White Teeth

I'm writing this post from the breakfast area at the Grant Hyatt Jakarta, where I am receiving the most appalling treatment.

Appalling, I tell ya.

It started this morning, before I even got to the restaurant. Exactly 15 metres before, in fact.

I got out of the the lift. As I turned right and around the corner I could see 4 uniformed people in the distance. They were all standing at the counter doing nothing (this is Asia, remember).

Each looked up, and smiled, and shouted at me in non unison "Hello Mr Anthony! Good morning Mr Anthony!". I smiled sheepishly, nodded and looked down as if I'd dropped a hankie.

As I got closer there were repeated, louder greetings from this gaggle. Or at least they seemed more conspicuous. "How are you Mr Anthony?" and "Are you here for breakfast Mr Anthony?", the latter providing a bit of a Der Fred moment.

I walked past them, nodding and bowing, and entered the dining area. 2 people broke from this greeting pack and trailed behind me as I headed to a table. It was more stalking than trailing. I would call it "friendly" stalking, but what stalking isn't?

Once I had picked my preferred table, my stalkers stopped and smiled and pointed at it as if they had selected it. But they didn't do anything. Nevertheless they used waving hand gestures, like this table was an overpriced item on Sale of the Century.

I dumped my laptop onto the table and headed out to forage for food. I was still being followed as the Maitre d' walked past us with a cheery "Good Morning Mr Anthony! How are you this morning pak?! Are you here for breakfast?". I looked him in the eye, smiled back and nodded a friendly "Der Fred" in return.

I headed past the various counters on my way to the egg station. Most counters have people behind them dressed in chef whites. They are there to ensure the potatoes don't have to pour their own juice, or cut their own cheese or whatever. Voices beckoned at me as I glided passed them.

It was one dumpy panini cooks after another skinny juice attendant after yet another bored looking toaster monitor. Each smiled and shouted out to me "Hello Mr Anthony" and "Good morning Mr Anthony!". (This may seem repetitive to you, so just imagine experiencing this horror in person.)

It felt like a mashup of 3 hideous memories:

a) That part in Amadeus where Salieri is being wheeled through the asylum.

b) That part in Silence of the Lambs where Clarice Starling is walking to her first meeting with Hannibal Lector. None of the kitchen staff at the Hyatt flicked cum on my face on the way out (as far as I could tell) I'll bet that at least one person would have called me a cunt, even if it was in Indonesian and under their breath.

c) That evil "It's a Small World" ride at Disneyland, where you sail by sinister miniature dolls in traditional dresses, singing at you. It's a cheery and dark and small and synchronised small world. And you just know it's Stephen King's small world; not yours.

This mash-up was eerie and I wished them all dead; or at least blind and mute.

In the 30 seconds it took me to get from the front counter to the eggs I had been individually greeted - using my title and first name - at least 12 times. I'm not exaggerating.

I am never - EVAH - going to complain at the Hyatt again. Unless it is to request that no one may greet me, or look me in the eye, while on set. Which is kinda Tom Cruise. Pre-couch Cruise.

By the way, Indonesians have very good teeth. I have been flashed by enough of them to be an authority on the matter. White and strong. This is in stark contrast to the rows of lima beans which fill the mouths of most Vietnamese people.

The Avalanchidence

A little photo montage of the other night.

You can see my balcony here, overlooking the scene.

I think my assumptions about a potential avalanche were reasonable.

Imagine this at 3am, with the old lady and various others from downstairs wandering around the street, calmly supervising the security guard driving it.

I think my fears about the security guard commandeering this earth digger mover thingi in the middle of the night were also quite reasonable.

The fact that this same security guard does his shift in a beautifully tailored grey suit is small comfort. It seems to make him less qualified for the earth moving job, not more.

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.