13 posts tagged “office tales”
"What time is it?"
My phone calendar reminds me to wake up early.
"Summer Time!"
The cast of HSM2 begins to sing the melody. With the volume set at its loudest, my phone is an excellent alarm. I press "Done." After all, 6:00am is way too early. I can wake up at 6:30, jog for thirty minutes and get ready for work in less than an hour, so I doze off again.
The phone sits still. No SMS or call comes in. The lights are off. It's still dark outside.
I blink, check the time and jump out of bed. The digital clock reads 7:41. I can't believe it's been more than an hour since I turned off the alarm!
I rush to the bathroom. Almost on the verge of tears and cursing myself, I take a bath and get dressed, conscious of every minute I spend on the morning routine.
My hair is still dripping wet. I check my wrist watch again. At 8:23 am, I sling my duffel bag to my right shoulder. I grab my water bottle and leave the room. I wash the bottle and refill it with water. Hurry, I tell the water dispenser, which, apparently, doesn't cooperate.
With my watch about 10-15 minutes ahead of the office clock, I try to estimate how much time I have. I have 20 minutes. Have some fighting spirit, I tell myself.
Out in the street, I sprint. Yes, thank God it's Friday. I can dress down in jeans and in my most comfortable shoes fit for running. Cabs, where art thou? Why can't you find one when you need them the most?
I cross the street and run. Again, way past the security guards, police K9 and other civilians, I sprint. Good thing nobody thinks I'm a sneak thief trying to run away from authorities. I'm almost there, and it's about 16 minutes before 9 am.
There's a traffic jam. I'm glad I didn't take a cab. I slow down, drink from my bottle and pray that I can still make it to the office on time. I estimate the remaining walk to be about 3 minutes. Add another two for the elevator ride. I take out my fan and hanky, drink some more and inhale.
The elevator reaches the office, and the digital clock gives me the first good news of the day--I'm not late. I log in at 8:36am.
Whew.
===
A few days ago, my alarm failed to wake me up (or at least wake me up and get me on my feet). I got up at 7:38am then, got on a cab and reported to work late. I just learned that the fastest mode of transportation to the office is by sprinting (not with office shoes, of course).
On the way home, I told my office mates that I intended to jog early that morning, but I ended up sprinting to work, which also served as good cardio. :-)
It became a cycle--I drink coffee in the morning and I find it difficult to sleep at night. The following morning, I would feel tired because I was deprived of a long, deep sleep and some power naps, which I was able to get when I was still in college. So I drink coffee again the following morning. After I concluded that a cup of coffee makes my nightly zzz's less-than-perfect a rest, I began to skip the office coffee ritual. It won't make me less of an employee, I thought. And I held on my regular morning drink: milk. And on days when I needed a dose of caffeine, I would opt for tea, which has just the right amount of caffeine to keep me alert and give me a deep sleep at night.
This morning, I prepared myself a cup of tea again now that my tummy doesn't go krook krook anymore. But because I slept a bit later than usual the previous night, my eyes were drooping just a few hours later and with my tea cup still 1/8 full. With a full work load ahead, I thought I needed the coffee as my caffeine booster.
Guess what? There wasn't a hint of peach green tea, but a full-blast grassy tea flavor. Hence, it's a mocha cum peach green tea drink. Now who wouldn't perk up to that unique morning drink?
I went to Baguio last week end. I posted a friends-only entry about that brief vacation.
That's all.
~~~
On Thursday night, a credit card person from credit card #2 called the dorm. I heard one of the helpers answer the call, mention my full name, and told the person that there's no such person in the dorm and that she had to check.
"Ate, ako 'yun," I called from behind her. I learned that she's calling to verify some information. I was surprised to receive a business call at such an hour--it's almost 8pm.
"But I already signed the application form and I've answered those same questions," I told her, quite impatiently, as I was about to have my dinner. I pity these people who make a living from calling up people to bug them at work, at home or even on the go.
"Ma'am, for CI po 'to," she said. So I just cooperated. When I checked my mobile phone, I saw a missed call from an unknown number. It was probably the same credit card person. And I bet that prior to calling my cellphone and the dorm, she dialed my office phone number.
~~~
The credit card story doesn't end there. This afternoon, I received another phone call. This time, it's from credit card #1, telling me that I was pre-selected for something. A promo? A prize? I thought and felt excited.
"Free supplementary cards po," she offered.
The excitement suddenly disappeared. Huh? What's that? GC? I thought.
She explained that I can give four extension cards to anyone, dictate their credit limits, and that I'm one lucky card holder to have such power. I only referred one person, but she kept pressing for more.
Please, that credit card is for women. You don't expect me to give it to my brother so that he can also get three free issues of a fashion magazine.
~~~
And just when you think the credit card story is over, it's not.
This morning, I also received a phone call from the office from some credit card person I don't know. "May I speak with [insert name here], please," went the very, VERY familiar line.
"I'm sorry. She's no longer connected with the company," I mumbled in a bored tone, because a week never goes by without a credit card person saying that line to me. Sometimes, they would also offer me to sign up or ask the whereabouts of former employees.
When I was new with the company, about one and a half years ago, I used to say "I'm sorry, you got the wrong number" whenever someone would ask to speak with that person.
Then the caller would recite my number.
"Yes, that's the number. But there's no [insert name here] here." I later learned that the person they're looking for was a former employee of the company. Perhaps her friends and family have referred her to numerous credit card companies that they keep trying their luck into wooing her get a credit card.
Back to this morning's call. "I'm sorry? [insert name here], please," the caller said again.
"She's no longer connected with the company," I said clearly, almost annoyed.
A rough estimate of my office-phone-call statistics would be that three out of five phone calls are from credit card companies, looking for someone but not me. Why don't they update their databases?
You get perked up when the phone rings, thinking that someone thought of you, but then it's just one of those phone calls that you wish you never answered at all.
There was a time that I had to explain that I've been in the company for a year, and the person s/he's looking for has long been gone that I didn't even meet her. Of course, you have to say this politely, even though all you wanted to do was just hang up.
Sometimes, in lieu of her, they would offer the card to me. "Ma'am, baka po gusto n'yo ng credit card." I would always attempt to cut the conversation by saying "Ayoko po." The caller would thank me and the phone call ends.
There's really a variety of credit-card-related calls. After asking to speak with the oh-so-familiar name, one caller told me, "Ma'am, grounded po 'yung line n'yo."
So what? I'm going to hang up in a few seconds anyway, I felt like saying. But instead, I said, "Oo nga eh," followed up by my seven-word phone line: "She's no longer connected with the company."
I am once again battling with the clean, white sheet. I now have a working title, but still lead-less. It’s funny that every morning, upon waking up, it’s the first thing that pops in my head and I always pray that I get to finish the story on that day. Every morning, I refuse to get up from bed early to jog because I might only think about it.
Goodness, I should know the right ammo for this.
Lack of sleep took over at 2:00PM. A team mate requested that I speak with the credit-card person conducting a CI.
“Ma’am, may I know your name please?” the credit-card person asked.
“Tracy [insert surname here],” I replied.
“Can you repeat that, Ma’am?”
“Tracy [insert surname here],” I said a little louder than the first as I adjusted the phone receiver for a clearer conversation.
I thought I said my name too loud the second time.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I can’t hear you.”
“Tracy [insert surname here]!” I yelled, “T-R-A-C-Y.” I look around the office to see if I just alerted everyone to look at me.
“Come again? Jinky? Jinky Carsena?” she asked.
I put the receiver away from me and laughed. Where did Jinky come from? I used to think that I have some speech defect because a lot of people don’t get my name correctly. When I order at coffee shops, I would get a glare from cashiers who chuckle a little as if I was joking. Then, I’d understand because when I look at the written name, it’s Crazy. At fast foods, they don’t always get it correctly, “Gracie,” and perhaps I really look it, “Crazy.” Do I look like I’m always out for some joke?
But with this phone call, I was sure that it’s either she has some hearing problem or the line was no good.
“No. It’s TRAY-SEE,” I said slowly.
“T-R-A-C-Y.” I spelled out my nickname and surname.
“Come again po? Jinky?” she requested again.
This is hopeless, I thought. I couldn’t help but laugh, and I got teary-eyed from laughing. My team mates from the other cube turned their heads at me, looking puzzled. The whole floor could hear me shout and spell my name, but the caller couldn’t understand me!
“I’m sorry, pero mahina po dating n’yo dito,” I heard her say.
“Tracy [insert surname here],” I said, swallowing the giggles and trying to be serious.
Because she couldn’t understand my name, she asked me the CI questions. And after a few questions, she asked me again, “Ma’am your name po ulit.”
I burst out laughing again. I guess it took us another three minutes just to get my name. I thought the CI would only last for a few minutes. Not that I'm disappointed it took longer than expected--it was all right because after caffeine failed me, it was all I needed to keep myself awake.
The pay slip arrived this afternoon. Upon opening the “brownie,” I smiled to myself. I’m a whole lot richer!
However, there are a few catches. There’s my Christmas gift list, which is about only 10% in progress. The P990i and the Toshiba laptop are calling out for me. Add to that the stock market with eyebrows raised, awaiting for my comeback. There’s also my savings account thirsty for another large gulp of savings deposit.
I know that the money should go to my assets. But, don’t I deserve some bliss from earthly possessions and sharing the spirit of Christmas by giving material things?
When work gets to your nerves and tears your patience into pieces, you have to learn the art of amusing yourself. The hell days are here again, but I’m keeping my composure with the help of my Office Assistant, who responds to every F1 press.
Animate! Animate! Animate! With that, I get to rest my overworked processor that humans call the mind. Hehe.
He's an award-winning wizard.
That's because he's one hardworking wizard.
He thinks a lot...
And sleeps a lot.
He's also a whole bunch of fun, making faces...
...And playing hide and seek.
Ayos ba?
As Christmas day approaches, everything turns Christmas-y. Along Makati Ave. and Ayala Ave., the trees spared by Milenyo are wrapped with Christmas lights. Christmas songs fill the air of malls. And then there’s the Christmas tree standing in the office lobby.
My family hasn’t been setting up a Christmas tree for years now. We have always opted for a few Christmas-themed decorations in different locations of the house, outdoor Christmas lanterns and lights, and of course, the crèche. Christmas is incomplete without remembering His birthday.
I grew up in a family who never believed in the fat visitor of every child on Christmas Eve. I was never introduced to Santa Claus and for that I always had a good laugh at my classmates and friends who then idolized him. I’ve been challenged by my classmates to prove that he doesn’t exist and been frowned at for being a non-believer.
Upon looking back, I guess I was the foe of every parent who wanted to teach their children generosity through the big, fat man. A college friend even told me that if we were childhood friends, we could’ve been into a big fight over the Santa-Claus topic.
Sans Santa
My parents tried to teach me the value of generosity without making up the story of every household’s intruder on Christmas Eve. They probably thought that it would be difficult to make up a story in our setting. Houses in the Philippines have no chimneys, and Santa could not barge through our front door without being attacked by our dogs (unless he also has dog treats for them).
So they went straight to the point—it’s Jesus Christ’s birthday. And because we can’t send wrapped gifts via mail to heaven, we make Him happy by showing love to our fellow mortals, giving them presents and being nice to everyone. But I also questioned the exact date of His birthday. How could they be sure that it’s December 25 if they didn’t have calendars back then? I wondered. But that’s a different story.
While some of my friends thought that a Santa-Claus-less childhood is boring, I think of it as nothing but normal. At least I was never fooled that a reindeer can fly and the gifts under the tree were from a North Pole resident (and in fact almost everything is made in China!).
Or maybe I really had a dull childhood, not believing in Santa Claus, ghosts and the supernatural. For me, however, I think it’s best that I was never fooled by grown ups who say “Be a good girl, otherwise Santa won’t give you a Christmas present,” and to whom I retort “Hindi naman s’ya totoo, eh.”
This is my new desktop wallpaper, which is custom-made in the Philippines (by a slacker, if I may add). The first three characters spell my surname in Korean (Car pen you*). The next line of characters spells it in simplified Chinese (Card peng na*).
*Source: Google Language Tools
An envelope arrives on my desk.
It’s one of those bank statements I receive regularly. It refreshes my memory of how much I’ve earned as an employee and knocks me off that I’ve consumed this certain amount already.
I glance at the envelope. I keep it in my drawer without opening it.
I have outgrown the habit of opening mails, which I used to do when I was younger. I’m sure that I won’t be getting a reward upon opening that particular envelope anyway.
When I was a kid, I found my father’s stock of unread mails and volunteered to open all of them. It’s as if the heavens wanted to reward me for doing a non-sense task--I found a one-dollar bill in one of his two-year-old mails.
