Today was a Bad Day

Busy season is here. Damn it.

If you would remember, this blog was a product of the busy season. Just to refresh your memory, this busy season that I speak of is that time at work where the load just comes rushing in. This period is also known as the tax season—the months leading to April 15.

Emotions are at their all time high in the office. Of course, if there would be a ranking of sorts in this category, I would be numero uno. Not that I crumble under pressure. If some people eat when they are stressed out, me? I pick fights. I fret. I bitch. And I bitch some more. That's because during the busy season, I am perpetually in a bad mood. I should actually wear a warning sign saying, "BACK OFF", just to spare some innocent souls from my wrath.

Today, my eyebrows spent 80% of the day together, with the other a bit raised at times, and my lips were curled in hostility. That just means one thing. Busy season na naman. Shet. Away na 'to.

My day's start was not that bad really. I was early for work and, of course, nothing would beat me being on time. I was upbeat and all, ready to conquer the work place when…

My manager engaged me in a "it's your word against mine" game. This is, of course, a game no lowly senior has yet to win. "Sabi mo kaya sa'kin huwag ko tignan [ang documents]…" This senior said. "Ano ka? Hindi ko sinabi 'yan ano?" Not wanting to go even further with this pointless conversation, I listened to what was left to be said and I walked out, disgruntled to say the least.

Eager to do something to brighten up the rest of my afternoon, I went to Glorietta to meet a couple of friends for lunch. The lunch was good and the company was even better. Had I known the string of unfortunate events that would transpire thereafter, I wouldn't have left and gone back to work.

But I did and then, my bad day started to live up to its name. One mishap at a time.

I walked under the scorching heat, in a jacket, along Ayala, just so I could get a cab. I had to go to the client, as it was part of the punishment from losing the "it's your word against mine" game. I couldn't find a cab so I had to relocate from time to time. I also had my laptop with me and, gahd, was it heavy! I was sweaty and admittedly not pleasant anymore. I scored a cab an hour later only to find out…

My colleague, who I was going to meet at the client's and was my sole purpose for going there, has gone back to the office. "Hello, *****? Bakit ka bumalilk ng office?" I asked. In a voice of a little terrified girl, "Ay sorry po. Akala ko dito [office] tayo magkikita." Not wanting to scare her off this early in the busy season, I fought the feeling of shouting at her and at anyone else within the vicinity. I thought I was doing great, but…

The damn cab driver "lame-excused" his way to getting ten pesos from me. Since I was not far from the office when I got my colleague's call, I just asked the driver to turn the next corner and bring me back. Although the ride was shorter than my temper, the driver managed to get 50 pesos from me. The meter said "40.00" , but when I handed him a 50-peso bill, this extortionist retorted in this lame but classic excuse, "Ay ma'am, wala pa po akong barya." Neither did I. Not wanting to shout at this beast of a human being, I mumbled cuss words to myself and stepped out of his cab. Then all of a sudden…

My colleague, who I was going to meet at the client's but has gone back to the office, suddenly popped out of nowhere catching me in the worst mood I've had in months. "Boss! Wait lang," I told my colleague in a voice that filled the lobby. I didn't realize it then but a friend had seen me that moment and told me later in the day how sungit I was to the staff. I felt bad really, but God knows that I was trying. And since HE wanted to test me even more…

The lobby security guard nagged me to clip my damn ID on. Of course, as I didn't have it ready, I had to scramble around the insides of my heavy bag. I didn't find it then so I just went ahead without putting my ID on. But the guard started to insist that I do. "Ugh. Konti na lang talaga, sisigaw na ako…" I mumbled to myself. And do you know what the guard told me? "Weh bakit kayo nagagalit?!?"

ABA'Y P*CHA NAMAN EH. HOY, HINDI KITA KINAKAUSAP, NOH? NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, MORON. ALAM MO BA KUNG ANO ANG PINAGDAANAN KO THE LAST HOUR? IKAW NGA SA LAKI NG KATAWAN MO, ANDITO KA LANG SA MAY AIRCON AT LILIM EH. ANO PA AKO NA NAARAWAN, NAGLAKAD NG DALAWANG KILOMETRO, UMALIS, BUMALIK, AT DINAKDAKAN NG PANGIT AT HAMPAS-LUPANG GAYA MO? SO TINGIN MO SA'YO LANG AKO GALIT? GALIT AKO SA BUONG MUNDO, P*NYETA!

Of course, I didn't say that. And not being able to say that to his ugly face is what triggered this post, actually. Argh. Not wanting to make a scene, I just said, "Hindi ako nagagalit," as I was trying to fight back the urge of slapping him senseless. Just when I thought I've had enough, I got into the elevator and…

The freaking operator misses my floor. Argh. Argh. Argh. "Boss?!" I called his attention. He just smiled and never apologized. In fact, he was more into making something out of my bad mood than he was trying to become apologetic. I gathered that he was thinking that him missing my stop was the SOLE reason I was in a bad mood, therefore, I was ultimately unreasonable and nagiinarte. Not wanting to make matters worse, I looked down, tried to avoid unconsciously rolling my eyes at the operator, pinched my cheek to numb the urge of bursting, and alighted at the tenth floor, after a round trip elevator ride.

I got to my workspace and thought, "I am never going to do that again." Never will I let them off like that. Never will I put their own feelings first. Never will I hold back. Ever. Again. Nagtitimpi lang ako, but since busy season na, it's this bitch's time to shine. Magalit na ang magalit. Mapaiyak ko na, kung mapaiyak ko. Kung ayaw niyo ng away, better get out of my way. Don't say I didn't warn you.

My Annoying Seatmates Here at Work [Part 1]

Today is the day I shall break the ice. My silence stops here.

Over the last few weeks, I have grown FOND of my seatmates here at work. They remind me of my days as a new hire in our firm. Back when I was four years younger…four years stupider…and definitely four years more annoying.

I think you know what I mean.

It’s like after we spend three years in high school and we finally become seniors. It’s the way we see the people from the lower batches, especially the froshies. It’s the way the younger ones seem more annoying both in how they look and act. It’s the way we suddenly wonder if we were that stupid when we were in the same stage.
I could go about work without noticing them, really, but the annoying things that my seatmates are into are just too glaring to just be passed upon.

Let me just paint you a picture of how the set-up here in the office is like:

Our work area simply a vast common room where there are individual workspaces, no dividers, and no cubicles (at least for those who are not yet managers). There is a hodgepodge of files, determining the ownership of which will truly be a logistical nightmare. The place redefines overcrowding, really. A workspace typically intended for one is occupied by two people, or even more. It is where a simple breathe becomes an invasion of the next person’s privacy.

Could you just imagine how inevitable it is for each one of us here in the office to be familiar with our seatmates’ goings on? All that even when we do not intend or even want to have the slightest idea? We can’t help but be all connected, however annoying that connection might turn out to be. Annoying enough to muster that feeling of wanting to box the next person. Well, at least on my part.

I have at least five officemates within the 3 meter radius of my workspace, all of whom are at least 3 batches lower than me. They have this tendency to engage in “activities” which, to my “seasoned” and “mature” senses, are unreasonably juvenile, tantamount to nuisances, thus, annoying.

Now, I would like to introduce you to my seatmates. This time, however, I will have no accompanying pictures. I still have mercy, you know, however others might think otherwise. Besides, since filing libel charges against bloggers might be the next fad, I think making these out as blind items, at least for this post, would lessen my litigation expenses.


First of [maybe] 5 parts…

Discreetly Haliparot Girls
The name speaks for itself, really. These supposed-to-be epitomes of Maria Clara, hailing from the province, and seemingly exuding of rural innocence and womanhood, are not at all what they project themselves to be.

Discreetly Haliparot Girl #1 (DHG1) sits to my left. She is supposedly a barrio lass: speaks like she’s always whispering, sneezes like an itsy bitsy mouse, gives out a shy smile at everyone, takes itsy bitsy bites off her food, wipes the side of her mouth with her embroidered hanky after she takes a bite of her sandwich, engages in public display of physical intimacy…

Wait…what was that?

Yes, that’s right. DHG1 morphs into this creature completely devoid of intimacy issues every time her boyfriend drops by to check on her:


Boyfriend of DHG1: [in disgusting baby talk] O…bakit hindi ka sumama mag-lunch? Magugutom ka niyan? [steals a 1/8 torrid smooch]

DHG1: [smooches back]

DHG1: [in even more appalling baby talk] Eh kasi…ang dami ko pa gawin eh… [gives out a cutesy pout]

xtin: [pretends not to notice, but is nevertheless annoyed]


Apparently, the Maria Clara of today is overly affectionate and annoying. And when such attitude is displayed in the office, I don’t know because I might be wrong on this, isn’t that considered inappropriate? It’s one thing when she’s like this with her boyfriend. It’s just a whole other ball game when she does the same thing to other guys. Guys. Plural.


Other guy/s: [in an I’m-your-concerned-friend-slash-shoulder-to-cry-on tone] O, musta na? Busy ka ba?

DHG1: [in patent baby talk] Eto…

DHG1: [looks up to guy, gives out a cutesy sigh, and bats her eyelashes]

Another guy: [detects flirtation in the air]

Other guy/s: Talaga? Wawa ka naman…

Other guy/s: [sits beside DHG1, extends his arm over the shoulders of DHG1, gives her shoulders a squeeze]

DHG1: [gives out yet another sigh and leans on the open torso of the guy/s]

xtin: [in disgust and in thought] Naknampuchanamanoe. Alam mo, hija, kung nanay mo ako, makukurot talaga kita sa singit! Burikak ka na nga, salawahan pa! Ay santisima!


To be continued…

When handwriting becomes eligible and a bachelor becomes illegible

“Stop it, people, stop it. You’re confusing the hell out of me.”

I have been attending training sessions for the past week. Audit training sessions, mind you. Of entity level controls, combined risk assessments, PM/TE/SAD Nominal, and analytical review procedures. Oh, I’m sorry…am I boring you? Good. Because I was bored to death myself.

Apart from endowing upon me the gift of boredom, an added perk of the training sessions, or any audit training session for that matter, is first-hand exposure on auditor/accountant-specific vocabulary and pronunciation.

Accountants share not only technical jargon, but also a unique way of pronouncing even the most pedestrian words. I have been trying to be politically correct with this, but there is no better way of putting it than simply saying that it is kabarokan. I think we drown in the monotony of our work that we often lose our morals of grammar and pronunciation. Worse, more often than not, we are unaware of these loose morals. Not that I enjoy putting my own profession down, but this fact has never gone under the radar anyway.

I may be wrong, though. It just might be the people I work with. That’s what scares me—that this culture of accountant kabarokan is prevalent only in our office. I admit that I don’t have impeccable choices in grammar and pronunciation, but it surely is terrifying sort of knowing that I’m in an environment which fosters such fallibility. And, of course, it’s simply annoying hearing all those misplaced modifiers and short E’s in place of long E’s put together in a week-long training event.

During the past week, when I hear someone say something like “team planning event” as if it’s “TIM PLANNEENG EH-VENT” or “my role as audit senior” as if it’s “MY ROHL AS AUDIT SINIOR” or “STAFFS” instead of “staff members” or “associate” as if the word talks of a dog, there’s stress on the first syllable and there are just three syllables instead of four (AH-SO-SHEYT), I hold back my tears (of laughter) and try oh so hard to exude nonchalance. But again, there is the fear that because of the frequency and regularity of these types of occurrences at work, I just might develop immunity to it.

At one particular point, I felt that fear starting to materialize. I was listening in to the discussion and found myself trapped in an unexpected confusion:

AUDIT TRAINOR (sic): What do you think should a good senior be like?

PARTICIPANT: Like in making review notes, good seniors should not have EH-LEE-GEE-BOL (stress on second syllable) handwriting, so that the staff will understand it.

XTIN: (zones out and goes to a deep and sudden introspection)

Hmmmm…wait. Did he say illegible or eligible? It’s just so hard to differentiate between the two as both seem to have the same accountant-specific pronunciation. Well, either way, it’s wrong.

Not one of the two is pronounced as EH-LEE-GEE-BOL, with stress on the second syllable.

Illegible, or not decipherable, is pronounced as EE-LEH-JIH-BOL, stress on the second syllable.

Eligible, on the other hand, or qualified or unattached, is pronounced as EH-LIH-JIH-BOL, stress on the first syllable, not the second.

Wait, or is it the other way around? Shocks! Stop it, people, stop it! You’re confusing the hell out of me!

Shit. I had to relearn the semantics of these two words just so I could finally differentiate between illegibly and eligibility. There was momentary dyslexia there.

XTIN: (comes back to reality with a renewed sense of self, only to find out that she is still in the training room in the presence of her TRAINOR [sic] and her co-participants, still engaged in their accountant-specific conversations)

Damn.

You need to be SINGLE to understand Sex and the City

I sometimes find myself in the middle of a conversation thinking what I could have done in my life to have deserved to be part of such a conversation. And during those rare but momentous occasions, I always get this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach…the urge of slapping who I’m talking to at that moment and telling the half-wit, “What did you say? Seriously?”

A week or so ago, I got myself in such a conversation with an officemate. We were talking about Sex and the City, The Movie. I was telling her that I really liked the movie and it has been the only movie for quite some time that I enjoyed watching. Apparently, she also watched the movie and wanted to tell me how much she was not able to “relate” to the movie.

Basic fact to know before reading the following conversation: I, XTIN, AM SINGLE. AND SO IS MY OFFICEMATE’S COUSIN. The cousin is a girl, btw.

Officemate: Oo, nga e. Nagandahan nga din yung cousin ko, eh. Naiyak siya sa movie.

Xtin: Ako din, may times na medyo naiiyak ako pero hindi naman natuloy.

O: Talaga?

X: Oo. Nakakaawa kasi si Carrie, eh...

O: Yun nga, eh. Ako kasi hindi ako masyado nag-enjoy/naka-relate. So nung kinikwento sa akin ng cousin ko na naiyak siya, inisip ko, “Bakit ako hindi naiyak? Anong WALA SILA NA MERON AKO?” Tapos ayun, naisip ko, “AY, OO NGA PALA. AKO MAY BOYFRIEND.”

X: (@#$%^&*waatdapakkkk!?!?!...NOSEBLEED)

Huwaw. Seriously? So you need to have NO boyfriend to be able to understand or even feel sad for Carrie? Much more, you need to be single, pathetic, and hapless to comprehend the humor of Sex and the City? Shet. Holy shet. KAYA PALA GETS NA GETS KO AND TAWANG-TAWA AKO SA MOVIE. OH, DEAR GOD, TAKE ME AWAY!!!

And I thought knowing who Mr. Big was and what Manolos are was enough for me to “get” the movie. Apparently, I have to be involved in some lame-ass relationship before I could laugh at Charlotte for having soiled her panties.

And is the phrase not ANONG MERON SILA NA WALA AKO? Talk about making a statement work for you.

UNBELIEVABLE.

*then i came to wonder...what would i have needed to get the humor of KUNG FU panda? should have i gotten myself a talking panda first, so that i could somehow fathom the cute "face nerve" antics of Po? Hmmm...come to think of it...maybe i should have gotten me a panda, because I REALLY DIDN'T GET IT AT ALL. Geheddemmit.