia?"

L: "Actually its quite common to give the kids pills."

-- "Pills? Which pills?" [notice the pique]

L: "To calm them down."

--"Like what pills? Valium? Xanax?"

L: "Probably cheap ones. Like the fakes."

-- "How do they get caught? How do the parents find out?"

L: "Well maybe the kids are slow and not themselves."

-- "But how do they know what it is?"

L: "They see the kids are not normal."

-- "Yeah - but what about the proof? How do they work out that it's pills and not some other problem?"

L: "Well they just know it I think."

-- "But do they ask the nanny? Do they go through her bag? Do they find the pills?"

L: "Probably sometimes. Yes they might ask her."

-- "And would she admit it?"

L: "Of course not. Never."

-- "So where is the evidence? Do they ever get evidence? "

L: "Probably not. They just know it."

Indonesian received wisdom is the best - unsubstantiated, yet incontrovertible.

Toddler starts looking tired for a few days and next thing you know the nanny up on doping charges.

Wonder if she gets an apology after the leukaemia diagnosis? Or when they realise it was from tight shoes.

I still believe they drug the kids, mind. If they have the guts to rent babies to beggars, a few pills in the arvo to quell the whining wouldn't even qualify for nanny training wheels.

And as for why the nannies themselves always look so bored - I'm sure they splitting the stash with their toddlers.

Unpredictable As Weather

Like many couples, Maria and I like to spend time together doing things we both like. Our shared interests are not hiking, nor the theatre; or even tatting. We prefer to spend our quality time doing (and re-doing) my expenses.

Once a week (sometimes twice) I get an update from Maria on how she is progressing with my expenses. She usually tells me how she’s either gone nowhere or backwards, and we giggle like school girls.

Take yesterday for example. I called her to my desk for another round of receipts. She’d done something very strange with a bunch of taxis and I had received a stern warning from expenses audit, You’ve really gotta hand it to Maria – for someone so rarely at her desk, she certainly manages some complicated trickery

I imagined the auditors looking up my details when I resubmit the receipts. In my imagination it is a modern, minimalist crib with no windows and muted mood lighting. People walk by glass walls, clutching folders against their Armani suits. Someone is at their desk with a pile of my receipts to one side. They turn around to the computer and punch in my name – it’s just like an FBI databases on tv. My mugshot comes up instantly with a red “REPEAT OFFENDER” box flashing across my neck. There is mention of slippery old Maria though.

I asked Maria to pull up a chair as I went through the detail. This was going to be a long bonding session. She declined – said she was happy to stand. I offered again, thinking she was too polite but she insisted with an “I’m fine here thanksyou Mr Anthony”. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized why she wanted to stand. To outsiders, this must give the impression that she is helping me; or even coaching me. It looks like I’ve done something wrong and she’s dropped in to fix it.

Our conversation was fairly typical. Most of my sentences began with “Why …” and “How …” and “This doesn’t look right at all …” while her replies began with “I wasn’t sure so I …” or “Because Mr Anthony you …” and the like.

Then our conversation took an odd turn.

Maria: “So anyway Mr Anthony you are divorced hey?”

Yes. [pause] “How do you now this?”

M: “Huh?”

— “I know you heard me the first time, Maria. How do you know I’m divorced? I didn’t tell you this.”

M: “Oh the other people.”

It's always the other people.

— “Which other people?”

M: “I don’t know. Just other people. The gossip. Not me. They just tell me things.”

— “Things like what?”

M: “Just when I come down to see you. To check that I know you’re not married and these joking things.”

— “I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

I didn’t get an answer to that. Which in itself was the answer.

We went back to untangling my expenses for a couple of minutes, before being interrupted by this:

“I'm not getting married.”

— “You’re what?”

“I'm not getting married. Never.”

She added some more firmness to her voice ... that blind resolve that people adopt to mute others from objecting to their shaky arguments ... a là “I just think politicians are all the same so why bother, and that’s what I think!”.

I turned around and looked back up to see if she was joking. She wasn’t. I quickly turned back around, like a school kid caught cheating in a test.

“Why you look at me like that?”

— ‘Like what?”

"Like that. Just now.”

— "Well maybe because you’re Indonesian. You’re expected to get married aren’t you?”

Whenever you ask a single Indonesian if they are married, they do not say “no”. They always say “not yet”. Always. Everyone is either married, or intending to be. Except for Maria, mind …

Maria: “I don’t care. I already told my mother.”

— “Wow. What did she say?”

"Oh ... she starting crying and everything. But I said no. I’m never getting married so get used to it I said no way. Not for me.”

— “Oh. And why not?”

“Because I'm not interesting in being the kitchen. Or the house.”

— “You don’t have to stay in the house just because you’re married."

“Yeah but anyway I don’t want these things so I just say no. I don’t want all the cooking and expected other things. Doing these things for a man or his family and all that.”

— “Fair enough.”

I could have been more encouraging, or curious, but was starting to get bored. So we went back to the taxis. I was in the middle of scrolling through a list of receipts when Maria interrupted again.

“And also I hate babies."

I turned back around to see her smiling slightly. This smile was not Blind Resolve. It was not even Defiance. It was Victory.

“Yes. Hate babies. ”

I wasn't sure if it was a grammatical error or an order. Either way, I could tell this was going to be good.

— “I think I under … me t… why? Why do you hate babies?”

“Loud and naughty.”

Then a pause.

Then this:

“Makes me do something I don't like.”

Dark images of Maria immediately sprung to mind, of her shaking and throwing babies . I froze slightly but maintained my composure. This was going to be interesting.

— “Things ...? Like what?”

Words like infanticide and filicide flashed before my eyes, startling me.

“Just things."

Words like paedophile and sadist lurked around the edges.

“Like all the poo and mess. Babies make too much dirty and I have to clean and wash them and change them. I don’t like that.”

After breathing a sigh of relief, I said:

— “Just get a nanny then.”

“No. It’s not fair. I don’t agree with using other people to look after babies. You should look after them yourself. So I don’t want to look after and I don't want babies and I don't want married.”

I started to get very concerned - not about Maria’s comments, but for me. I must be suffering from a strain of Stockholm syndrome because this was all starting to make perfect sense to me ... .

We finally got to the end of this expenses session. It seemed like the end of an era and I couldn't quite believe there was nothing left for us to do.

— "Do we have any more travel to do now Maria? Is that all?"

"Yes... that's all. Why? You wanna go somewhere else? Say no Mr Anthony. Too much papers and things."

— "No."

And Then A Hero Comes Along

There is nothing about Steven Slater that I don't like.

http://www.smh.com.au/travel/travel-news/raging-flight-attendant-makes-his-own-emergency-exit-20100810-11ul9.html

Nothing.

Nanny Sequitur

My obsession with Nannies is not waning.

Here is a recent photo from the mall attached to my office. (The mall is attached, not the photo.)

This is a very common scene: most mothers meandre around malls with a uniformed nanny in tow. The nanny could be pushing the stroller or carrying the baby or just trailing a few steps behind the happy family.

In posher malls it's unusual to see young children without a nanny. Most will have one each. This is such the norm that I am starting to judge nicely dressed mothers who tend to their own kids. I am starting to scowl at them under my breath with a "What the hell do you think you're doing here without a Nanny?". Or more simply, "Fucking tight arse ...".

Last weekend I thought I spotted a nanny breast feeding but wasn't close enough to be sure. Like most things from 500 years ago, the idea of a wet nurse is gross. As are maggots in pubes.

Back to the nannies.

My objection to these nannyless mothers is somewhat Dian Fossey in nature. I understand that their motives are driven by money - or worse, love. I'm just concerned that the nanny race could become endangered.

I casually drop nanny references into regular conversation ... just to give things a kick. Last night I dunked a couple into the following conversation:

"So anyway ... nannies ... right ..."

-- "Why do you keep talking about nannies?"

"I don't know. I think I'm addicted. Bear with me."

-- "Mmm?"

"Have you ever actually seen one hit a kid? Did your nanny ever hit you?"

-- "No. Not personally."

"But it must happen. They look so bored and mean, looking after those spoilt kids."

-- "You saying I'm spoilt?"

"A bit. Did yours ever hit you?"

-- "Not that I remember. I doubt it."

"Is there ever any scandal about these nannies though? Like in the news?"

-- "Actually there are cases where they rent out the babies during the day to beggars."

Srsly.

There is nothing about this story that is not fantastic.

What's not to love about the idea of Indonesia's most indulged, privileged babies sneaking out with their nannies in the morning to play the Prince and the Pauper?

Here's how it happens. The mother leaves for a day at the spa (or whatever) and the nanny swings into action. Nanny heads off into town and cuts a deal some beggars' version of a pimp. The baby is removed from its cotton wool and re-clad in rags. It is then strapped to a fake mother and soon finds itself weaving through cars in bad traffic.

Your see these these beggars all the time, especially at traffic lights. They knock on your taxi window and shove the baby up to the glass, pleadingly.

I never give money to beggars with children - I don't want to contribute to these kids being out of school. Of course, I now have to reconsider this stance entirely.

The scam - like the nanny - usually comes unstuck when the parents start to notice their babies getting darker and weathered. Sometimes inexplicable rashes appear. Of course when the baby reaches for a pack of cigarettes it's ambiguous. Either way, they usually realise that their babies have been sporting something other than the cotton wool in their absence.

It seems like the perfect scam. Beggars are completely invisible to rich Indonesians. So are nannies. The mother would never recognise her baby even if it came knocking on the window, because she would pretend the knocking isn't happening.

I'd like to imagine that in these cases, the babies go a bit Method and mumble"Fucking tight arse" under their breath as they move on to the next car.

The Meeting

"How did the meeting go with XL go?"

-- "We haven't had it yet."

"But we said you would definitely have it yesterday."

-- "Yes originally it was."

"Actually originally it was supposed to ... why didn't it happen? It was already long overdue."

-- "Yes but then I heard that Felix was on leave for the rest of this week."

"Who is Felix?"

-- "He's the new analyst."

"Do you need Felix to hold this meeting?"

-- "No but he was invited and maybe he would like to know what we decide."

"But last time you delayed the meeting it was because Amir was on leave. And before then it was Prakash. We were originally supposed to have this in mid July and finish the project by today."

-- "Oh yes, but maybe Felix will be back Monday and we will have it then."

"Is everyone else available Monday?"

-- "Yes I think so."

"Think so? Did you check with them?"

-- "No."

"Can you check with them?"

-- "Yes."

"Will you?"

-- "Will I what?"

"Check with them. Check with people that they are available to meet on Monday. If not, tell me who is not available ... but we will need to have the meeting anyway. "

-- "Oh. Sure."

"So how can you check that they will be available?"

-- "Well it's Monday and people should all be back by then anyway so don't worry."

"But that is not a guarantee they are available."

-- "No. But hopefully it will be ..."

"Please phone them as well."

-- "OK. I'll send an email."

"And phone?"

-- "Phone?"

"Yes. Also check by phoning them."

-- "You mean today?"

"Yes. Before lunch please. Phone them ."

-- "Everyone?"

"Yes."

-- "But Felix is on leave."

"OK. Everyone except Felix. Call Felix Monday morning."

-- "Sure boss."

Postscript: Monday was postponed to Tuesday because Felix was not answering his phone.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 11

This afternoon I went to lunch at a nearby restaurant with Budi, an Indonesian friend who was taking me for some authentic nosh.

This restaurant is very large and offers a gazillion choices from across the archipelago. 

The waiter put down a large menu in front of both of us. As he let my friend fend for himself, he sat himself next to me and nestled in. He didn't just invade my body space, he pillaged intimately.

His left hand rested on the back of my chair while his right slowly flicked through the many menu pages, pausing occasionally to point at an item and turn to my face for a sign. It was like he was browsing through a magazine and felt like we were on his break and not mine.

Eventually we reached the back of the menu and his finger guided me gently to the small Western Food and pointed out the Beef burgar [sic]. He turned to me, smiling broadly and nodding slowly like a retarded aunt or a loving clown.

A Clown

I was asking a colleague yesterday if he knew who Maria was. I forget exactly how the opportunity to ask about her arose, but it did.

I noticed a wry smile as he nodded and said that, yes, he did know her.

"Is something funny?"

-- "Nothing. No. Just Maria is ... very interesting." [chuckle]

"Do you think she's a bit eccentric?"

-- "Yes. I think so. Very eccentric."

It's hard to get details out of Indonesians - especially those of the polite Javanese variety. But I will. Eventually.

Let's signal this moment as the launch of my fact finding mission.

And I Never Know Exactly Where I Am

Today Maria approached me and asked if she could have my passport.

This is the 3rd time in the last 4 weeks that she's asked for it. I reminded her that 2 weeks ago she had scanned a full copy of it. So why did she need it again?

Her answer was a bit confounding: something to do with copies or extra pages or something and the embassy was mentioned but I'm not sure which one. I suspected that I was being glamoured, so I just handed it over to save us both the effort.

She was pleased as punch as she skipped off with it.

Something's up, that's for sure. My money's on identity fraud.

How Do You Make Her Stay And Listen To What You Say

For more than a week I have been trying to meet with Maria to understand why she still hasn't done my expenses. Today the meeting was held.

We finally locked in a time this afternoon. Maria arrived at my desk, looking pleased as she annonced that everything was completed and it just needed my approval to submit.

Me: "Let me log in and check it all now, before you go."

Maria: "OK."

Me: "Wow - this is a really slow connection."

Maria: "Yes that's why it took me 2 weeks because it's slow and ..."

Me: "I meant 5 minutes slow, not 2 weeks slow. And actually it's been more than—"

Maria: "... and also gets a connection error. Wait. You'll see."

Me: "Oh! Yeah. Why is that ...?"

So that shut me up quicker than a punch in the mouth. I pressed the button again and it went through but by then the moment was lost.

I needed to rely on memory when I checked the items as I don't keep copies of expenses (no comments please Cheesel). She had missed out a lot of information.

Me: "Maria I've been to Malaysia twice but there's only one trip here."

Maria: "Yes that's what I was confused about. Why you had 2 air tickets."

Me: "One was in May and one was in June. Anyway next time you're confused you should call me and ask me. Please don't just do nothing."

Maria: "Huh?"

Me: "Nothing."

Me: "But anyway these are really late now."

Maria: "Yes I know. The system is very slow."

Me: "What about my flight from Vietnam? Where is that?"

Maria: "Oh—I don't—Didn't—You should have ... OK I'll add that."

Me: "And there are no per diems entered anywhere."

Maria: "You want I put in per diems?"

Me: "Yes. I'm entitled to them and you need to include them - always."

Maria: "Sure. You're welcome"

Me: "I didn't actually ... never mind. So when can you finish these? I want to check them again before they are submitted."

Maria: "Before I go home."

Me: "OK then I'll —"

Maria: "—or before tomorrow lunch"

Me: "Oh. So when then?"

Maria: "Today or tomorrow lunch."

Me: "So before you go home please tell me what you have finished and I will check it. Then tomorrow lunch time I will check the rest"

Maria: "OK Mr Anthony. Bye."

Me: "Hey Maria - sorry. Umm ... wait please. What's this? This says I had a taxi ride in Vietnam that cost me $300,000 USD."

Maria: [laughs briefly, then reverts to a bored, non-plussed look] "Oh so I put USD. It should be local currency actually."

That girl could be my ticket outta here after all. I hope handcuffs are not involved.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 10

We have a security guard on each of floors - not unusual for South-East Asia. In Indonesia, the more proactive ones will lead foreigners from the lift and open the door for us- easing us through the confusion.

My floor's security guard is proactive and gentle and this morning he had a new accessory hanging from his belt: handcuffs.

Everyone needs to swipe their badge before entering the office and there is a "no tailgating" rule. Perhaps he's going to step up the compliance?

Or maybe he tells his wife and kids that he's off to fight some serious crime (rioting mall nannies and the like). Imagine their disappointment when they pay a surprise visit to Dad's work - like when Marge Simpson paid an impromptu visit to her father and realised--as he strapped on an apron and started pushing the trolley down the aisle--that he wasn't the pilot.

As far as I'm concerned, handcuffs should be left in the bedroom where they belong and I'm going tell him this while he's choking and cuffing me in the doorway.