February 12, 2017

goal in life

Every Saturday morning, I would follow my wife to the market to buy some stuff for the week after dropping off my daughter for her extra class.

We’d frequent this vegetable stall, run by a couple in their 60s. Not only their produce are fresh, but they charge very reasonably. But the most important thing of all that makes us always go back to the stall – is the vibe.

You see, the old man, is a different kind of vegetable seller. He’s a guy who enjoys what he is doing – selling vegetables. It’s his fucking mojo. Every time I see him, he’s always jovial. He speaks loudly and clearly. He loves to crack jokes. He dispenses advice about the goodness of his merchandise like he made them himself. But then he also dispenses bullshit nonsense just to keep everyone entertained. He teases his wife, his fellow market colleagues and he teases his customers as well. Everyone seems to be happier when he’s around. He’s like a beacon in the sad dark place.

He also can speak better English than some of the managers I’ve met at Company T, and good BeeEm too. Communication is his strong trait. That’s why he gets all kinds of customers, Indians, Malays, Chinese, because everyone feels confident buying vegetables from him. There was once, we got a bag of vegetables with some pests in it, we got refunded with no questions asked. We also get freebies all the time, and the couple always welcome everyone with a laugh/smile. If there were to be an employee of the month contest going in the market, he’d win 12 times a year hands down.

So, after watching this guy for years, I begin to wonder myself – how many people actually get to enjoy their jobs like this old vegetable seller does? Not many, I reckon. Not even myself. I have not enjoyed a single shit I do since a long time ago. The best time I had, was when I worked at an advertisement workshop in Georgetown. That was the only time that made me look forward to the next working day, every day. I’d fool around with my equally foolish colleagues, and I’d crack jokes to cheer everyone up. I was poor as fuck, but I was a much happier person.

Seeing the vegetable seller living his life like this, I couldn’t help but feel envious of him and his wife – for not many people get that kind of privilege to be able to both enjoy and making a living at the same time. I am now re-evaluating everything I do, and my new goal in life is to be like this vegetable seller. I want to be able to enjoy every shit I do, and savor the remnants of what left in my time on this planet as a happier person.

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January 25, 2017

interns

When my boss told us a couple months back that we’ll be getting a bunch of interns at Company T, I imagined that they’d totally look like this:

“Oh yeah bebeh, life at work is going to be so swell.” Or so I thought.

My colleagues and I waited for like, forever, until they finally showed up, totally looking like this:

click ‘Read the rest of this entry’ to view it, caution is advised

Read the rest of this entry »

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January 24, 2017

Eddie the chef

Eddie has been pretty good at his new role as a chef. One day, a famous food critique made an appointment to pay the restaurant a visit for a review. Fueled by the prospects of free publicity, Bill the restaurant owner came up with an idea of serving an exotic dish as the main course… Eddie, is however, skeptical that it will work…

Eddie the Chef: “With all due respect, Bill… I don’t think it is a good idea to put something we’re not specialized in as the main course. We should stick to something realistic…”

Bill the Owner: “Like what? A cup of instant noodles? Bah! We need to take some risks in life, Eddie! This is the chance of a lifetime to make this place famous!”

Eddie: “If you have to put it that way, what can I say. But tell me, where the hell am I going to find a “bear’s paw”, let alone to cook up a good one?”

Bill: “Don’t worry, if there’s a will, there will be a way. Go check with those shady vendors at the market, they might have an idea where to look, if not supply one.”

Eddie: “Suit yourself, Bill. I’d suggest to plan out a contingency in case I can’t find a bear’s paw… Maybe one of our General Tso’s Chicken Rice…”

Bill: “There is no need for that, Eddie. Have some faith.”

Then come to a couple of days before the critique’s visit,
Eddie: “Bill, I can’t find a bear paw. We should do the chicken.”

Bill: “What do you mean? I have sent the menu to the critique that we’re going to make bear paws!”

Eddie: “What?? Why the hell did you do that?”

Bill: “That’s because I have faith in you, Eddie! Now go find me a fucking bear paw, and cook up a good one!”

Eddie: “I hope you have faith in the food critique too because he’s going to have nothing to eat that day. I quit”

And Eddie gave Bill the hardest kick to the groin, and jammed a fork into his shoulder blade…

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January 17, 2017

restaurant – garbs

I’ve always wanted to start my own restaurant someday, but I do not know when. I have been paying attention and taking notes though, on how I wanted my restaurant to be run. And it all comes from the bad experiences I had over the years.

One of the very first thing I’d like my restaurant to have, is the enforcement of uniform and hats. Why uniforms? Simple. I wanted the patrons to be able to tell apart the people who are suppose to serve them food and bring them the bill. Ask yourself, how many times have you mistakenly flagged some prick with a poor taste in fashion whom you thought was a server/waiter/waitress? Maybe it’s just a me thing so, fuck you. But if that has happened to you before, you know it’s quite embarrassing. And in some cases, may even be frustrating. I don’t want that to fucking happen.

Now the hat. It’s a straight forward no brainer thing. Humans shed hairs… like, all the fucking time. You wouldn’t believe how much hair you shed per day (I should know because unlike some of you loafers out there, I mop my own floor). And one of the worst thing that could happen to a restaurant, is to have hair in the food. I certainly don’t want to eat anything with some cocksucker’s hair in it! It only takes one hair to ruin the restaurant’s reputation and snow ball from there when a victim vents it out in the social fucking media. And to think of it, that this risk can be greatly reduced if everyone simply wears a fucking hat, makes it even more imperative to enforce this requirement.

I could add some LED’s on the uniform, or even the hat, so that everyone can spot a waiter from a javelin’s throw away. That’s how my waiters/waitresses are going to stand out in the restaurant, and no one will have a problem finding a waiter/waitress…

…to be continued…

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January 9, 2017

health check

When was the last time I had my ‘complete health check’? According to the records, never. Blood tests are not considered a ‘complete health check’. It’s just part of a ‘complete health check’. A ‘complete health check’ is apparently a subjective term. There’s no such thing as a complete health check (because it is impossible to check 100% of your whole body to ensure that you’re 100% healthy). But in the realms of the health care industry, a ‘complete health check’ comes in a package worth MYR1.5k, and I get it for free because I work for Company T.

That was why I went to get one back in December (again, my wife made me do it). Through the years working for Company T, never once I went for a ‘complete health check’ because I’ve always thought the whole thing is pure bollocks (I know could be wrong, so cut it out already).

Anyway, one of the tests that needed to be done was this stool collection. All you gotta do is give the lab guy your favorite stool (can be from Ikea or one of those cheap ass stools you bought from the local furniture shop, any color is fine) and get it back the next day. Kidding. A stool is your shit. They need to collect your shit to check if you’re healthy or something like that.

Now, this shit collection thing is something new for me. Prior the ‘complete health check’ day, I imagined that they’d give me a big plastic bag or something and I’d just shit inside it then pass the bag back to them. I’d of course parade the bag of shit across the bewildered crowd at the reception area before handing it over. The plastic bag better not leak I suppose, otherwise it’d be hilarious.

So… came the moment. Lab assistant, who was an old lady of 60 years old, was about to ask me to shit. But instead of a straightforward request, she gave me a concerned look. She said to me,

“I need to get your stool sample. I can understand if you want to come back the next day with the sample…”

I was like, what? That was strange.

“Why would I want to come back the next day?”

“To pass us the stool sample. You can do it when you’re convenient at home.”

“Why can’t I do it now? Like, I can just give it to you now…”

“You can do it now?”

“Why not?”

Apparently, constipation is a thing now amongst the people. She was surprised that I could just ‘give it to her’. Little did she know that I have an on/off switch in me like a McDonalds Chocolate Sundae machine (you can say that I’m just full of shit). By just flipping it, and out comes the Chocolate Sundae, any time of the day. You can dispense it in a cup or cone, doesn’t matter. But I was given this plastic container instead with a small plastic spoon in it.

“So I just scoop it up with this spoon? You only need just a small spoonful? Or do you want me to fill the container to the brim with the spoon?”

Old lady sheepishly answered she only needed a spoonful. I gave her more that day.

PS: My complete health check came back positive for ‘Extreme Tired-of-all-the-Bullshit at Work Syndrome’ (ETBWS) and ‘Chronic Laziness Syndrome’ (CLS), otherwise, I’m completely fine.

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