indonesian Non Sequitur 15

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 14: Macet Gila

Last night it took me 8 minutes to travel from Kemang, a nearby suburb, to Setiabudi where I live.

Tonight at 7pm the trip was around 3 hours.

However, if you left the office at 10pm it was down to about 2 hours.

------

Update: a colleague today described how he took 4.5 hours to get home last night. Another spent 5 in a cab from the airport.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 13

Today when I was in Starbucks (yes Starbucks) having a morning coffee, a general announcement came on the PA of the mall.

It was in helpfully in English:

"Ladies and gentleman,

"Your sentence please. We are pronouncing that our here test. Please remind where you are standing now."

An Indonesian version followed - its instructions were probably a little clearer.

Then the English version followed again, only this time we had to remind where we were sitting.

It's all so confusing, if a more inclusive.

Then again, I'll always remember where I was sitting at that moment. This probably means that I followed their instructions to the letter. Obedient me.

My Drawers

Yesterday I received a very terse email from the American Express Corporate Card Collections Department in Mexico, to say that bills remain unpaid and the card is now suspended.

Mexico. Go figure.

Not long after that, Maria walked past my desk so I asked her what it was all about:

Maria: "Oh - well yes I don't know. Maybe I put down on the expenses claim for you to be paid in cash and so they didn't pay the credit card company because it went to you. Next time I will put pay by credit card but now too late. So Mr Anthony have you been paid this money?"

-- "I don't know."

"Why don't you know Mr Anthony? You should know already from your bank account if the payment has gone through."

In one swift turn, she had sliced a piece of blame off the bone and handed it to me. I braced as chewed on it, waiting for another piece.

Me -- "I don't know. I just haven't checked it lately. But anyway where are the Amex bills? Why haven't you received them? You're supposed to manage them aren't you?"

"Yes I should get them. But I didn't" [pause] Oh. Wait! No! I checked last week and they told me that these are now put in your pigeon hole instead."

-- "I have a pigeon hole?"

"Yes you do."

-- "Where is it?"

"I don't know."

-- "Why do I have a pigeon hole?"

"I don't know. But you do."

"Well don't worry anyway because right now you have this one so you're responsible for this one only."

She pointed to the empty drawers under my desk which she had, for some reason, recently arranged.

-- "But I still have a pigeon hole?"

"Yes."

-- "So aren't I also responsible for that ... as well?"

"Yes."

-- "And aren't my Amex bills in there?"

"Yes."

-- "So now that I have these drawers [point] I have to check 2 things for mail and carry 2 keys?"

"Yes."

She used that "once more for the dumbies" tone to her voice, making the Her "yes" rise, then fall slowly. This was to imply that she had arrived at this conclusion some time ago, and I was slowly catching up.

-- "How can I find out where it is?"

"Where what is?"

-- "My pigeon hole."

"Oh. Wait. Yes! I someone told me on Friday. Come with me."

Maria never admits to forgeting anything. She is quick on her feet and

repackages any oversights as recent, late-breaking news. It's "yesterday" or "just this morning" that she discovered some new piece of information that I had been waiting on for weeks. She

was just waiting for me to be out of meetings so she could tell me. She would have told me already if I didn't rudely interrupt her with all these questions.

I followed Maria around the office, looking for the pigeon hole. I was trailing behind with my head bowed like an insolent child. Hers was held high and there was no doubt who was the boss and who was in the wrong.

We reached an oasis of white lockable things.

My pigeon hole turned out to be a large locker with my name on it. The surname was slightly misspelt so that my name doesn't just sound the same as "fuckwit" in Indonesian ... they've adopted the Indonesian spelling as well.

The locker itself is located at the end of the row, hugging a thoroughfare. This ensures that most people who work in or visit this area get to chuckle at my surname and therefore my expense.

No wonder everyone knows who I am. Here's me thinking it was because I was white, and eligible.

It could be worse. I have a colleague whose first name is Asfaq. This makes it difficult for him to run workshops in English speaking countries (and almost impossible for me to introduce him to people without smirking). Sometimes I like to imagine Asfaq working in Canberra, at one of those large porno supermarkets - supervising and restocking aisles 7 and 8.

"Why am I always put on aisles 7 and 8?"

-- "Because on your first day when you introduced yourself, the boss misunderstood your accent and thought you were asking to work in this section."

"Oh no. Not again."

Back to Anthony Fuckwit.

We needed to find a key to my locker, which pretty much tied Maria up for the rest of the day.

Maria has an Endora-like quality of just turning up.

This morning I sensed that someone was at my desk and looked around to find Maria staring at me, stoically holding up a key between her right thumb and index finger. The look on her face indicated that it is possible to be both smug and bored at the same time.

Me: "Good morning Maria. What's this?"

Maria: "Your key Mr Anthony. The pigeon hole."

This comment was delivered in monotone, with a machine like quality. Maria often adopts this machine speech pattern, usually when she has the smug/bored expression appears. It's as if she's using it as a type of speech make-up - slapped on at the time, to match her face.

Off we went again to my "pigeon hole", again with my head bowed. As I went to use the key, we realised that it was already opened.

Inside it we found 8 American Express envelopes and a warning note from our Workplace Security which said that I had failed an audit at 19:00 on 14 July 2010.

My surname was misspelt. Clearly the Workplace Security department had decided to adopt the Fuckwit Spelling convention. They also referred to me not as a person, but as a violator.

Anthony Fuckwit, the Violator.

I showed this to Maria, who rolled her eyes and said "We call this a love letter".

Then she picked up my Amex envelopes, assured me she would take care of everything and took off.

She did not head in the direction of her desk. I expect she took my envelopes for a smoke.

Nazi Goreng

There are no sacred cows in Indonesia.

In July I showed a picture I'd taken in a restaurant near my gym. This restaurant inexplicably uses the Ku Klux Klan to promote its noodles.

I heard from a colleague that the image had finally been taken down.

He turned out to be accurate.

This painting is now hanging in its place:

As far as genocide-aligned food marketing goes, it's quite the upgrade.

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 12

Many foreigners work in our Indonesian office.

The 2 of us who are white received this email back on September 9th, from my boss:

You may be aware that an obscure church in Florida plans to burn a copy of the Koran on the 11/9.

Should this occur, I caution everyone to take extra care when travelling around Jakarta as there is the possibility of random acts of violent behaviour against Caucasians.

This is a matter of concern for some embassies and security firms.

Any issues please let me know, contact our security department or the local police.

Hopefully sanity will prevail in Florida....

I remember thinking "... and in Jakarta, for that matter." before shrugging my shoulders and forgetting all about it.

I blame the publishers. Korans and bibles should be made out of non-flammable materials. Otherwise it's just too tempting, like a religious version of ice cream in the fridge.

Made In Heaven

This article has romance novel written all over it.

So many individual stories in one short article.

I Heart Facebook

I heart facebook

And I heart typos.

A Waka Waka Way

There are no recent updates to the blog so I must apologise to my 3 regular and 7 occasional readers. My excuse is that I haven’t had real access to the internet for 2 ½ weeks.

Real access is defined as having an internet connection at the same time as being sober. These two events have not co-existed for me until now, on account of my travelling with tinkers and drunkards.

I’ve also started reading David Copperfield, so expect the blog to take a somewhat Victorian turn for the next 2 to 135 weeks, depending on how long I take to finish it.

During this time I intend to be even more miserable and hard done by than usual.

Stampede

Jakarta Airport, today

Public Announcement

[Ding Dong]

"Dear passengers. A dark blue bag has been found outside the gate D2.

"Could everyone who own it, please come to the information counter beside immigration."

I was almost tempted to go there myself and lay claim to said dark blue bag.

Stingy

I leave for Africa tomorrow and have no time to prepare.

Things I haven't done:

• packed clothes - I don't own any warm clothes any more and haven't bought any
• arranged visas - I think I'll be fine
• looked into currency - I do hope they accept Indonesian Rupiah over there
• worried about health - vaccinations
• organised decent good insurance - this morning bought the first one that a Google search returned but I need to check if it's real or not I think it's Danish
• packed my bags - in any way shape or form
• printed out my flights and/or itinerary and/or
• done my washing
• left instructions for my maid

Things I have done:

• bought fake tan (blacking up for Africa, as it were ...)
• bought 3 pith helmets to blend in with the other pseudo colonialists
• bought Malaria pills. "Surely they have malaria in Indonesia," I thought to myself, followed by "and surely they won't ask me for a prescription".

Today while I was waiting for my take-away lunch I popped in to the chemist to buy malaria tablets. They didn't really understand what I needed but malaria is a common word. Before long, she (she with the green cross on her lapel) returned with a package that had a diagram of a mosquito on it. Good enough for me.

The instructions are in Indonesian but with Green's help we figured out that I must take 1 tablet today, then 1 every week "on this day".

The price for this medication came to 40 cents. That didn't exactly fill me with a sense of confidence in the drugs, or in Green's advice.

The mosquito image is compelling though.

I took my first pill whilst still in the chemist and they seemed alarmed that I didn't use water. It's now a few hours later I can feel a wave of something which has overcome me. I don't think it's a sense of protection. Or relief. Maybe it's just some old fashioned poisoning.

Idul Fitri

So today is called Idul Fitri, when the fasting is over and the fun begins.

I asked my boss what he and his family will be doing today and nearly fell asleep during the answer.

So get this: their today will have started this morning in his home town at 6am, or more correctly ... 6AM!!??!!.

The family will go through a whole bunch of bending and praying and apologising. Before now I had only ever heard this combination of verbs used for describing an old trolls in gay saunas, the who came out of the closet in his late 50's.

By 8.30am he and his immediate family will have completed over 2 hours of praying.

Clearly this is "little f" fun.

Next up, they will retire to some room and apologise to each other for any wrongdoings over the past year. To an outsider it all sounds very tedious and boring ... while probably good for your soul ... much like meditation. Or volunteering.

Today in Jakarta all the stores are shut and alcohol sales are almost non-existent. It's like Good Friday. Or "No-Good Friday", as I prefer to call it. Even Jesus would have to accept admit it wasn't one of his better days.

Unfortunately, some of us still have to work and I arrived at a deserted office tower this morning. The emptiness was unexpected and eerie. Tumbleweeds wouldn't have been out of place, like stumbling upon a deserted funpark during a road trip to Kansas.

I climbed over a boom gate (commando style), had my bag loosely checked by a security guard, had my hand shaken by a second, smiling security guard and was eventually led into an empty building by someone in jeans. I caught the lift up to my floor and tried swiping my card to gain access to the office. Nothing. I could see my desk through the glass door.

I didn't know what to do. On one hand, I needed to work. On the other, I couldn't get to my desk. It was just like Sophie's choice, albeit with lower personal consequences (or maybe similar consequences ... I mean ... Sophie was certainly quick about it all).

I eventually took the lift back down and slinked away from the office tower in reverse ... although this time I shook everyone's hand as I departed before finding myself on an empty street, hoping for a cab.

I called my team and told them not to bother turning up and to work from their home or hotel.

The cab dropped me at the Shangri La hotel - where I knew there was free wifi, comfortable lounge seating and decent coffee for the very attractive price of $6/cup.

I spent most of the day thinking about Allah and alcohol. Not necessarily in that order.

When I'm With Her I'm Confused

Fasting is a very misleading word because it actually makes you go slower. A lot slower.

I don't know who invented the word but it was probably those same bastards who put an "s" in "lisp" and placed all those "t"s and "r"s in "stutterer". Lispers and stutterers can't tell you what's wrong with them.

Being hungry also makes you forget meetings, miss deadlines and run late for things. F

I've been doing my own fasting during this period. For example, at lunch time I eat my rice extra slowly, hidden creatively under things like chicken, or a fork. I hardly notice myself consuming it, to the point where I now think smugly to myself "Oh, I don't eat carbs any more." Praise Allah.

In August hunger is the most popular excuse for tardiness, knocking traffic and sick children off the top spots.

The fasting month finishes tomorrow. It be briefly replaced by food, fireworks and a few public holidays.

For the past week the office has been slowing down to a grind. It feels much like Chrismas, albeit a hungrier version. Imagine Christmas at an under-funded soup kitchen and you get idea.

People also are starting to look happier and more relaxed, which is quite a challenge in Indonesia because those boxes are ticked anyway. Gifts are being given. If people weren't so weak there would probably be light dancing.

Everyone except Maria. She came up to my desk earlier and asked if there was any work I needed her to do over the holidays, that she hated holidays. I asked her why.

Maria: "... because i have nothing to do at home ... so if you ask me to go to work ... to do something ... it will be very good ... please Mr Anthony"

-- "What do you mean?"

Maria: "Just that I have nothing to do at home. I rather stay in office.Aat home my mum will ask you to do things like cooking and other things. cleaning things and doing things. so if you just say I have to work then I will work. So is there anything you need?"

-- "No ... but anyway you should have a holiday?

Maria: "No because I have to do the helping. I would rather typing or create a meeting id."

The interesting thing about all this is that when Maria is here, there is scant evidence of such enthusiasm and industry. I do my own typing and create my own meeting id's.

I won't get a holiday this year but am looking forward to some huge differences for a few days. They say there wlil be enough space on the roads to play backgammon. That's what they say.

And tonight we can expect all manner of rabble-rousing. This afternoon Maria warned me to leave the office early, just in case. I received the following chat message:

Maria: "hi, just want to inform you that near 6pm the street going to be crazy"

-- "thanks for the warning. i'll leave later then. maybe about 7.30."

Maria: "well, it's going to be crazy around here till night"

-- "why?"

Maria: "they want to have "takbiran" in the center of jakarta. so the streeet will be full of persons and cars"

-- "what is takbiran?"

Maria: "takbiran means "praise the lord" so they will 'scream' said 'Allahuakbbar" along the street"

-- "i'll look forward to it."

Maria: "yes so i must leave now OK so i don't get trapped here"

-- "ok. i wouldn't want to be responsible for trapping you here. have a good holiday."

Maria: "yes but tell me if you need help ok?"

-- "yes yes ... but no. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "is you mocking me?"

-- "no. i'm serious. be nice to your mother."

Maria: "hahahaha. bye"

Considering that Maria didn't even want any holidays, she seemed pretty eager to get it started.

Here's the thing: the longer I spend with Maria, the more she makes sense. Hers is a very slow, creepy brand of Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe it comes from one of those Stockholm suburbs where the lazy Swedes live, like Malmo. Or Bondi.

Big Bunny - The Eviction

Brunch, Ritz Carlton Jakarta

Sunday, 5 September 2010

We arrive at the front gate and our taxi is stopped by the security checkpoint. 

Thin men in dark blue uniforms inspect the car. Under the bonnet, in the boot, up the exhaust and even using mirrors on long sticks to hunt around the bottom – playing out their sexual fantasies in metaphor while circumventing Indonesia's strict anti-pornography laws.

A German shepherd pokes his head into the back seat and gives me a little sniff.

´Nothing to see here, Rex´ I assure him and reach for a pat. He ignores my hand and I withdraw it with a ´Fuck you too, Rex´ in a cowardly mumble.

We pass through yet more security at the front door and I mumble ´too little, too late´ so quietly that even I can hardly hear it.

We walk inside and are greeted by the restaurant hostess. She is nicely dressed in a well-tailored jacket and crisply-pleated skirt. Her hair is neatly pulled back and she resembles an ad on a billboard.

To her left is someone in a large white bunny suit. It's a little late for Easter but I still look around for eggs because in Indonesia all religions are ripe for a local interpretation.

The bunny suit is threadbare but clean; the result of a lifetime of being tossed into the washing machine by careless laundry ladies. Maybe the Ritz laundry is like a scene from Prisoner Cell Block H, where several bunny suits are imprisoned in muted lighting and occasionally molested by the prison lesbian hegemony. Washing machines hum in the background and a Ritz logo is on full display (product placement).

The suit is baggy around the arse and seems uncomfortable to wear, giving Bunny the vibe of an infant whose lazy parents have forced him to keep wearing diapers long past a dignified age. 'Just go in your nappy!' they hiss at his teary face before turning back to hunt for discounted diapers in aisle 7.

The Ritz hostess steps forward to show us to our table. As we pass Bunny I give him a sympathetic nod and I notice a slight flinch under his malting shoulders. Waves of hostility emanate from the suit.

We sit down to an enormous buffet of unlimited food and booze.

About an hour later I notice Bunny wandering aimlessly around the restaurant tables. Most of them are empty due to Ramadhan fasting. He appears disoriented and I assume he is very hot in that suit. Or hungry. Or drunk.

As the meal progresses, a second, furrier animal arrives on the scene. I suggest we call him ´Bunny 2´ but my brunch companions insist that he is a lion cub so we settle on ´Gladys´. Our lengthy argument (bunny vs cub) is a sure sign that we've already drunk too much; or not enough. Gladys seems less hostile than Bunny. Maybe she is more drunk, or more sober.

One of the tables which is hosting a children's birthday and a cake arrives. Singing starts. Bunny and Gladys reluctantly veer towards the relevant table and, on arrival, make no effort to engage with or entertain anyone. They seem to be happier to stumble around the edges and bump into chairs, startling the occasional child.

It all feels like a cheap version of Disneyland, where cost cutting has reduced the quality of costumes and reduced training.

Gladys makes a break from the kids and approaches our table.

I start to film her and the waiter decides that enough is enough and the last 2 seconds are priceless.

Bagian favorit saya adalah 2 detik terakhir ...

A Large Audible Sigh Of Relief

... is what I just breathed.

Over this.

I think this proves that God is not a complete fuckwit. As earlier suspected.

The Bowtie

Exciting news.

Last night I found out further information - first hand - about the Brazillian bowtie.

Firstly you are shown to a cubicle where you are greeted by a stripperella (their term). Said stripperella gets down to the business of waxing with all the efficiency and charm of a ... err ... stripperella.

This involves some general chit chat along the lines of "I haven't seen your friend Sarah here for a while?" and "Oooh - it's been a while yeah?". References to jungles are not uncommon. Each sentence from the stripperella is usually followed by a swish, a ripping sound and a muted gasp. Ergo her questions remain largely unanswered.

Once the waxing is complete, the bowtie cross-sell kicks in. When Stripperella has completed her task, you are discarded on the bench - the skin is raw and tender, with pores exposed. This is when she makes her final move. As it was being explained to me, metaphors like "prey" and "Serengeti" popped into my head.

As you lay there in a mild state of shock, Stripperella suggests that you may like a temporary tattoo of a bowtie to mark out the ground she's just cleared. Clearly, nothing would please you more.

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).