Au Revoir DK

I bought my Blackberry at the end of May. In mid June I asked Maria to connect it to my work email.

This process requires Maria to navigate some red tape.. I'm not saying it's difficult ... but it requires a few extra steps.

And Maria hates steps.

So here we are at the end of November and it is still still not done. A few weeks ago, I put some heat on Maria to close it out. By "heat", I mean emails littered with "pleases" and "thank yous" because it's Maria we're talking about.

As a result of this heat, The Blackberry has usurped The Expenses as Maria's number 1 subject of choice to interrupt me with ... the interruptions she barks out through lift doors and in passing, to stop me asking what she's doing away from her desk.

"Hi Maria how are you?"

-- "Good Mr Anthony. How are you?"

"I'm well. Actually this morning I sent you a note--"

-- "Your Blackberry!! Mr Anthony!! Your Blackberry!!"

And so on and so forth. We all know how it goes by now.

Over the months I have become so tired with the Blackberry topic that I can only chase her up on it intermittently. I've now run out of Valium so can only follow up on these matters after a good night's sleep. And after all, expenses had been dominating our relationship until recently.

This morning was one such occasion. I dug up an old email from Maria from a few weeks ago and tried to follow the instructions she had sent me.

I clicked on the link she sent me. Again.

It still didn't work so I promptly called Maria. I explained to her that my link didn't work. Again.

She chirpily replied that she would be done to see it. I tried to stop her - to tell her that it was the same blank screen she saw last time - but she had already hung up. Maria likes to see things in person: it's a trip away from her desk.

17 minutes later she arrived at my desk stinking of 2 cigarettes, smoked in quick succession. She hovered over me as I clicked on the link. My eyes watered and a blank screen appeared.

"That doesn't work Mr Anthony." Her diagnosis was instant and confident.

-- "You don't say." I mumbled to myself inaudibly ... the whispered retort of the weak.

Maria feigned shock at this outcome, said she would get right onto it and wandered away to the lift. Even though the lift is less than 15 metres from me, I noticed her stop for a chat a couple of times and wondered how many facebook friends she has.

2 hours later I contacted her for a progress report. Her response was self-explanatory:

"On Nov 10, Ipshita of India said they were going to investigate your case but nothing happened after that."

It seems that Ipshita has fucked up my Blackberry. It's not every day that you get to say that: Ipshita must have heard that Dirty Keith had returned to Singapore, spotted an opening and jumped into it.

I am now faced with 2 options - do I ask Maria to continue with her investigations, or contact this young Ipshita upstart myself?

The question seems to answer itself.

They Call Me 'Stacey'. They Call Me 'Her'. They Call Me 'Jane'.

You may remember Dirty Keith from Singapore Non Sequitur Number 4?

Well Dirty Keith is back.

For the past month I've been working with DK on a client proposal and yesterday he had to do a demo.

Apart from being the target of my childish smut, Keith is also is an expert in databases. Something like that.

There he was yesterday showing people all sorts of things, various bits of data moving around Indonesia. Something like that.

Part of the presentation included showing a typical customer scenario. In this part of the world, Joe Bloggs doesn't work as a sample customer name. Keith used Ronald Chan. I assume he is the Joe Bloggs of Singapore, where Ronald Chans are as common as skinny arms and rudeness.

Keith is a diminutive Chinese Singaporean who uses his bad haircut to camouflage a sharp brain. He parts his hair on the side, pulls his light grey pleated trousers up a little too high and swings his skinny arms out from an ugly golf shirt. The shirt itself is from a 2008 database conference in Bangkok: sponsor logos are sewn onto each sleeve.

Keith's age hints at Generation Y but his styling screams 1940's Chinese nerd convention. He doesn't wear glasses but if you had to draw him from memory you could be forgiven for including them. His presentation style is friendly and animated - compensation for the dreary content:

"It is proven to scale almost linearly. Therefore Job estimation of end time can be extrapolated based on previous run time and volume."

Srsly. You can't make this stuff up.

"The challenge with semi on-line storage is decision how the data can be aggregated for longer retention periods."

Keith flicked around more grey screens. He was big smiles and flailing arms - but it wasn't enough to compensate for this boring shit.

"I will now demonstrate the job monitoring features: please refer to the process' CPU consumption" here.

After a while my mind started wandering. That while was 53 seconds.

I noticed that Keith's trousers were the same colour as the OK buttons on his demo screens. I pondered whether it was intentional.

"Data lineage is demonstrated in how the changing formula will show analysis of the impacted report"

My eyelids were heavy and his golf shirt was blurring into the projector screen.

"De-duplication is challenging. Common names can appear many times in the database but you don't know if it's the same Ronald Chan."

I was starting to fall asleep.

Then it happened.

"I don't know if and of you remember my name?"

My eyelids sprung into life. I became alert but contained. Anticipating a kill like a cat spotting a cockroach in the corner.

"I'm Kum Yeung Kok."

And scene.

I'd never heard Kum Yeung pronounce his full name before. People usually call him "Koom" or "Koom Yoong" to avoid going all Benny Hill on his ass.

Kum Yeung, on the other hand, has no such hang-ups. His pronunciation was perfect. Every. Word. Of. His. Name. Was. Enunciated. Precisely as it is sniggered.

"There are not many Cum Young Cocks in the world", he declared again quite loudly. Indeed.

This got me wondering how I could transition my pronunciation of Koom Yoong closer to his own, more accurate yet Benny Hill version? The disobedient side of my brain was grappling with being able to use a socially acceptable norm, and was intimidated.

"Because Cum Young is quite rare," he continued. Deary me.

This was all so inappropriate. So Dirty Keith.

I wondered whether Keith was having the last laugh, with his skilled poker face.

Surely someone else must find this amusing? The eyes of my own poker face swept the room, looking for signs of recognition or wry. I maintained the stiff composure of a toddler who has stolen a shoe.

But there was only one person sniggering and it was me. I imagined him doing this in Australia and chuckled along with my imaginary friends.

"So you can find my name here very well. See? I'm not like Ronald."

No you're certainly not. You dirty bastard.

Hogswallop

This article discusses about Prince William's engagement to Kateshername.

My favourite quote is this:

The British Prime Minister, David Cameron, was informed of the engagement during a cabinet meeting and said the news was met with a "great cheer" and with "a great banging of tables".

Sometimes you wonder what the fuck is going on with Britain. Just when you think it's in the 21st Century, you hear of them carrying on like Hogwarts.

Cameron - 5 points!

Indonesian Non Sequitur Number 16: Starbucks

Here are 2 pictures I took this morning in Starbucks Setiabudi, across from my apartment.

Both of them decry this country's reputation as a conservative, Muslim dominated state.

Let's start with Christmas.

That's right. This morning they launched Christmas today in Starbucks, 7 weeks and 1 day before December 25. Hats on to them for getting in there first.

Alongside this they've repackaged some regular offerings into Xmas specials, mostly by squirting a shot of raspberry into your beverage.

There's nearly always something free at Starbucks for the oddest things - like a Friday donut. Or a free muffiin if you use your (labour intensive) BCA credit card to make a purchase between the 3rd and 16th of the month, or a creme brulee with every purchase of a syrupy Xmas beverages. Or not saying thank you.

Let's finish with golf.

Golfers obviously don't just come out. They really come out.

This issue of whatIthinkisagolfingmagazine was taking pride of place on the Table For Reading Material (as it's called).

I understand that the above implicates me as a regular Starbucks customer ... and I hang my head in shame. And reach for my coffee. And sip from my Venti Quad Non Fat Latte. And take a bite of my complementary donut. Which I now spell in the American way. As I also do with "organization". Just to fit in.

Baby

This morning I received the following email:

Hello Dearest,

I came across your contact at www.englishbaby.com and I decided to contact you.

Really I am here to look for that lovely, great and ideal man to love. Honey remember that distance, age and race are not barriers to a true love. However, I am a single and lovely young lady who wants to be dated with love and passion. And I will appreciate if you can reply me. I am 24 years of age, 5.37 in

height, 64 kg, and never married. I will appreciate if you can reply my mail.

To enable me send you my pictures and more information about myself.

And while waiting for your lovely and positive reply,

I remain your lovely

Benita

Something tells me this could be the same Benita from yesterday. It also seems like I've been listed on a site called "englishbaby" ... which will certainly increase my odds of finding an Indonesian bride.

I suspect this is not the last we will hear from Benita. Or brides.

Send your emails and take a number, ladies.

How Do You Solve A Problem Like Benita?

I received a note this morning from the lovely Benita, a lady with whom I am yet to have had the pleasure of making myself acquainted.

Benita's email arrived as a long stream of text. I have broken it up, below, into palatable bites which represent my unfolding reactions while reading it.

"Hello Dearest,

This is a strong, superlative start.

"I came across your contact at www. jakchat.com

At first I was a bit confused. Then I remembered. A few months ago I joined a web forum called "jakchat", which is a forum for English speakers to get news and information about Jakarta. It's a poorly organised site but after an hour I found an Indonesian teacher there and I haven't been back.

It's better than the (more visual, less informative) activities that could have been associated with that web address.

and I decided to contact you. Really I am here to look for that lovely, great and ideal man to love.

... so which one is it? Make up your mind, bitch.

"Honey remember that distance, age and race are not barriers to a true love.

Firstly, in my experience if you call a stranger 'Honey' it means you are waitressing in a midwest diner.

I imagined Benita pulling a pencil out from behind her ear as she greeted me, while flicking her thumb across her tongue then across the small notepad then writing "huevos rancheros and coffee - hold the grits".

On the other hand, Benita seems to be an equal opportunity girlfriend who welcomes all takers. That barries statement sure had a way of ruling out any "ruling out" on her part, as it were.

"However, I am a single and lovely baby young lady who wants to be dated

By this stage I was thinking of calling her so many things.But "lovely baby young lady" was not one of them.

Where did the fuck did the baby part come from? (No not the corner, Cheesel.)

That said, Benita's use of "dated" seemed more accurate ... as in "Benita I'll date you with this fucking email if you're not careful".

I imagined a somewhat surprised look on Benita's face. It was an obedient version of surprise and it gave me the creeps. I think it was subservience.

with love and passion.

Oh for fucksake, Benita ... you want both?

Benita seemed awfully confused about the immutable laws of life ... Passion is supposed to replace love, not co-exist.

I imagined a flowchart with "Benita" written above it. Illogical arrows were cross-crossing each other, like a modern-day Esher.

"And I will appreciate if you can reply me. I am 24 years of age, 5.37 in height, 64 kg, and never married.

In Indonesia, "never married" normally implies fresh and innocent, of which I suspected Benita of neither.

"I will appreciate if you can reply my mail.

How could I not?

And yet. Not.

To enable me send you my pictures and more information about myself.

It's interesting that she doesn't ask for pictures or information in return. I imagined the calbire of eligible bachelors (and husbands) that typically respond to such an introductory emails, and figures that photos can wait.

And while waiting for your lovely and positive reply,

I imagined Benita dressed in a pretty party frock (green) and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She's staring at the clock, waiting for my positive reply. It's the desert. The clock is sitting on a rock. Benita's smile is slowly fading. Tick tock. Tick. Tock. There is a pencil tucked neatly behind her ear.

"I remain your lovely

My lovely?

My lovely?

My lovely?

It didn't feel right. I haven't earned Benita's enduring devotion and monogamy. At least not yet. This tasted a bit one-sided. Like sugar.

Or honey.

"Benita"

By now I was sure her name was not Benita. Call me a cynic.

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.