A Lola at 25

May 3, 2008

I miss having to write for a living. It’s been ages since I last had to, and I miss it. I miss the irrevocability of deadlines, the precision of guidelines. I miss groaning over overtime, being OC about the alignment of options, having a subject pique my interest so much I’d feel compelled to spend the next hours googling it. Sometimes, I even miss butting heads with very stubborn Americans over subject-verb agreement.

Now, my writing’s gotten rusty. I’ve a job description as murky as Pasig’s water. I split hairs over budget allocations and dollar conversion rates. I keep tabs on infractions, minor or otherwise, and document them the soonest time possible. And today, I woke up at eight so I could go to two meetings, the earliest of which starts at 9:45. Who on earth has meetings on a Saturday? I have become the person I thought I’d never have to be until I turn 50: a wrinkled prune chained to document templates, attendance records, and accounting worksheets.

Had someone told me I would become such a lola at 25, I would have hooted in derision. Who knew?  

 

Becoming Nora

May 2, 2008

Being Nora Aunor, that’s what it is, except I don’t dress hick or talk as if I breakfast on nails. But yes, I can be Nora and more - in my head, where all the weirdness happens.

See, my mental processes take place in three languages. I converse in Bisaya,  daydream in English, and wax theatrical in Tagalog. For some reason, I cannot get past the idea that the most overboard of human emotions are best expressed in Tagalog. Nora Aunor and Cherry Pie Picache are to blame, of course, but there’s no use pointing fingers at this point because the damage has been done. I saw this scene as a child - woman crawls through mud; her dress is soiled, her face grimy, and she says, through clenched fists and gritted teeth, "Pinulot kita sa putik, ibabalik kita sa putik! Magbabayad ka! Magbabayad ka!" - and it ruined me for life. From then on,  I play drama queen in Tagalog; and always, always, whenever I oscillate between hurt and anger, I clench my fists, grit my teeth, and utter, "Magbabayad ka! Magbabayad ka!" Mentally, of course.

I thought I’ve outgrown this silly habit of being Nora-dramatic. I was born awesome, after all, and could correct anything - from bad grammar to bad posture.

Then, yesterday, the unthinkable happened. I was dragged to six meetings - two planned, four of them impromptu - and all six took place from 2pm to 9pm in six different locations. Worst, the sixth one lasted three hours; and the whole time - the whole freaking time - the meeting was conducted in Hangeul. I sat in stolid silence, hating the entire population of Kimchi-land.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs, crossed and uncrossed my eyes, timed my pulse 450 times (86 beats per minute, tops), wrung my hands 6,851 times. I played with my earlobes, hair, and wedding band. I chewed on my tongue. By the time the meeting ended, I’ve crossed over to the dark side.

"Chin, dinner," he said as he stood up, making use of the very few English words he knew. "Dinner. Marco Polo."

"Yes," she chimed in, her English much better than his, "please join us dinner. Is Marco Polo okay with you? Is very near this place. Is very near your house also."

Out loud and very much the picture of graciousness, I replied, "I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised my husband I’ll have dinner with him." Mentally, however, I’ve become Nora, making my way past slime, shaking my fists and screaming, "Magbabayad kayo! Magbabayad kayo!"

It’s official. Drama queens outgrow their shoes, but not their lines and never their scenes. Magbabayad kayoooo!

 

The Prophet, Peter

May 1, 2008

If you are bad, you won’t be demoted.
If you are good, you will be promoted.
If you suck at said promotion, you won’t be demoted.
You will be fired.
In sum: the good fade away, the bad remain.

That isn’t an HR jingle, by the way, but a nugget of wisdom bosses the whole world over would do well to remember. There’s a reason so many organizations teem with so much incompetence, and this reason is called the Peter Principle.

This is how it works: when people do well, they get promoted until they’re in over their head. If anything in the organization does get accomplished, it will be accomplished by those who are not yet in over their head. Some form of natural balance, this? I say not. It’s more temporary progress than anything else because the accomplishments of qualified employees will get them promoted until they reach positions for which they are underqualified.

To illustrate: You have ten accounting clerks. One stands out as the most competent, so you make him team leader. If your accounting clerk sucks major ass at leadership, then you have just raised him to his level of incompetence. This, friends and Romans, is the Peter Principle in action. In any hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence.

Chin: Blah.. blah.. yada yada yada.
Boss2: Okay, I understand. Same loo with ours. But please explain to me Philipen loos on acquisitions and mergers.
Chin: Oh. That. Can I call a friend?
Boss2: Friend? Your friend is expert on acquisitions and mergers? Cheen, what friend’s name?
Chin: Peter, and he warned me this day would come.
(insert a few seconds of uncomfortable silence here; Boss2 stares blankly at Chin while she tries not to squirm)
Chin: Uh, that was a joke.

So there. Now you know what an infernal Thursday this has been. While all you worker ants made excellent use of the holiday, I was cooped for hours inside a dimly lit building discussing acquisitions, mergers, international tax laws, and inter-consulate convalidations of articles of incorporation with three men - two old enough to be my grandfather and one, gayer than unicorns.