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.

Upping The USD Stakes

Late last night I needed to up the stakes on my Payment Financial Crisis (PFC), especially because today is payday. So I sent the following note to the Finance people.

I assume it is company policy to only pay employees into the bank accounts that they have requested?

Please note that I have not yet given any permission to use an alternative account for payment.

If this means the payment is delayed, then please delay it.

Cheers

Anthony

I figured that at the very least, it would fuck-up today's payroll. Teach them how "short notice" feels when things are important.

I received nothing after 3 hours so sent the following:

Please advise status here.

This resulted in me receiving the following clarification:

Hi Anthony

The changes are not made by myself. I just the one who worked with you directly. I believe CFO will soon advise you the status of the payment.

Thank you for your email.

Trang.

So all of a sudden she has nothing to do with any of this. From axe-wielding bank account changerer to wallflower.

I sent the following response:

I don't think the CFO actually processes the pay today.

You originally emailed me that you would be changing my bank account to the VND account. If it was not you, then who have you passed my information to?

Please advise:

1. If anyone has already changed by profile so that I am paid into the VND bank account

2. If anyone has processed my pay already today

If yes to 1. or 2., please tell me which person has performed this task.

Anthony

So far I have received no response.

My Morning

2.45am this morning:

I call the hotel reception to request a wake-up call for 5.15am. I need to be in a cab by 5.30am.

3.15am:

I am lying lie in bed, trying to get to sleep. Things are worse.

3.16am:

I have passed the "one hour and something till I have to wake up" barrier. I am still awake.

5.15am:

I receive the wake-up call and try to sound fresh and cheery when I answer ... just to see if I can.

Today tastes like stomach flavoured mothballs.

I'm A Believer Since Going To India

I believe that if you need a 4-step instruction guide on a bathroom hand towel dispenser, you have a design challenge. Blame the towel, not the great unwashed - or in this case, the great washed.

I also believe that people who carry cameras into public toilets need to be treated with suspicion.

I believe that if an elevator breaks down in a small building in Bangalore, you will not be rescued within a few minutes.

I believe that if you are going to fumigate the hotel poolside dining area the guests should be given some notice, particularly in countries with a recent history of terrorism which targets foreigners staying in fancy hotels.

I believe that 19 January 2010 is premature to be awarding "Hotelier of the Century", especially given the previous belief. Must feel good to get it out of the way, though.

Income Tests

After my request to continue being paid in a real currency, I received the following from our CFO:

Anthony,

You are a local employee in Vietnam. Under the we should not be making payment to any person or company in Vietnam in USD.

All local payments must be in VND, even if the transaction was contracted in USD. All payments by the company to you needs to be in VND. I hope you understand that.

Regards,

Our CFO is a potato, here on assignment from Singapore. I am sure he is being paid directly from the Singapore office and not in VND.

I replied:

Sorry. No. I don't understand.

I have good reasons for requesting this, eg protecting my interests.

Trang's email makes no mention of any recent changes to local law - nothing but an unannounced shift in company policy.

Regardless of all that, my contract was written in USD with an assurance (before, during and afterwards) that I would be paid into a USD bank account.

There is no mention of VND in my contract or any other supporting documentation.

My initial financial briefing in Hanoi, from the international tax advisor you provided, advised me to ensure I'm paid in USD and not VND.

Your email below states a rule but does not explain:

- why you agreed to pay me in USD in the first place?

- why an independent financial advisor appointed by you also recommended the same payment approach?

- why the sudden change in policy?

- why are so many foreigners I know paid in USD in other Vietnamese companies, including reputable multinationals?

- how can I "legally" change my money from VND to USD at a fair price?

- do you think it's acceptable for your employees to fish around for my alternative bank account numbers and decide for themsevles which one to pay me into?

- what other avenues are still available to me?

If any such rule exists in Vietnam, I am surprised why it is not being applied to all foreigners working here (including you). This type of law is usually applied on the same basis as working permits, where it doesn't matter who pays you but where (and why) you are working here. Therefore, if you are paid for performing duties within Vietnam for the benefit of a Vietnamese based company ... you are equally in tax and in law. I assume you have explored whether own pay is supposed to be converted from SGD into VND under this law?

What would you do in my situation? Just leave several thousands of dollars behind in Vietnam, feeling upset and hard done by?

Anthony

I can't help but think that the timing of all this has a remarkable "fuck you" flavour to it.

I don't need a crystal ball. I can see this all ahead of me. I have to fight this. But it's going to be so painful and thankless.

Black Gold

Today I signed my contract and will start in Jakarta at the end of April.

I also received an email from our Vietnam Finance department to inform me that my future salary will not be paid in USD. It will be paid in Vietnam Dong, which cannot be easily converted into hard currency unless you go to a gold shop (any gold shop) and accept a shit rate. Even the bank will send you to a gold shop.

I received an email, which I think was mocked-up to look like a forwarded email. It has no previous date/time trail on it; just this text:

Dear Anthony

Until today I have not received feedback from you. However, accounting has advised me your VND account. Thus please be advised that from this month we will transfer your salary to the following account:

A/c Number: 021-244216-031

Beneficiary Bank: HSBC, Hanoi Branch

Other details: 83B, L y Thuong Kiet, Hoan Kiem, Ha Noi

Thank you.

Best Regards,

Trang

__________________

Dear Anthony,

From Mar 10, all payments for employees from Vietnam will be paid in VND. Therefore, could you please kindly advise me your VND account for salary transfer?

Below is required information:

- Account Name:

- Account Number:

- Bank Name:

- Branch name (ie. This bank is a Head Office or Branch. If it is a branch, please advise the name of this branch)

- Detailed Bank Address:

Thank you.

Best Regards,

Trang

This original email was never sent. It is not in my mail or archive. I think she forgot to send them in time, panicked and knocked up some history. And not very well. My forgeries are impeccable and it's sad to see how far someone has to go.

My reply was thus:

Dear Trang

1. I did not receive this email from you. I have also checked my email archive and there is no record of it.

2. You do not have permission to change my bank accounts for payment. Asking a friend in Finance for the number is not my definition of "permission"

3. My agreement was to be paid USD. I have it in my contract. I already have a problem with considerable travel expenses which you have forced me to have reimbursed into VND even though nearly all expenses are incurred outside Vietnam.

4. I am leaving Vietnam at end April ... so please consider making this an exception until then?

5. I repeat - I did not receive your original email. Please give me the exact date and time it was sent and I will ask someone to investigate.

Cheers

Anthony

This has got success written all over it. Well at least, someone will have it written all over them.

Eh Père! Hands Off!

I was very surprised to hear this news because always hated Jenny. So I don't know what HeyDad saw in her.

What was wrong with Debbie? Or Nudge?

Time for me to reveal some of my own "Hey Dad!" horror stories, of which there are many. My worst occurred after a long day picking grapes ... the only channel we could get was playing an episode of Hey Dad!, dubbed into French . (In its day, Hey Dad! was quite popular in France.)

So sorry, Jenny, but your story does not quite compare to mine thankyouverymuch. Take a number.

The conspiracy theorist in me believes that Jenny's molestation was planned from the beginning. Otherwise the show would have just been called "Dad"; or "Père" as the case may be.

The alternative theorist in me blames it on the Wardrobe Department. They were the ones who dressed him up like a paedophile and they must have known that he was a Method Actor.

Surely you can't send HD to prison for being a good actor?

Teen vietnam sing The show perfect and so surprise!

I don't know why, or how, but this girl has become a bit famous.

Her singing is not only considered a perfect rendition of this song, but cute as a button. The locals are stating their pride at this achievement. An accomplishment not just for her but for all of Vietnam.

I like the end of the lyrics: "I want my money back. I want my money back."

Now there is a sequel to this horror story. She does Elvis.

Meow Meow

I remember the days when reading an article like this created a little twinge of demand, not fear.

A: "Apparently this Meow Meow causes palpations, nose bleeds, muscle tension in the face, paranoia and insomnia."

B: "Fantastic. Sorry but I didn't catch the beginning - did you say you had some spare?"

This would be funny - er - if it wasn't true.

It doesn't create demand in me any more. Or fear. Just a few jelly beans.

Just Because

Lemon Cat

It Only Smarts At First

Thanks to one of the most famous Bollywood films of all time, my first name is easily understood by all Indians and all their neighbours, including their enemies.

Uncanny likeness. es.

Thanks to Anthony Hopkins, the rest of the world seems to understand my name on first attempt. The "th" sound is sometimes a bit wet, but most people are still heading in the right direction.

I realise how much easier this makes my life when I hear the Pauls or Pats trying to introduce themselves. They quickly learn to respond to Born or Bat, respectively. I shudder to think what Lionels would do here: no wonder I've never met one.

Another benefit of my name is that I think I am our only employee in this region to be called Anthony, which saves me a surname. However, I work quite closely with another Anthony who is based in Ireland.

Yesterday in the office I heard the word "Anthony" bob up out of a sea of Indonesian words. I naturally thought they were referring to me and interrupted thus:

F: "Gobul Guk Gobul Anthony Guk Gobul Guk Anthony Gobul Guk Gobul"

Me: [looks up] "Huh? What? Did someone say my name?"

F: "Oh we're not talking about you ... we're talking about other Anthony"

Me: "Who? What. Other. Antho--?"

F: "You know. The one from Ireland."

A few weeks ago Irish Anthony had mentioned that he was visiting Singapore and asked if he should pop across to Jakarta. I booked him in to deliver some training. I was in India and missed him.

Me: "Oh! That's right - he was here last week right? Hey how was the training? Was it good? He's a really smart guy isn't he?"

F: "Yes. Very good. Yeah he's smart. Hey - so we don't mix you up - we should call him Smart Anthony."

Me: "Oh. Really? Then what would you call me?"

F: "You're Dumb Anthony."

Me: "Really? That's why I get?"

F: "Smart Anthony travels the world, doing his own thing, plenty of time to create pretty presentations for me to copas. Dumb Anthony works more and gets paid less. More pay and less work ... that's pretty smart, no?"

Me: "I suppose so. But why do I need to be Dumb Anthony?"

F: "That's all we have left. Smart Anthony and Dumb Anthony."

Me: "Oh."

F: "And we already met Smart Anthony last week, as you know ..."

Me: "All Irishmen are drunks and liars."

F: "Maybe. Anyway I'm running late to a meeting now. OK so see you later, Dumb Anthony."

Me: "See you later."

As he walked away I heard him mumble "Dumb Anthony" to himself under his breath ... then shake his head and chuckle.

There Are No Secrets In Vietnam Part 127

Yesterday I received the following email from my landlord in Hanoi:

Dear Anthony,

I hear that you are going to work in Indonesia, so i wonder if you leave sooner that the schedule? Sorry for this question if it brothers you!

Best regards,

The Anh

Does this brother me? Of course it does.

Most leases in Vietnam are a minimum 12-month obligation. If it finally happens that I move to Indonesia, I will need to break this 12 month “schedule”.

This is why R's landlady thought she could keep his bond (and his sex toys) when he left.

However, before signing my lease I asked for a clause to be included – that I could only break it if I was transferred to another city. I planned my potential escape early. 'This would not be in my control', I pleaded calmly while adopting a pathetic and thin look on my face. '... but don't worry because it is very unlikely', I said truthfully.

It is painful enough for me to sit in limbo about this, much less drag others through each laborious step.

If it does happen, I will upset some people (especially my landlord).

If it doesn't happen, I don't have to upset anyone.

For this reason, I didn't want to tell the landlord anything until it was 100% confirmed. I didn’t want to worry him until I was sure and could clearly communicate an end date, my plans etc.

I couldn't work out how he could have known.

Then I remembered.

I told one person about this.

ONE!

PERSON!

I wanted to give Hao as much notice as possible to find another job.

Perhaps she spilled the beans when I informed her that she wasn't coming with?

Hao has obviously been using the garage for more than parking her bike. She must be stopping periodically for a little chat with the security guard. He would invariably chat with someone else, who would eventually tell ... my landlord.

As it turns out, the little birdy just sang-sand-sang her heart out.

Every time I leave the apartment I have to tell my security guard where I am going. I'm off to eat, to play, to shopping, to work ... doesn't matter; he gets an explanation each time. This is not for my personal safeguarding, this is just pure and simple Vietnamese nose.

I don't leave them with much to dob about me, except for the occasional late drunken return. Hao, on the other hand, has plenty of dirt to share with the team.

I imagine them laughing about crumbs found around the couch on a Monday morning, or booze bottles found in the bathroom. I see her reenacting my life for the security guard and his extended family ... exaggerated chewing and drinking gestures, followed by a demonstration of her belly and face getting fatter an fatter.

They are sitting there in stitches.

I see her rolling her eyes on leaving, regaling them on exit with a quick tale about shower fungus or toothpaste lids being left off or some other inflated crime. As she roars off on her bike, she leaves behind a trail of shocked faces; mouths agape and frying pan eyes.

That Moment (Шинель)

Arrived at Jakarta airport this evening.

I was 4 hours late due to a flight delay from Hanoi ... which then made me miss my connection in Singapore ... which then meant that I ... I ... you get the idea.

By the time I got to the front of the Customs queue I was quite tired; feeling a little Kafkaesque, even. I was also a distracted by am impossibly yellow shirt beside me and as I was recoiling from its glow I missed my cue to step forward.

The person ahead of me had already finished. When I turned around to the front, away from the yellow glare, I enacted that little startle that customers do when they suddenly remember where they are. I think it’s called “and then he came to”.

As I scuttled towards his desk the Customs Officer stared at me, gently unimpressed. He was about 25 years old and looked quite normal. He is midway through growing his beard, which in Indonesia can take anywhere from 6 months to 3 years.

As I handed over my passport and Arrival card he was looking around distractedly, like he was at a cocktail party looking for better people.

Or perhaps he, too, was avoiding the glare of the yellow shirt? Perhaps it was a random hunt for chicks? Either way for a few, long seconds he seemed unaware I was there.

Eventually he looked down at my passport and started flicking through the pages.

He located my entry visa and then came the photo-face-id check.

He looked up at my face, solemnly. I stared back, also solemnly but trying to appear kind. I always go for 'kind' in Customs.

He looked down at my passport again and then back up at me. This time he took a more detailed scan. As his eyes darted across my face I tried to hold my head still; to make it easier for him. I always go for 'easy' in Customs.

This identification process was taking much longer than usual and I was getting confused as to why. He looked down at my passport again -- this time for just a couple of seconds -- then quickly back up, like he was trying to catch me doing something wrong. I stayed still, staring directly at him with glum kindness. He stared back at me for a while. I stared. He stared.

Then it happened.

We both burst out laughing.

It was as if - in that moment - we had suddenly realised how ridiculous both our lives were. Or at the very least, how ridiculous this moment was.

We continued giggling, mildly to ourselves, until three stamps from him gave me my cue to leave.