Do you have my Laundry Bag?

Last weekend my local laundry didn't return my drawstring laundry bag (linen) with my clothes. It's a really nice bag that I stole from the Shangri-La hotel in KL, so worth keeping.

This morning I went back to the laundry and asked her if she had it. She had no idea what I was talking about. So I performed a mime, using a bag (plastic) as a prop. Still nothing. Act 2 was based on the theme of "last week". Nowt.

This needs to be done in Vietnamese. So today I asked my colleague to write down a phrase to ask for it. I told her maybe it would be good practice. This is what she wrote:

Cho tôi hỏi chị có thấy cái túi giặt là của tôi để quên tuần trước không? Cái túi vải (không phải nhựa) và màu trắng.

This is fucking ridiculous. I do no know what one of these words means. Surely there is a shorter way to say "Where's my laundry bag?".

Nevertheless, I have printed it out and I am going back there tomorrow. I am going to take out that phrase and make her listen to me struggle through every syllable until she understands. I am not going to show her the paper. As I've always (always) said, if the laundry lady keeps your linen bag you must be sure to make her next counter experience as painful as possible in order for them to never do it again.

Clean Sweep

Part of my rent includes a cleaner three times/week.  In the lease I nominated Monday, Wednesday and Friday as my cleaning days.

This means that every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning I have a mad scramble to clean up before leaving for work: making the bed, putting rubbish in the bin, washing up etc.

During my apartment hunt I looked through many "occupied" apartments in Hanoi. This was often while they were being cleaned. I was amazed at how messy they were, with shit everywhere and caps off things and food out and clothes strewn everywhere. 

Around the same time, I read a blog about how lazy and lordy the foreigners become with the maid service. I'm not that type of foreigner. I'm the type of foreigner who doesn't know how to negotiate his lease. And now needs to manipulate the maids to fill the gaps.

So I'm now trying to manipulate my cleaners into doing more for me, via a carefully crafted exercise in reverse psychology. And it's working.

Compared to the Filthy Potato apartments I saw previously, I am a saint. I want there to be so little for them to do in the apartment, that they are compelled to do other things. On average, they would have 1-2 hours cleaning in the other apartments and in mine there would be 10 mins.

Last weekend I generated (and binned) a lot of rubbish and my bin was overflowing. 

On Monday I came home to find an extra bin in the kitchen. They also found some leftover baguette that was on a plate and delicately balanced it across two glasses. I don't know what it meant, but it was considered so I liked it.

I have been using a shelf in my wardrobe to keep dirty clothes. I don't know how to use the washing machine so the pile is growing.

On Wednesday a lovely green laundry clothes basket was left in the bathroom. No written warnings or letters for me to sign. Just new stuff provided by those with the real power in the building.

I eventually found the user manuals, in German only, and attempted to do a load of towels. I couldn't work it out so left the towels in the washing machine and the powder next to the machine.

On Friday morning during my clean up, I raised the stakes. I took out clean dishes and cutlery and piled them up on the sink as if I'd washed them myself. I am doing my bit.

I arrived home to find towels washed, dried and folded. There were also flowers in the vase. And there was an apple resting on the manuals for the washing machine, keeping them open at the right page.  I don't know what it means, but I am beginning to like these fairies.

My next step is to keep the apartment SUPER clean over the weekend. But I won't do my washing. I will leave the lovely green basket sitting neatly beside to the washing machine full of clothes.

If this works, the iron and the ironing board out are coming out by Friday at the latest.

When I get them into the full swing of executing a total care and maintenance framework--and only then--I will start to crank up the mess.

Dirty Stupid Fat Potato

When I was travelling in Vietnam last year with Scott*, we made up a nickname for all westerners: they are potatoes. While the original usage of potato in slang was quite specific**, we rebadged it to refer to all foreign whiteys.

Here's why. Compared with the locals, we are bigger and fatter and whiter and often a bit of a sweaty mess. Combining these attributes with poor language skills and a low tolerance for heat, we must look like potatoes. Common variants are "fat potato", "stupid potato", "dirty potato" and so on. 

Once you understand this, you must realise that most daily events are designed to reinforce your current potato status. Likewise, I now use this term to explain all situations where I don't get my own way, am not understood, or am generally potatoesque. I know my place.

For example, yesterday I went to buy a bottle of water and I tried to say "How much?" in Vietnamese. She didn't understand. So I said it again. She still didn't understand. So I said it again. She shook her head. So then I tried English. No result. So then I pointed to the water and pointed to my money and said "Dong". She held up 6 fingers and I paid.

As I paid, I mumbled audibly to myself: "Fuck off and stop wasting my time you Dirty Stupid Fat Potato".

_________________________

* Not his real name. His real name is Ben.

** Etymology note. Westerners who primariliy chase Asian men are called "Rice Queens". Asian men who primarily chase westerners are called "Potato Queens".

Callback's a Bitch

I called Huyen, the Manager at Amici's, to ask about my shirt and tie.

It took a while to explain what I wanted (for the first few minutes she thought I was placing an order). But when we got to the topic she realised who I was.

Huyen's feeling is that if this had happened at the store, no problem. However, it happened 2 minutes after I left the store. There is justnoway she can prove whether, within said 2 minutes, I had tampered with the lid or not. ("I was not there. You were away. How can I know what happened?")

I explained to her that I drink coffee every day. And my ability to drink coffee is quite advanced. And this has never happened before. And this is not my fault.

She had a giggle and said "I don't know what the problem is. I don't understand."

Me: "Please, Huyen--"

H: "It's Huyeern"

Me: "OK. Please Huyerrn--"

H: [Giggles]"No it's Hiuarrn"

Me: "OK Please Hiuarrn"--

H:  "No no it's--"

Me: "Can we get back to the coffee please? Please ... [pause, decide to merge her name into the next word]... Hiuarrnderstand please that this is not my fault. Your product was not made correctly."

H: "You tell me this. But I don't know. They don't tell me this. You tell me this only."

Me: "Huh? Hiurnyway ... Can you give me the phone number of the owner?"

H: "No. He is not here."

Me: "Can I speak to him?"

H: "No. I can pass him a message."

Me: "Here is the message. Tell him that I live at number 56 on your street. And your coffee is good but it is expensive. And you have many foreigners in your cafe. If he does not do the right thing I will tell many, many people not to come back to your cafe ever again. So give him my number please. Ask him to call me. " [Of course, little beknownst to Hrrryeeennn, I know no one here.]

H: "Ok. I will tell him."

I don't think she gave a shit though. Time will tell.

Coffee sequel

Went back last night to claim my shirt and tie. No one had a clue what I was talking about.

Not a good sign for me.

The manager? She will be in at 10am tomorrow. Her name is Huyen and they gave me her mobile.

Not a good sign for them.

It's much easier to get a shirt washed than change your mobile number.

Je te plumerai la tête

This was carefully selected from last weekend's lunch menu. It was listed as "Roast Pigeon", so I assumed would be like in Egypt, where they stuff it with rice and it looks like a kind of roulade.

Presentation is everything with this dish.

I think it's a lovely touch to deep fry the pigeon's head and perch it atop its dismembered carcass.

Having now been through this ordeal, I can tell you it's a lot more difficult to remove the head from the neck. I have a new-found respect for Al-Quaeda.

Of course, by the end of the meal, the plate tells a different story:

There is something quite disconcerting about the pigeon's head lying there, at the top of the plate, contemplating its own remains ...

[Cough cough] "This isn't a kitchen"

In the absence of having a toaster, I attempted to use my oven on the weekend to make toast.

I learned that it gives you an electric shock as you open the door. It was so unexpected that I thought it was a muscle tick. So I pulled out one of the  trays and got another shock. Using toddler logic, I tried yet another tray and experienced the same result.

So I put the bread back in the freezer and reached for a bottle of wine.

I emailed the landlord immediately to inform her. After no response, I phoned her. This resulted in a protracted explanation, with some onomatopoeia on my part ("bzzzz" "arghh!" "kerspat!" . Finally she giggled a bit, said that she understood me now, and asked whether anything else in the apartment was also electrocuting me. I said I would prefer not to do a whole lot more testing. She giggled again as she said "We can't get anyone today. Someone tomorrow. Just don't touch anything. OK?". 

[Click]

Umm, OK.

2 days later she sent me an email to say it was all fixed and a letter would be arriving for me to sign. All these written warnings are giving me the willies.

Loose Lids Sink Shirts

There is a Starbucks-style cafe about 20 metres from my apartment.

I went there this morning to get a coffee on my way to work. This required 10 minutes and 6 staff:

- A takes the order and tells B and C about it

- A stares at me while B makes the coffee

- C prints the bill and hands it to D. C starts staring at me

- B finishes making the coffee, puts it on the counter and starts starting at me

- D carries the bill from the till to me. D stares at my wallet while I fumble for change.

- E has spent the whole time staring at me, occasionally leaning on A.

The funny thing is that by now, I hardly notice all this.

I grabbed my coffee, smiled as a F opened the door for me and jumped into a cab.

A few sips in, and half way to work, I realised that the lid had not been properly secured and the coffee had spillled all the way down my shirt and tie. So I asked the driver to turn around so I could go home and change. 

I got home, the driver waited while I changed, then I took my caffeinated shirt and tie back in, as well as the coffee whose lid I had re-loosened for effect. 

They say one should never get angry in Vietnam. So I did not get angry. I was pointed. Surely one can be pointed in Vietnam?

On entering the cafe, I realise that the last 10 minutes has resulted in a complete reshuffle of roles and B is now on the till. I put my shirt and tie on the counter. B couldn't be less interested. I ask them to launder my shirt and tie. B's interest finds a new low. 

I stop F from making me a new coffee as B reaches into the till and hands me a refund. As I take my money and quickly turn for the door (opened now by C), I ignore B's attempts to hand me my shirt and tie back.

As the cab pulls away I remember buying the shirt for $250 and the tie for $200. What was I thinking? 

I'm not looking forward to the retrieval attempt tonight.

Trip to Work

Sorry about the fingers.

Food marketing

I love the honesty in the third listing of this menu.

When I grow up, I will be able to order such things.

Metaphor Schmetaphor

I had an email argument with someone in Israel yesterday.

Me: "It is not fair for you to hold our timeline hostage because of a few outstanding issues ..."

Her response: "I totally agree with your stand on the matter ..."

It's all about choosing the right metaphor for your audience, right?

Or maybe this little Hostage is probably about to be upgraded to Casualty Class?

I consider that any outcome which doesn't involve me kneeling down in front of my captors reading a statement to be a win.

Over Tones

Well after a few days off I've started noticing some negative feedback in the blog comments. About time. So answer my critics I must.

Go Ricky

Yes I, too, prefer young Ricky's blog (one to the right of mine). She leads such a happy, fun-filled childhood with sweetness and light and happy friends that leave her messages after school and help with her homework. I never have never imagined a life like that when I was 15. Thank fuck.

I kinda wish Ricky had a chat section so Anonymous Josh and I could go in and make her friends cry.

Go Edwina

Yes I did phase out Edwina. Last week. I just couldn't take it anymore. After a couple of weeks of her, I couldn't see a funny side to this train wreck.

I did it gently (I am sure she felt no pain). No showdowns. No animosity. I'm the first one to give direct feedback, but no it it won't be understood. If someone really isn't going to take any value from it at all, then save your breath. I think that's why I'm really fussy in restaurants at home when they know, and I know they know, and they know I know they know. Contrast that with my passive, smiling obsequious little nodding routine last night when I dropped a chopstick on the floor and the waitress grabbed it and stabbed it straight back into my noodles. "Cảm ơn" I said in my best Vietnamese accent, as I hunted for a third chopstick and tried to mentally isolate the contaminated noodle area.

So back to Edwina. The phasing out went something like this:

Firstly I eased her out of my communications loop.  Email history will show that she started moving, slowly right, along the To:  section of my emails. She then gently dropped down into the Cc: section. Then she found herself  gradually travelling east along the cc: section as well. Until she fell off the end. I didn't hear a thing and I'm sure she felt no pain.

Just like Zorro, she cut a Z (albeit a slow Z) and then she was gone.

Secondly I replaced her role.  I found a private contractor I'd worked with before and lobbied locked in a much lower rate and a smaller expenses policy. 

Thirdly I ensured she was not in any critical roles and that all documentation was handed over to other people.  

At this stage I think the client was getting sick of her condescending speech and body language so they didn't want to deal with her anyway. This is an real-life example of some small talk:

"Did [surprised face]

You [points finger at them, squints]

See [points finger at right eyes and then from there points back at them]

Me [points back at her neck]

At Shop [a very odd mime, as if she's paying for stuff at the checkout with several credit cards]

This [points at knee]

Morning [both palms out and held up, for some reason, while her head is tilted to the side and she smiles.]. 

This is usually followed by an explanation of what was bought. Often a bottle of water or some chewing gum.

Finally, I ensured her current contract was not renewed.

This sounds so much meaner than it was. It's actually just normal succession planning. When there's dead wood, someone has to reach for the matches. It's nothing personal. Of course, if it was personal I probably would have done the same thing. But it wasn't. I think. No. It wasn't. I work in technology - being a social misfit is the norm.

Anyway, the girl had to go.

Or so I thought.

Turns out Edwina found something to do with all that time I freed up for her, didn't she? She wrote a proposal to the Senior Partner, didn't she? And what did it say? Oh ... you know ... what her future role should be on the project ... how much value she would add ... all the good work she would be doing help us "drive it home" (her words) ... and so on. As I read it, I started to feel convinced; even touched by her dedication. Even a little ashamed of myself. At one point, in the section where she talked about applying architecturally sound principles in end-to-end requirements mapping, I almost wept. 

Almost. 

Of course I pulled myself together with an "I'll be fucked if she's coming back under my budget." and the old staple, "No amount of fucking requirements mapping can give someone attention to detail." But for a brief moment I was touched.

I realise that by now there's nothing I can do. She's slipped under the radar. Edwina is coming back. The juggernaut has slipped its moorings. And Edwina will be back for a long time. And nothing will ever be the same again.

Camel Tomes

Most mobile phone companies use a type of technology called "Camel Roaming".

If you are a prepaid customer, Camel Roaming allows you to roam overseas on another network. The overseas carrier has an agreement with your local carrier and they do very clever technology things to allow you to use your prepaid balance whilst abroad.

Last week we were interviewing some technical people for our project. On paper they had very good skills ... engineering degrees, strong telecommunications experience and the like. However, their English is not always up to scratch ... befitting for a developing country.

One of our interviewees was very eager but a little nervous. He wasn't able to answer my questions very well, therein leaving his "on paper" skills on the paper.

My fellow interviewer: "What do you know about Camel?"

Interviewee: "No Camel?

-- "No. What do you know about Camel Roaming?"

Interviewee: [smiling sweetly] "No Camel? Yes. [nods] There are no Camels in Vietnam."

On reflection, I will posit a theory of what was really going on:

Us: "Oh how sweet and naive that our nervous and slightly naive candidate would think we are asking about camels in a job interview."

Him: "Who the fuck are these people? I guess I have to sit here and answer their questions politely, smiling sweetly ... but really ... who the fuck cares if there are camels in Vietnam and why are they asking such stupid questions? They must be fresh off the boat if they are asking such sill questions."

On The Wall

Fucking mirrors reverted to their original opinion this evening and sent me to the gym.

We Care 4 U

And to think  that I felt like I was being treated like a number ... 

Just received this email from HR:

Dear Team

Your project is really great. Your involvement is marvellous to bring about this project. We see your hardship  from day to day.  Let share...and we care..

Awww.  I think I'll try to invent a new emoticon for what I'm feeling now. I think there will be a Q in it. Or I may borrow from the cyrillic alphabet.

The email ended with some new plans for ordering lunch and dinner through someone who will fetch us for it. So we don't have to leave our desk for lunch or dinner. Double awww.

This came from the same HR guy who, out of the blue, called me to see if I was ok since I started and that he was sorry that . I said that not being paid this month because he didn't process my forms, which is a 5-minute task for him, even after being asked by me approximately 14 times in the past 5 weeks,  was probably the only outstanding issue. Oh, and the fact that I didn't get any help from you even after you were allocated to assist me with finding accommodation and I kept asking you for help, and you know I haven't had a day off since starting here. But apart from that I'm fine, thanks. It's all good. Thanks for checking in with me. OK so I may have sugar coated the venom a bit, but all the above content was still covered. His reply?

"You're welcome. Just let me know if you need anything more."

My theory? A certain someone in HR has a performance appraisal coming up. And a certain someone's box which says "Initiatives to Motivate staff" or "Demonstrates soft skills" was looking a bit empty.

Mirror, Mirror

My hotel in Bangkok is in a great spot. It is the best hotel I've stayed in for a while. It has very nice rooms, well appointed and modern. There is also some very good mirror placement in the bathroom and you can check yourself easily, without craning your neck, from all angles, before going out.  So now it's confirmed: I look fat from every angle.

Fortunately, there's lemonade. Said mirrors are teaching me how to use various postures to make myself look thin from every angle. I feel like I'm directing Carnie Wilson in a music video. But I think it's working. For example don't tuck the shirt in too tight ... out from the belt to look thinner ... but not so much that you look sloppy.

Of course, if I don't start exercising this clothing and posture scam will have a short shelf life. And once the damn walls burst, there's no point hunting for a mop.

Colour palettes

Every now and then, I look at the colour palette I've selected in my clothes and I'm very happy with it. Today is one such day. 

I just wish I had cufflinks to cap it off. Mole.

Second written warning

I got an email today from someone I've never met, who is somehow associated to the apartment owners.

Here are the highlights:

"I supposed to see you today when you come back your apt from work ..."

[Yes OK but why? Why were you coming see me?.]

"... but when I was at the building, you'd gone for business."

[Oh yes, the security guard was onto me when I snuck out the side with my luggage. He actually saw me on the street, came outside and own the street, watched me through the gate as I crossed the road, gingerly came onto the footpath as I got into the cab, then enthusiastically waved me goodbye and I peered back out through the window ... he never even asked my name ...]

"I also printed one copy of this minute and I'll give to you when we can meet."

[Another written warning is on the way. Double Fuck.]

I also have a rent deposit and payment due this Friday, which I will probably miss because I am away. Seventy four million anything is not an easy amount to approve. It's so easy to throw an extra zero into the mix. I know how Obama feels.

Missing Links

My only remaining clean shirts all need cufflinks. However, the little black box where I keep my (only three pairs of) cufflinks has gone missing.

It was last seen on the dining table. Next to where Trang was sitting.  Last Sunday.

I can't help but suspect Trang. It's in keeping with my theory that She Be Actin' Like She Some Kinda 'Ho Who Turned. She had motive. She had opportunity: last seen packing up her things in that area, while I was fetching (and I mean fetching) her a glass of water. Besides, she's an opportunistic little miss. So I'm calling it early: Trang stole them. Maybe she did it as she thrust the "homework" papers at me, like one of those gypsy kids in Rome who use a newspaper to distract you while they pickpocket you.

I will start working on a questioning approach for our next meeting. What's the word when the police interview the witness? Actually I think it's interview. Like "I need to interview the suspect". No, I think it's a more specialised word. Interrogate! That's it! I will interrogate Trang on her next visit: shake her down and see what falls out.

Grenouilles

There is a constant sound of frogs gribbetting outside my apartment. 

What could they possibly have to talk about all night?