30 posts tagged “work”

There is such a feeling of dread that sloshes around inside me at the thought of the weekend ending. I will be listening to a nice song, and then when the singer hits a particular note of yearning, I will be reminded of work. Or the reminder could come in the middle of a TV show, for no reason at all. Even while reading a book, I could suddenly think of work if I come across any word that is related to the tasks I have awaiting me in the office.

The dread starts right at the centre of my chest, then throbs its way down to my stomach and my legs. Finally, I feel the dread in the soles of my feet, like a prickle. I have to squeeze my toes to make it go away, but it only travels back up to my chest, hiding in wait until the next reminder of work welcomes it back out again.

Will I ever reach a point in my life where I wouldn't fear Mondays anymore? I don't think so. Throughout my working adult life, it will be the thought of work that haunts me, and after retirement it will be death.

That's Saturday night optimism for you.

The morning shift is misery. You wake up at 4 a.m. and enter an office that's much too cold. You're alone, and usually extremely hungry. But there's no food, nobody to prepare it for you at home and no vendors selling their wares so early. At 5 a.m. when your mind only wants to drift into dreams, you have to write about Wall Street. And it's so cold, so cold, you're wearing two layers of clothing but it's still so cold, so punishingly cold. And you're so alone.

By 8 a.m. your whole head has had enough. Your nose has had enough of running. Your eyes have had enough of reading. Your lips are dry. Your eyelids are heavy. You can't fight it. You can't fend off sleep when it returns for its territory.

At 9 a.m. the end is near. Other people begin to appear in the office. They provide heat, and chatter. But for you the only company is your insane colleague, whose utter lack of self-awareness is your undoing. Your friends won't come. They have work to do, outside. You're no longer alone, but you'll wish you were. For the remaining three hours the challenges are no longer physical but mental. How do you stay calm when you really want to yell at your superior? How do you stay put when you're tempted to walk away and never look back?

10 AM

Me: Last night I spent half an hour on my exercise bike and I didn't have dinner. I'm so proud of myself. Yup and I've decided that I want to starve myself.
G: Me too. But why do you want to starve yourself? You're so skinny, you'll disappear.
Me: Because I'm depressed. I want to be anorexic and hopefully die within the year.

12 PM

J: Ok so why aren't you eating? Because I don't really understand why you need to diet.
Me: It's not a diet, it's a hunger strike.
J: Right. And why?
Me: Because I want to waste away and die so that everyone will feel sorry about how badly they treated me.
J: Ok. (Turning to G) And what's your excuse?
G: Are you serious? Are you just saying that? Because that is truly how I feel right now.
Me: No I mean it. I'm really upset.
J: Ok but do you really have to starve yourself?
Me: Nah I just don't feel like eating when I'm depressed. I wasn't hungry last night.
J: You know most people eat more when they're depressed. Even when it comes to depression you just have to be different from the mainstream don't you?

5 PM

A: I feel like having nuts...
Me: Yeah they look good. But I can't, I'm on a hunger strike.
A: Why?
Me: Because I'm sad and I want to waste away and die so that everyone will feel sorry about how badly they treated me in this life.
A: Should I get cashews?

7:30 PM

J: MPA has called. They've lifted the embargo.
Me: Ok so put it in the bulletin.
J: Yeah I'm thinking it could be the 2nd or 3rd story...
Me: Put it first.
J: Huh? Are you sure? Lead with it?
Me: Yeah, put it first.
J: Ummm I'm unsure. This is such a bold decision. Can I call SJ first and ask her?
Me: Are you kidding me? I'm a fucking editor, listen to me. (I take over his mouse and do it myself.)
G: Yasmine is so smart. Look at that, she knows everything, she's brilliant.
J: I don't like hungry Yasmine. You're a meanie!
G: She's so smart, look what she's doing!
J: No, she's hungry and light-headed. She's not thinking straight. I'm not sure this is right! I'm calling M.us. (Calls M but he's driving and says he will call back in 5 minutes.)
Me: Why don't you be more like Ge.rrie and just say I'm smart?
(My editor calls J back)
Me: What did he say?
J: He told me to lead with it. And next time, listen to Yasmine because she's the smartest person here.
Me: Yeah right.
J: No, really.
Me: Toldja.
G: Expected!

9:36 PM

Just spent half an hour on my exercise bike and I am not having dinner :)

Yesterday I came home from dinner running a slight fever. Four days before my trip and I have a slight fever, and my fevers usually last an average of 7 days. So I took a couple of paracetamol pills and went to sleep. I woke up feeling better but still a little off so I took the day off from work.

I didn't go to the doctor. I hope nobody calls me out on my missing MC. But this is basically how little I care about losing my job right now. The other night I had a dream that I was being given another chance to pick Reu.ters. But I'm pretty sure I'd say no again, if I got another chance now. Too much fucking work, man. I need a break. I need a year off to work in a bookstore.

As I told Joon, I'm not so much looking forward to Vietnam because of what Vietnam has to offer as I am looking forward to it because it's not work.

And you know, this given the fact that when I think about it, my job's not too bad. Not when I don't have to work the fucking 5 a.m. shift anyway.

But I can't stop working, because I've been looking through sites about home renovations (yeah, I know) and I really, really don't want to live in a house that looks like the "before" picture. I know, it sounds like serious bourgeois shit but I have always been affected by architecture. I mean, the first time I saw NTU I almost had a nervous breakdown and it was only when I saw the CS building that I calmed down and decided to go there.

So yeah, I hate work but I can't stop working because I need a house with warm wallpaper and bathroom tiles that are my own. Serious bourgeois shit.

I've just come home from a media party at Demp.sey Road, and I am exhausted but I just had to note this down for posterity.

Ge.rrie formally introduced me to N, the reporter from the daily broadsheet who has never deigned to even look at me the past 25 times that we've crossed paths (and when I say crossed paths I mean sat in the same room and then huddled together in the same scrum of reporters interviewing a Very Important Person) but who upon first meeting Ge.rrie offered her a ride in his car and then promptly looked her up on Facebook and added her as a Friend.

Tonight, she brought him over and said, "You know Yasmine of course."

I quickly said, "We've met."

He scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes in an expression that was clearly meant to indicate that he was at that very moment ruffling through his internal Rolodex of faces and name cards but was coming up with nothing.

I said, "We've met at several events," and nodded a lot.

I suppose my persistence made him realise that he was not going to get away with pretending that we'd never seen each other before, because then he said, "Oh yeah, but we haven't formally met." And then he held out his hand.

Douchebag.

Last week I turned down a job offer at Reut.ers despite the fact that jobs at major multinational news agencies don't come falling into my lap everyday. This time last week I thought nothing would happen in Indonesia for quite some time yet.

A few days later I was convinced I was going to get a work trip to France because that time last week I also thought life was fair, and that I would be appreciated for my hard work and loyalty.

When I realised that wasn't going to happen, I thought well ok, no problem, it just means more time to spend in Turkey with my parents. They'd already told me they were keen and they were asking me to plan it. I thought they were for real. I forgot they didn't know how the real world worked.

So now, with glaring disillusionments lying all over my feet like so many dead birds shot out of the air, I realise the only fucking way to get anything you want in life is to lie, cheat and backstab everyone in your path.

I am so going on a "work trip" at the end of the year.

Today I did not get to meet Joseph Stig.litz. But my colleague Ger.rie did. I lent her my copy of Making Globalization Work so she could read it a bit before meeting him. And the darling girl got me an autograph from Mr Stig.litz!

I screamed when I saw it, I'm not ashamed to say.

Dinner with the Russian turned out to be so much fun. There was a moment at Watson's when I accidentally spilled some water on his pants, and while patting him dry grabbed his ass, so that he yelped and almost fell backwards into an old man walking behind us, who then glared in disapproval.

And the next day, Saturday, I spent a wonderful whole day with him. The day was 07/07/07, the day of Live Earth. At about 9 pm we tuned in to watch the concerts and got a shitload of Sydney's crappy line-up. Of course I hadn't bothered to look at the full list of artists performing at the 7 concerts, so I didn't even know who I was watching out for. So we waited and waited and just kept getting disappointed, which meant we ended up entertaining each other instead.

"Why don't they show something else? Something I can sing along to? Why do they keep showing Wolfmother?!" I whined.
"You should know by now," the Russian scolded me, "It is ALWAYS Wolfmother!"

It was lovely. Watching TV with the Russian is one of my favourite things in the world.  All thoughts of boredom and the midget were driven from my head.

When I reached home, though, I got a surprise SMS from him, the midget: How was ur day?
I replied, "It was nice. I spent a lot of time sleeping and now I'm watching Live Earth."
He said, "I juz came bk from my fren's wedding. I ate so much. Burp :O"

OMGWTFLOL. It was like a light switched on in my head. He was so banal. How had I managed not to notice how uncreative and uninventive his messages were? And what the fuck is up with the spelling?

I felt really stupid for letting a 2-month trip in Iran blind me towards a person's utter lack of personality. But on the other hand, I was also glad that it had happened. I'd had a small crush on a guy I didn't have, only to realise that what I did have was infinitely more exciting. If I hadn't been so intrigued by the midget, and hadn't carried on the conversations with him, I wouldn't have been able to notice the contrast between him and the Russian.

It was something like this:
1. Obviously the Russian is something special, which is why I fell in love with him in the first place.
2. Then this other guy comes along, and he seems to have some interesting qualities too, being talented and kind of cute.
3. But then, look -- gaping flaws! Bad SMS spelling, utterly vapid conversationalist, insecure about his height to the point of lying about it! All things that negate him from being anything special.
4. On the other hand, the Russian is talented, cute, visibly taller than me, not ashamed of his height and in fact writes about being short in the national news, sends me quirky and funny messages everyday (eg. "If you can find Generation Terrorist by the Manic Street Preachers, you can have my babies" and "Your honesty wafts across even the cold medium of telecommunications!") and is 99 times out of 100 a very engaging conversationalist who is willing to argue with me about the value of art.
5. Which means that I might get bored sometimes, and new guys might seem interesting in comparison, but the truth is, the Russian is always better.

So anyway I didn't reply, and I didn't hear from him again. Until the following Monday.

He sent me an SMS: How r u? Im on leave frm work for the nxt 2 wks!
Me: That's nice. I wish I could take a holiday too but I'm stuck in the office.
Him: Take leave!
Me: Can't, we're understaffed and I just took leave a few weeks ago.
Him: Work hard!

Are you not rolling your eyes? I began asking my friends for tips on how to get him off my back. I complained about how boring he was. I said, I've been spoilt by my boyfriend. Look at this message he sent me: "Hoof! The earth shakes. A hundred cows are stampeding in terror! They fear the sun's heat.. and the great happy cat in the meadow."

They said, Yasmine, anyone is boring compared to your boyfriend. Your standards are superhuman!

But then I showed them the message that the midget had sent me on Saturday night: "I juz came bk from my fren's wedding. I ate so much. Burp :O" And they said, EEEWWW!!! Ok I understand. Society will not look badly upon you for this. Next time he messages you, just mention your boyfriend.

And then, at 6 pm that same day:

Him: I noe this is kinda late but wd u like 2 watch Die Hard 4 at Cineleisure at 7 pm?
Me, totally panicking: I finish work at 7.30, sorry!

Who the hell asks someone out after meeting them once and then having sporadic SMS conversations over the next two days?

In Part 3: The Russian enlightens me, once again. 

I guess it's about time I blogged about the midget. I've already told many people about this, and I think many of you reading this will be among those people. But I think it's a story worth writing down and looking back on later, don't you?

I got the time wrong for a press conference one morning, and arrived about half an hour early. When I reached the venue, the only other person there was a photographer from one of the daily papers. I sat across from him, said hello and went on listening to my iPod, but he began talking to me so I responded. We ended up having a small chat about photography. Me being me, I asked a lot of questions.

A lot of old friends I talk to say that when they talk to me, they feel like they're being interviewed, but it's not something I do consciously. I don't think it's something that I've started doing only since becoming a journalist. I've been a curious kid all my life, and I am genuinely interested in the minutiae of other people's lives.

And so I discovered that he had become a full-time photographer only three years ago. Before that he was an engineer. He was 35. He worked only part-time at the paper, and spent the rest of his time taking wedding photos and such. I thought he was kind of cute.

Finally, the PR people felt they were ready to bring us to the room where the conference was being held, so we stood up to follow them. And then came the stunner: HE WAS MY HEIGHT.

Look, I know I'm short, and I have girlfriends shorter than me. But, DUDE, there is NO reason for a man to be that short if he's not from a third world Southeast Asian country.

Well, never mind, he was still kind of cute. And anyway, I'm a midget myself, right, so no judgement here.

We entered the conference room and for the next hour or so we each did our separate jobs. Then at lunch we sat next to each other and talked some more. Again, I asked all the questions. I found out that he had spent 8 months travelling all over Asia, including Kazakhstan, Pakistan, India, Iran and China. He'd spent about $8,000 in all. He was planning to spend a year in Cuba. He didn't believe in short holidays.

Then when I had to leave with the television crew for my free ride back to the office, he asked for my number!

I gave it to him.

Funny thing though -- when I got to the lift, he and his reporter appeared too. And in the lift the television reporter agreed to give them a ride in the van too. So in the van we talked some more. Again: me asking, him talking. He had just won a photo competition organised by a bank, and his photos were on exhibit at the Esplanade until July 20th. He was considering returning to the engineering life, all he would need to do was give one of his ex-colleagues a call. He had two weddings to attend in the next two weeks, and on both occasions he was one of the "brothers". He said, "All my friends are getting married one by one. I'll be the only one left on the shelf!" I don't care how cute you are, that's a really pathetic thing for a guy to say. Some of his photos were on his website, and he gave me the address.

The van dropped us off eventually, and then three of us -- me, photographer and reporter from daily paper -- waited by a stoplight. I realised that he was actually shorter than me now, because we were standing on a gentle slope. So I asked him, "What's your height? Are you the same height as me?"

He replied, "No I'm taller. I'm 158."

And in my head, I could only think, "BULLSHIT."

When I got back to the office, I took a look at his website. There were a few photos from Iran and India, which were really quite nice. I sent him an SMS, saying just that. He replied asking for my email address, so he could send me links to some of his other photos on the web. I gave it to him and said I would try to see his exhibition, maybe the next day, Saturday. He said the gallery was closed on Saturdays, which I thought was quite stupid. So I said ok, well that makes it a lot tougher. I'm so busy and I have to meet my friends on Sunday. And he said, bring your friends to the exhibition! And I said, no, I'd prefer to go alone and Saturdays are best because I can just go after my French class. And he said, wow he'd always wanted to learn a third language. And I asked which. And he said, Spanish, since he was planning to live in South America. And I said, I learnt a bit of Spanish before.

And then I realised this was a really long SMS conversation for someone who was really still a stranger, and I had to meet my boyfriend for dinner, so I stopped. But if I'm being honest with myself, it was kind of exciting. The Russian and I had just gotten over a fight at the time, and I was in one of my bored spells, and here was this new midget guy having a long SMS conversation with me, you know? I barely noticed that he hadn't asked me anything about myself. Any information he'd gotten about me I'd offered unbidden.

And so I was giggly, like a 16-year-old. But then the Russian came along.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

My favourite thing in the world is to find someone as lazy as I am:

Gerrie: That's a cute umbrella.
Me: No, it's embarrassing, it's got "breast screening" written on it.
Gerrie: That's good! It's a good thing! I've been meaning to go get tested, you know, but I just keep putting it off.
Me: Do we really need to yet? I don't think so right? 'Cos in the advertisement it's only middle-aged women.
Gerrie: You think? But I read magazines, right, and breast cancer really hits everyone, everyone. I mean, Kylie Minogue. Everybody gets it.
Me: True.
Gerrie: Plus it's hereditary right? And my aunts have gotten it, and I'm really really sure that I'll get it too someday.
Me: OK, then get tested!
Gerrie: But if I got it I wouldn't have to do my FYP...

My second favourite thing is karma:

Me: Hey, I remember another guy who said I was ugly! To my face! I bumped into him just now.
Russian: Kill him! Because you are fire! Hot sexy fire!
Me: It's ok, he's really fat now.
Russian: Hee hee.