On The Job

What I love most about FHM is that section on odd jobs. Ok, so I also read it because of the interesting [sure] articles, and also to find out to what extent the editors can stretch an average guy's sexual fantasies. Anyway. FHM Philippines once featured a guy who was responsible for those crossword puzzles in our dailies. He gets maybe less than half of what the FHM editor-in-chief himself earns in a week [and less than half the action as well, I presume]. Sure, Mr. Crossword Puzzle claims to love what he does, but Mr. FHM Chief loves the girls he does. Nowadays, it's not just about loving what you do [that's so 90s]; it's really more about the perks you get from a job you love to do. Of course, that's just next to impossible. I'd love to see the day.

Coming back to Jeddah and lounging around my parents' house like a fat cheshire cat, although quite satisfying, made me think about getting myself a job over here. First of all, because I need to earn myself some Benjamins [ermm... or Malik Fahads, I guess]; second, because it's really the inevitable next step since I've already made a fool of myself in high school, and studied [sure] and partied in college. Now, how's about a career path? I've tried getting jobs before - I've worked as a call center agent back in Manila [come on, who hasn't?], disc-jockeyed on the radio back in college, and taught English to Southeast Asian exchange students in our univ [who all ended up learning Filipino cuss words, geez.]

All those jobs I did for the sake of experience. It builds character, they said. Sure, I learned some stuff: Dj-ing for a radio station doesn't mean you're a star. There's a reason why only your voice is heard and your face not shown to the public. And it's not because you have a striking resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones [or even Michael Douglas at his worst]. And yes, Dr. Love sounds sexy, but he's not Mr. Aussie-Hot-Pants in real life, he's really a 48-year-old, fat Manong Dodo [or Faraj].

When teaching English to non-native speakers [a.k.a. people who know diddlysquat about English], let them experience the words, not just learn them. Very good example would be Vandim, Cambodian, 22 years old, Cambodian minister's son, and a very receptive young man. He wanted to know what the equivalent of "sak-e" [Japanese liquor] was in English. I was a college student then, so I raised my fist and cried "Beer!!" [Interesting fact: college students around the world are known for drinking too much beer while reading too much English literature]. So I marched him and his classmates down to the nearest bar and poured beer onto their hands [in classic Hellen Keller fashion, of course] and said to them in faint whispers, "Beer, my friends... Beer." I charged them 350 pesos per hour each, plus beer. They are now fairly good in English, and all the Bud-wiser. Also, I learned that real emotion transcends language, so what you can't get across with words, do so with frantic hand gestures. There will always be the language barrier, sure, but a middle-finger flash is a middle-finger flash in most southeast Asian cultures.

In a call center office, always stay away from the ugly people. They are NOT beautiful on the inside, don't listen to their moms. Strike up a superficial friendship with the gay circle. The exclusive club is penetrable, and a fag-hag is really like being a movie star, especially since [and only if] you're a woman. If you're not a "she", and you don't look anything like Johnny Depp or Keanu Reeves, stick to the ugly people. During coffee or puff breaks, avoid talking about yourself - it will be done when you leave. Always go to office parties; otherwise, they'll assume you're fat. If you want to get promoted, flirt. If you want enemies, flirt. If you want to be popular, flirt. If you want to be cheap, flirt. It's a lose-lose situation. Or win-win, however which way you look at it. Anyways, it's not worth it if you want to hit yourself on the head with an ace each time you wake up to a working day. The pay will NOT compensate for your misery, and having benefits such as medical insurance [which probably has a million loopholes anyway so that you will STILL need to pay your hospital bills in case of an emergency] is not called 'having perks'. So what if you can go to that high-end gym across your building once a month for free? You still hang with the ugly people.

So continues the never-ending quest for a better job. There's a few interesting jobs I've come across. I once had an officemate who's responsible for the captions on photos we see in lifestyle and home design magazines. She is asked to write up interesting descriptions of lace curtains and mahogany furniture. Her imagination stops at 'floral' and 'exquisite'. I mean, how many adjectives can you come up with to describe lace? Another good friend of mine works as a geologist [I can't believe I have a real-life friend who has such an important [sounding] job!]. I'm not sure of what it is he does, but he studies rocks and rock formations on-field. And he gets paid handsomely. I know someone whose daughter was employed as a young princess' playmate. In return for her services, she's toured all over the world. [Imagine playing with a princess, geez. She'll always win, and she's still royalty. No fun.] My friend Rice works as a bartender in a reputable nightspot, and once a week, she juggles her drink-bottles for the customers [ermm.. I didn't mean that metaphorically]. Fact, she was last year's state champion for bottle-juggling!

When we were younger, it's simple enough. I used to think about the people who wrote dictionaries. What a cool job they have, eh? And how about those cartographers? How hard is it to make a map? I dreamed of being a bus driver or a taxi driver when I was little. I used to think to myself, that'd be so cool, going places, meeting people AND getting paid to do so! Perks and Pay. But then we get older. Enter the social status and prerequisite college degree [even to be a cafe barista, one has to have college papers] and the desire for prestige and money and an impossibly unanimous nod of approval from a discriminating society. It's become complicated. Oi Vei.

But one thing I know's for sure:

Damn, the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques has the best job. Perks included.