Late Like a 40-Year Old Virgin

Rant and Rave ahead - skip this post if uninterested.

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I have never waited so long in my life for an airplane to take off.

It was a simple domestic flight from Sydney to Melbourne for the purposes of work, meeting relatives, and a more pleasant environment to spend the weekend.

Instead, it turned into the interminable wait.

In hindsight, it wasn't entirely the fault of Virgin Blue (the domestic carrier I directed all my invisible rage at). But I can't help but blame them for what ensued.

First off, I checked in at those ubiquitous self-service kiosks that were meant to reduce the need for front counter check-in staff. But because I also have a Samsonite to lug onboard, I still have to drop my bag in the bag drop-off counter.

What I didn't get was why there was a queue for the bag drop-offs - don't you just 'drop' your bag and then go? So why the need for a whole slew of counter staff to check and tag bags? OK, I guess it is necessary, but somehow, it kinds of defeats the whole purpose of self check-in entirely.

Additionally, checking in was also confusing because there were 2 long queues formed: one for the self check-inners who are queueing to bag drop; another for the stupids who are queueing to check in. Of course general confusion ensued and additional staff have to be hired to manage the lemminged passengers into joining the right queue.

And to make things worse, there are guys who will join the wrong queues, and hold up counter staff in meaningless arguments over mindless stuff like: "Yes I know I didn't check in at the kiosk, but can I still drop my bag? No? WHY THE HELL NOT? WHAT RULES?"

Ok, so all in, about 30 minutes to self check-in (5 mins for the computer illiterate to figure it out and move on from their frustration at the kiosk, 1 min to check myself in, 24 minutes shuffling in the queue and nudging my bag to the drop-off counters).

Next up: Krispy Kreme doughnuts for brekkies and off to Gate 32 we go!

At Gate 32, I whiled the time away reading a little book about finding your strengths, which Virgin Blue isn't very good at showing me at this present moment. Its one claim to fame is perhaps that it keeps you in transit for a SHORTER period than its archrival JetStar.

So while at Gate 32, there were ominous signs looming: the first one was the airport announcement over the public address system that there were "Strong Westerly Winds" blowing in and one of two of Sydney's runways will have to be closed. It meant delays and Sydney airport decides that the best thing passengers can do is to "check with your respective airlines' staff". Like they aren't hassled enough already huh?

And to make things even worse, Virgin Blue flight DJ 818 was 'DELAYED' getting out of the Gold Coast. Which meant that it was going to be 'DELAYED' getting out of Sydney as well. Alright, fine. Virgin Blue's ground staff immediately announce in a cheerily happy voice that the 8.15am flight would most likely leave at 9.30am or so, after the Gold Coasters disembark and the plane refuels.

How optimistic of them.

So next up, DJ 818 finally got into Sydney airport and the harried Gold Coasters shuffled off the airplane. Hurray! Gate 32 should start getting busy soon.

Except for one problem: DJ 818 has an engineering fault and "our engineers are working on fixing the problem" and the ground crew announces that "as soon as we know how long it will take, we will let you know."

At this point, I am starting to seeth... I'm already late getting out of Sydney, and I am going to be very late showing up at my client's office.

To make things worse, ground crew eventually pronounces (in the same cheerily happy voice) that "unfortunately, our engineers cannot tell us how long it will take, and we apologise for being unable to tell you when our aircraft can take off". They also say that "if you would like to leave the gate area, please listen to the public announcements for updates".

Tell that to the iPodders who probably didn't understand any of the ruckus going on. More on iPodders later.

Eventually, the engineering problems proved insurmountable. Ground crew at Gate 32 finally made the executive decision that was to create the 'Mr Bean' situation of domestic airport hell: they decided we should switch to... another Virgin Blue plane! Yatta!

Ground crew promptly decides that the plane at Gate 31 will become DJ 818 and thus announces that "all passengers of DJ 818, please move to Gate 31 for immediate boarding". Happily, the passengers all shuffle across the passageway to the gate opposite and promptly forms a queue in front of the counter. There were few seats available because some passengers of another flight are plonked on them.

Ground crew happily skips from Gate 32 to Gate 31 and picks up the microphone. DJ 818 passengers look on in mild anticipation that they will finally board the plane. Ground crew cheerily announces that "all passengers of DJ XXX (I forgot the number) waiting at Gate 31 will now board at Gate 32 instead. Please kindly move to the gate opposite to await your flight".

Ahhhh... now I get it. We did a plane swap! Collective groans from the passengers of DJ XXX were greeted by indifference from several iPodders - some sleeping to the sounds of Handel, others pumping their heads to techno. It did take a while for the iPodders to register these domestic terminal comedies and, of course, they did eventually move. (Some of the thick ones did eventually try to board the 'wrong' aircraft and were shooed away with much irritation and confusion).

Okay, so the plane swap has happened and Gate 32ers are now Gate 31ers, and vice versa. So DJ 818ers finally look at our skippy cheery ground crew gal and she finally announces that "we are now removing your bags from the previous plane and transferring them onto this plane, and there will be another delay".

Wow... 8.15am has turned into 10.15am, and none of us are on the plane yet.

And finally, the plane swap has been done and the bags were moved across, ground crew gal finally starts checking boarding passes and letting people onto the new DJ 818. Collective sighs of relief and happy customers of Virgin Blue start boarding their flight for Melbourne.

So boarding takes another 20 minutes or so and I chucked myself comfortably into window seat 5F, with a view of the starboard side of the plane. I can see the wing to the right and back, and a mean looking yellow manhole cover nearby.

With everyone safely in the aircraft, and the right bags onboard, the pilot proceeded to welcome all passengers and greeted us with this news: "the plane needs to be refueled and we have already called Shell to come refuel the plane, but they seem to be taking their time coming."

Ok, sanity check: Plane swap - checked. Passengers boarded - checked. Crew moved to new aircraft - checked. bags transferred - checked. Oh wait! I can't take off coz I don't have enough fuel!

Ok. Yet another delay.

Eventually though, out of my little peephole of a window, I saw what look like a bunch of shining alumnium pipes-on-wheels zip over the mean looking manhole cover near to the right wing of the newly christened DJ 818. A bored looking man wearing a lime green jacket and big lime green headphones (NOT an iPodder this one) got out of pipes-on-wheels and started fiddling with his mean looking hose.

In fact, he had TWO of them! On the truck anyhow.

The small one led to the plane, and he slowly and laboriously lugged this one to a little hole at the side of the aircraft, plugged it in, and shuffled back to the truck.

Next, he brought out this rod and prodded it into the manhole cover. He removed the cover and attached another hose (thicker but shorter this time) into the recess that was exposed. (If that didn't sound like a dirty romantic novel, then I guess I will never carve a career in writing books with Fabio on the cover; side note: where's my career counselor when I need one?).

So anyhow, the fuel truck guy from Shell FINALLY filled the plane with fuel and drives off. Meanwhile, cabin crew were busy telling passengers to stay in their seats. They were also busy showing their disapproval whenever someone whipped out his / her mobile. Much clucking of tongues and shaking of heads and wagging of index fingers are meant to indicate that it was a bad idea to call the darling while fuel was injected into the aircraft.

With the plane fueled up, it was time for all passengers to hear what the next hold up (you think its over???) was.

Oh yeah, the "Strong Westerly Winds" theory of plane delaying tactics. The pilot promptly announces to us that "due to Strong Westerly Winds" one of the runways had to be closed. Which meant that all planes are taking off and landing on one runway, which meant that "we are now negotiating with air traffic control to let us take off as soon as possible".

At this point, despite my reservations about the delays; despite my seething rage at waiting for 3 hours already; despite my resignation at the inevitability of it all; I have to say that Virgin Blue staff are perhaps the most informative of all airline staff ever. Kudos for the information age!

Not that its a bad thing: it just doesn't help if you have people like stupids, thicks, and iPodders, all of whom generally don't care in their own special ways what you tell them about delays. A delay just meant that: a delay. And no amount of information regarding what you're doing or when things are happening are changing the perception that Virgin Blue is one big cock-up in the eyes of these people.

Finally, and this is the last time I use that word 'Finally', the plane gets permission to take off, and we taxi onto the runway, slowly, but surely, and DJ 818 is off the ground - almost 4 hours behind schedule, and with all passengers intact.

It was with fanfare - and a huge dose of relief - that all DJ 818ers started to clap and cheer when the plane landed in Melbourne airport. I don't think I'll ever look at another 'DELAYED' sign in the same way ever again.

I Wanna Hold Your Hand... and Other Vows

There are many rules relating to what you do or do not do at work, and there're probably many rules you can create about blogging, and what you do or do not do while you blog.

One of the work rules is that you probably do not blog while you are at work. Unless, of course, if you're my boss who is currently using his blog as a platform to replace the mass emails that he spams us with. Or if you're the resident blogger of Microsoft / Google / Apple / (pick your favourite IT hothouse), pimping their latest and greatest creations.

One of the blog rules would be that you probably blog on a pretty regular basis, or your faithful readers (all 10 of them!) abandon you for some other tripe (there are a lot of junk celebrity bloggers out there in Singapore).

And because I have never seen myself as a person to follow rules on a consistent basis, here I am: blogging while I am supposed to be working. There's a bunch of stuff waiting to be spreadsheeted and powerpointed but who cares? I've got stuff to talk about.

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Speaking of breaking rules, I have a knack for breaking rules related to my car and my driving.

Ever since I started driving (my own car, that is), I have not failed to collect a fine or ticket in every country that I have so deigned to rent a vehicle at.

In Singapore, there have been at least 6 parking fines in the last one year. The range of fines that I have garnered (much like some ill-conceived collection that I'm not so proud of):

• Rule No. 4(1)# - Parking without displaying any valid coupon(s) : This happened once when I cheated on my parking coupon. On some occasions, I will fold back the coupon flaps rather than tear them out, just so that I can re-use the coupon at a later date. To date, I think I managed to save enough through such efforts to actually pay the fine, so... in a way, it is perhaps worth it.
• Rule No. 11 - Displaying coupon(s) where the time of commencement of parking indicated is later than the actual time : This happened once when I tried to squeeze a little more time out of my folded-back cheater of a coupon. I put a time that is 15 minutes later than that particular point in time, and promptly got a fine because an alert car park auntie passed by the vehicle 3 minutes later. 3 MINUTES!
• Rule No. 10(1) - Parking a vehicle in a parking place not designated for its use : This happened when I parked near Fort Canning. I was heading to church and chose to plonk the car in a bus park lot (much like MANY other cars there were doing). So there are actually lots designated for coaches, ok, but why can't I park there when they aren't being used at all? Talk about a waste of space.

In France where I spent 4 months of last year, there were mainly parking fines garnered from the Parisian traffic police. The problem for me was that I spent most of the time in Fontainebleau, where the only parking rule around is that you can park anywhere except where it'll inconvenience someone else. Parking cars up on the kerb is not uncommon in sleepy Fontainebleau. Paris though, is another story, and they slapped me with a parking fine for leaving the car there for longer than stipulated.

To date, I have yet to pay that fine.

And finally, due to an over-eagerness to hit the Great Ocean Road with my colleague, I ended up speeding along Prince Edward Highway, somewhere east of Melbourne. All it took was to be 10km/h above the speed limit, and the camera went snap. The Melbourne police took great pains to locate our address (they called the rental company, the hotel, our client, and my Aussie mobile #) and finally found out we wanted the ticket to be served to us at a grand old CBD address in Singapore.

We haven't got the letter yet (it's been 2 months?). Guess the postage was not worth it.

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What is it about dating a beautiful woman that makes you feel insecure?

Why does it make you feel like you will lose her eventually, that there is nothing you can do in your power to hold onto her?

Why is it that jealousy bubbles to the surface whenever she gets approached by other men?

When is it possible to say 'I love you' to her and mean it, and not because you want to get comfortable with her (because she's beautiful)?

What can you do to keep her with you, knowing full well she can have the pick of the crop?

Why is it that you feel an urge to protect her, to hold her, and to reassure her that she is beautiful, despite the reservations you have that it is that which gives her strength and confidence?

Questions.

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Sydney right now is an odd place. It is a living irony.

It has rained copiously the last 3 weeks or so. I arrived here on Tuesday to find it showering torrentially - there was half an expectation that Noah's Ark will loom over the distance, overspilling with kangaroos, koalas and wombats. (the Australian version of it, anyhow). The folks I were visiting at the market research agency we work with were apologising for the weather, like it was their fault that the rain came along (and the British aren't the only ones who have extensive vocabulary for weather conditions).

Yet... and this is weird... the people here are still experiencing a drought. They still do not have enough water.

I found out soon enough why: the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains; but in Australia, they are falling in the damned cities where the damned dams cannot catch them. So the best possible solution to this water crisis might be this: bring out the bathtubs and start collecting the rainwater off of your rooftops.

Or if divine intervention be required, pray for rain - but pray with more geographic precision.

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Have you ever thought about the wedding vows and how they all sound similar? Apparently, even wedding vows have certain best practices. For example, the following wedding vow is too often said to death:

"I _____, take you ______, to be my wedded wife/husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in
sickness or in health, to love and to cherish 'till death do us part. And hereto
I pledge you my faithfulness."

Another one which is uttered by the minister in attendance:

"_________________, will you have this woman/man to be your wife/husband to live together according to God’s decree in the holy estate of marriage? Will you love her/him, comfort her/him, honour and keep her/him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, faithfully keep to her/him alone, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will."

I think we can all do better with our wedding vows: be creative and come up with your own. The website My Wedding Vows
might be a good place to source for ideas.

However, I think a vow, whether creative or traditional, needs to be made with genuine intent. Otherwise, it is just another meaningless utterance, air let out of lungs without any commitment to it.

And where vows are concerned, I believe I shall write my own one when the time comes around to it. (Ed note: Actually I was thinking of sprucing this entry with a few vows of my creation, but there's no time for that now - I have to get back to work!).

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Last piece of news for those who are friends and who read this (and count themselves loyal to my cause whatever that might be at the present moment of time).

I am very happy right now. I also miss home a lot now and rue the fact that I am in Sydney. If you must know why, you know how to find me.


Oh all that rain... and not a drop to drink.

Mapless in Melbourne (aka Fatigue and a Shortage of Everything)

This is one of those 'ME' posts - long, ranty, and not very much useful in the bigger scheme of things. It does feel good to write these once in a while though.

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I am tired:

- of being me.

- of being me being a crutch.

- of being me being a crutch once too often.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people, without anything in return.

- of being me being a crutch once too often, and for other people, without anything in return. What's more, it isn't like I am expecting some reward (though I do habour some expectations).

Being supportive, or otherwise being a friend, is sometimes a tiring exercise. Sometimes, I just want to quit it. If I could just easily tender my resignation as a friend sometimes, it'll be so much better.

A leave of absence will probably not hurt either. In some way, being 6000 miles (approximately) away from home does help.

I don't get too bothered by folks back home when I am here.

I don't get knackered at the end of a day chasing deals that never materialise.

I don't worry about people around me.

I get time away from all that has saddened me and worn me down. I am still sad about it - I just can't do damage to myself from being physically where it hurts (thinking about it still hurts... but it's containable here)

*** By the way, don't believe that bull shit about how getting away will help you forget.

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But I don't get to be myself though. Over here, my social circle is diminished, and there is increased interaction with a very small number of people. Being with colleagues for 12 hours a day, constantly, and without respite, is probably none too healthy (even though most consulting engagements are such, I've always been the local and never realised the almost 24/7 interaction required with other colleagues).

Consider this: I live in the same hotel as them; see them the first thing in the morning before heading out; take turns driving the rental car and bitching about traffic; work in a small meeting room overrun with cables, laptops and assorted fat-inducing munchies; hunt for new vegeterian options (I work with a vegeterian Indian, a somewhat renounced vegeterian Indian, and a none-too-picky Thai) during lunch; brainstorm over coffee about our collective problems; fire off emails and make cruel jokes about our counterparts from Hong Kong (they and their 'sing-song' English); check out eatability.com for new dinner options (Thai today, Italian tomorrow) - the first suggested restaurant wins (so long as there is vegeterian); and then retire to the hotel room, with the privacy it offers me to watch my latest downloaded shows (ack... Heroes is ending!).

I see my colleagues too much. I even talk like them now (affected Indian accent with bobble head thrown in for good measure; kawaii Thai intonations - quite charming for a gal, very gay-ish if you're a guy though).

My rant is: I need to be home... and they aren't letting me be.

Part of the reason is cost: it costs less to house me in the hotel over the weekend than fly me back and forth. The hotel is none too bad: it has broadband, the room is big and spacious, and I get a queen sized bed all to myself (anyone wanna come share it?). The flyback is not bad either: the company books us on SIA (Side note: Since I fly economy class, I always check into seats near the galley, somewhere around row 53 or so, and on the window aisle seat - go find out why).

Another reason is my bad timing: I chose to stay over one weekend, just for the heck of it (and me and another colleague did the Great Ocean Road! 2nd time round for me but she was totally thrilled to see the cliffs and winding roads). That was last weekend, and the intention was to fly home this weekend. Which proved impractical because we were going to fly home ANYWAY next Wednesday (or Thursday, or possibly Friday because we are such poor planners).

It sucks that I can't go home this weekend because: 1) I already miss home and people I know - I also miss TCC coffee; 2) I am going to miss a friend's wedding, and furthermore, that is my one chance to play being a 'Brother'. This sucks ass - I've always wanted to be the guy helping the groom tackle the ruckus of 'gate-crashing' while fighting off demanding bridesmaids. It always sounded like so much fun.

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In other news...

1) Melbourne May 2007 is probably not the best of times for this sunshine state. The water shortage is made further acute by the realisation that the government has miscalculated its water reserves by 40%. 40-freaking-percent! This means further water restrictions are likely, with Stage 4 being a distinct possbility now. Yikes... people are already not washing cars due to current restriction levels. What's next for this drought stricken land? What is a stupid tourist like myself worrying about a drought in this country? Perhaps I just like the collective environmental conscience that seems to permeate policies within this country, and therefore hate to see it suffer such (un)natural problems.

2) When driving in Melbourne, you cannot do without their version of the Street Directory. The Melway is one really comprehensive road directory - it never fails to list every major or minor road. The one thing that impresses me about it is that it accurately reflects how 'big' a road really is (which is one gripe I had about Singapore's version of it - all roads look the same size and one-laners are no different from expressways). Much as the Melway helped within understanding and planning a route, Melbourne itself makes it disappointingly hard to get your bearings: street signs are not the most conspicuous objects and the necessity of doing hook turns at junctions featuring tram lines still baffle me sometimes.

3) The Great Ocean Road is one big scenic drive - doing it the 2nd time round is decidedly more fun, since I am now a more seasoned driver and can navigate the curves better (there are other curves I navigate better these days too but... sighs... no chance there). This time, I was driving in a generally west-bound direction and during the mid-morning to afternoon period. The views were amazing - sheer towering cliffs, waves crashing on rocky shores, inlets carved out by years of pounding surf. Given the chance, I would love to do it all over again - and bring a camera... and lose the non-too-adventurous colleague.

4) Finally, the last news item of the day: If you know anyone who can take me out to somewhere chic in Melbourne and have a swell time, sign me up with them. I hang out with people who are currently married / engaged or otherwise seriously dating someone while here. This means there are no singletons like myself who would love to hang out over some drinks and meet other people, and this means that this means post 9pm, I'm mostly back in my hotel room watching downloads or checking out Australian TV shows like Big Brother, 1 vs 100 etc. In the short term, it is kind of nice having a hotel room to thrash like a rock star. In the longer term (which is the next one month or so) this place will start to seriously bore me. HELP!

There.

Oh btw, since I have a surfeit of photos which I have yet to blog about, I will probably put a couple of posts to showcase them a bit - bear with me as some of them date back to last year.



Mapless in Melbourne, May 2007

R&R

Short one. I resolved not to rant and rave in the new year. Ranting and Raving is the easier way to blog stuff, but with so many bloggers doing that on a daily basis, the verbal diarrhoea has to end sometime.

Of course, that is for the new year. Until then, I shall R&R until I can clear my system of the frustration within.

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Just had a chat with the landlady, and like always, there's her screaming at me, and me screaming at her, and then us having a decent conversation about the state of the house, and her worries, and her latin blood, and her bloody problems with tenants like me, and the bank. Endless woes being a landlady: and I thought it was all about collecting the money and sitting in the sun with a pina colada (not much sun in Fall, so I guess that explains the gloomy mood).

Landladies are a breed all of their own. But I still maintain this: don't do business with her!

Out in Left Field: Jealousy and Envy

I figured that a sufficiently oblique post title will wing it, but on re-reading the above, I don't think it'll make any sense to anyone at all besides myself.

Yes, I'm beside myself with envy and jealousy. These are feelings I hate to have, especially when they're also tinged with a little wrath and lust. The potent combination of all of the above leaves me feeling like shit, which, in some sense of the word, is what I am like right now: feeling a little too shitty.

I guess it started with the McDing (borrowed the phrase from a housemate). Kick ass consulting firm McKinsey has decided that its venerated institution cannot house a degenerate like me. Unfortunately, they also couldn't muster the proper interviewers either: my first interviewer looked more like he came from the set of Lord of the Rings where he played one of the orcs. The questions were fast and furious, and I kept getting interrupted. I suppose that's part of the stress interview bit about it, but I don't appreciate being treated like an idiot (two beady little eyes staring out at me isn't making me like him... and how is he expected to like me when I don't like him? Wrong vibes sent bothways kill any rapport that I was trying to build). The result: dinged.

So began my descent into shithood. It got worse when my landlady decided that she is an amnesiac, and now thinks that a conversation that we have had did not happen, and thereby thinks she is entitled to return my deposit to me when I leave. I explicitly stated to our dear Mrs G.U. that we had an agreement (she even sent me an email as confirmation) that she will pay me, in cash, on certain stated dates way before I leave, the full deposit amount. Mrs G.U. has conveniently decided that my email never happened, and her mode of dealing with problems is to pretend that emails I sent her were never received (especially if they were complaints or demands for deposits to be returned).

So... and here I do something that I shall look back as my one big vengeful act even if it probably wouldn't have much of an impact...

Future students of INSEAD coming to Fontainebleau: Avoid any dealings with the likes of ACM Meuble, the so-called company of our very dear Mrs G.U. (who I shan't name because I don't like to be sued, in France or anywhere else). She is inconsistent in her rent demands. She likes to create artificial charges for certain things and do not show you the bills for them. She thinks that rent can be raised and lowered as and when she feels like it. She maintains horrible accounts. She will bug you to pay for broken utensils or crockery that isn't your fault. She is the bitchy empress of the sleepy little village of VLS.

Oooh. I feel better already.

And as if the shitty times aren't over, I suddenly feel left out from parties and dinners. I think it is a function of a few factors: one, I'm not popular enough; two, I'm not social enough (well, can't help it, my nature); three, I'm not a girl (average looking girls also get invited to dinners, shucks). Getting left out isn't so bad, but when getting left out meant being driven home to sulk while your housemate heads out afterwards to all the cool social gigs make it suck. Yes, getting left out = jealousy + envy and the somewhat sick feeling that getting invited meant everything (socially).

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Haha... a case of sour grapes, of course. I'm a sucker for feeling bad about myself, and given the right conditions (3 in fact), I just can't help but start feeling sorry about myself.

Eventually, these things don't matter, but it kind of rankles whenever feelings of this sort bubbles to the surface. It's not possible to prevent oneself from feeling it. Hopefully, other things and events in the long run will smooth out the short term ill feelings that nestle within oneself.

After all, I am myself: my definition of my self-worth isn't in the number of invitations I got.

A Bird in the Hand is Worth Two in the Bush

... and right after typing in the title, I started having dirty thoughts about 'bird in hand' and 'in the bush'. Ack... my state of mind these days.

So anyhow, the topic of the day (as is the topic of anyday with some of the serious-minded-career types at INSEAD) is about the job search. The economics behind the job search plays out like the proverbial 'bird in hand' (give me a moment while I stifle the urge to think masturbatory thoughts):

1. You send out job applications by the truckloads.

2. Actually, this is step 0, but I'm lazy. You think about 3 factors when considering the jobs you apply for and use these like filters: Geography, Function, Category. With Geography (not the O-level subject you're thinking) you consider whether or not you want to work in a familiar environment, or somewhere exotic and new. Like Europe. Or London, which, apparently to some, is NOT Europe.

Then you think about the Category (my choice of word for this): do you want to work in Finance and Banking and not have a life? Or do you want to work in Consulting and not have a life? Or do you want to work in industry and curse the other guys for taking the better paying jobs? Tough questions to answer indeed.

Of course, there is Function to consider: which area of work? HR? Sales? Line Management (as opposed to managing dots which are 'infinite')?

Career Services advise that you don't change more than 2 of the above 3 dimensions with your career switch. I think that's bollocks: you should challenge yourself to do all 3 and leave me with the competitive advantage. :)

3. So, after sending out the applications, you sit, wait and twiddle thumbs. Very soon, one of two things happen:

a) you get an email or phone call telling you to come for an interview. Hooray!

b) you get an email (never a phone call at this stage, mind you) telling you politely to f*** off. A 'ding'. Here's an example of a ding I got (name of company removed to protect myself from potentially harmful repercussions):

Dear Greyscalefuzz,
Thank you very much for your interest in MyKickAssCompany.

Following careful consideration of your CV, we regret that we are unable to identify roles that would be a good fit between your skills and our needs at the current time. If you have no objections, we will like to retain your resume in our database, and get in touch with you should there be other opportunities in the future.

We would like to take this opportunity to wish you success in your MBA studies and all the best for your future endeavours.

Best regards,

MyName

That one's from an industry company. Here's one from a management consultancy:

Dear Greyscalefuzz,

Thank you for your interest in Talkalot Consulting Company.

Our worldwide recruiting committees have reviewed the information you sent us. We are impressed with your excellent track record and your demonstrated abilities. However, as we regularly receive a large number of applications, we are forced to make decisions on candidates based on written applications.

We regret that we cannot offer you a personal interview at this time.

We do appreciate your interest in TCC and wish you every success in finding a rewarding and challenging position.

Yours sincerely,
MyName

This one is a personal fave for the sheer pomposity of it:

Dear Mr Greyscalefuzz,

Thank you very much for sending MyConsultingCompany your curriculum vitae. We have reviewed it with interest, and it is clear that you have achieved significant academic performance and professional experience.

The standard of all the applicants from INSEAD and other top international MBA programs this year has been extraordinarily high, and we have been forced to apply a very severe set of criteria.

I regret to have to inform you that, despite your high level of achievement, we have decided not to proceed at this stage with the recruiting process.

We would like to suggest that you keep us informed of your professional moves, so that we may discuss further potential opportunities of working together at a future date.

We would like to thank you for your interest in MyConsultingCompany, and to wish you the very best for the remainder of your time at INSEAD, and for your career choices.

Best regards,
MyName

4. At this stage, I'm going to briefly summarise what happens: you go interview for the first round, sit and wait some more, then step 3 repeats itself (i.e. 'hooray' or 'ding'). Then there's 2nd round, and any number of stupid rounds these recruiters would like to have. At the end of it all, you either end up with a job, or you do not.

And here I go into complain mode once again: say you have a job already (bird in hand, snigger snigger), and you think to yourself 'Hmm, I like this job very much, but I kind of want to know what else there is out there that I can grab'. So you send out more job apps, keep your holing recruiter fan waiting, and, because of your stellar CV manage to get more job interviews. And you ace them. And you then end up with two fistfuls of job offers.

Then what? What's the point of feeding your ego that way? Come on: there are guys out there with mouths to feed (ok, I exaggerate), but you DON'T need to apply and reap that many. You can do with what you REALLY want, and isn't that a lot more satisfying for you? And can you actually face the fact that you're depriving both the company, and another considered applicant, a position through your own selfish actions?

Ah, my rants and raves. So there: the bird in hand is definitely nice. Those two in the bush are good too, and of course you should go for them if they are the right kind (and the bird in your hand isn't). But be a content person - too many birds can only mean too much bird shit, and shit in your face is bad for the skin.

A Exercise in Futility

Last period's Negotiations Analysis was a hoot: Horatio proved to be the uber cool nego teacher that previous promotions claimed, and he lived up to his reputation (and unfortunately, only some of our expectations) of delivering an entertaining, high-impact negotiation class.

One of the exercises that I did for that class was the 10 'No's exercise. For the purpose of writing the paper, one is supposed to make requests of people that go beyond what they usually can offer for us: get the bus driver to give a discount on the bus ride; ask for more cockles in the kway teow (truly Singaporean, hehe...). Out of these situations, one is to collect 10 Nos for the purpose of documenting the negotiation process. The purpose was to test one's negotiating ability and to see how one can navigate from a 'No' to a 'Yes'.

The stupid thing was in trying to wrack my head to find the 10 situations to write about.

The even stupider thing was in finding myself in more 'No' situations after the class itself. It is a case of divine providence (or some shit like it): after doing a class about getting people past 'No', I find myself getting more 'No's than before.

Take, for instance, Emirates. I was on a flight out of Paris CDG to Singapore on an Emirates flight with 36kg of baggage, 6 more than the allowed requirement. I asked to check in all 2 pieces of luggage, and was denied. The Emirates staff then said oh-so-nicely something about having the authority to allow an extra 4kg, but the extra 2kg had to be charged at something in the range of 60 euros per kg. That is extreme extortion!

The case is thus: I can bring the 9kg piece on board as hand carry, and the other 27kg piece checked in. BUT I cannot check both in because, together, they exceeded the check-in requirement. However, both pieces EVENTUALLY ended up on the same airplane (Oh... so if I pay, I can expect to carry less and make you more money?). The best was in the explanation of the policy: Emirates won't let me check 36kg in because if that happened, then they open the floodgates to everyone demanding the same treatment.

My cheeky question about whether they indeed have everyone making my apparently 'outrageous' drew heated angry berating from the angry french Emirates lady at the check-in counter - I blew my value creation opportunity right then.

Anyhow, that was back in July. More recently, the last 2 days brought its own drama of 'No's to have permanently scarred my naive self. (Ok, I exaggerate: I am just peeved at not getting them to 'Yes').

Yesterday: the Business Card affair. I needed to make a batch of business cards for schmoozing purposes and went to the INSEAD bookstore (appropriately called FootNote - bottom of the page, small font; INSEAD's bookstore used to be tucked neatly away in some basement) to fill in the application form. The business cards had a section for ONE telephone number. I asked to put in TWO: one for my France mobile, another for my Singapore mobile (I am going back in two months after all).

'No.'

So, like the diligent nego pugilist that I am supposed to be after Horatio's course, I asked 'Why?'

Because the format is stated as ONE number by the administration and there's no going against it. So they've defered to a higher authority on this matter and refused to do anything about it.

So I looked for other options...

'No.' (I hadn't even fully explained my half-baked suggestions)

The conversation carried on in a similar vein and 'No' was all I got (and I was both courteous and nice in the entire transaction).

The French don't really make it easy: it seems like when their mind is set on a way of doing things, nothing on Earth is going to worm its way out of the set way of doing things.

My most recent 'No' was, for me, an unfortunate one. Having been waitlisted in the PIM course (Psychological Issues in Management) I was hopeful of being able to attend the class. Turnover is usually quite high and being #4 on the waitlist usually means that one can get into the class of choice. But the OB professor was not keen on having more students - he seemed more interesting in whiling the numbers down instead.

So waitlisted students on PIM? No chance.

I asked him about it during the break and yup, 'No.' Albeit in a much nicer tone of voice than the way with which he conducted his expletive laden spiel. His speech may be explicit laden ('Fuck', 'Piece of Shit' - if it were on TV you might as well call it the 'Bleep' show), but what he is teaching has so much relevance to how we relate to one another. Damn I wished I had put in more points into that damn course.

'No' being all that I've heard recently, I'm getting worried about facing the impending job search activities ahead: am I to expect more 'No's?

My feel is that it'll only make the 'Yes' that is to come sound oh-so-sweet. (Yup, I'm still an optimist).

Been there, done that

The need to try everything, to try experience every conceivable activity, is inherent in all of us. I believe it stems from the human need to want things. Economic theory teaches us that human demands are unlimited, but supply is constrained (i.e. limited). So, a balance is achieved between what we want, and what we can obtain, and demand equals supply.

But I'm not one to talk about economics. What I'm speaking of is the inherent human need to want. What I'm speaking about is the inherent human need to experience.

Perhaps I'm just not getting it: why do we justify the things we do by saying that "it's something I've never experienced before, so I should try it"? We want to try new things out, and the only reason that is worth justifying it is this: 'I've never tried it before, so here I go'.

And that is the basis for all the actions I'm about to list out below:
1. Having sex
2. Smoking pot
3. Drinking alcohol
4. Getting drunk
5. Travelling to obscure parts of this big big world
6. Eating exotic food
7. Participating in extreme sports
8. Going diving (very popular, this one)
9. Doing an MBA (??)
:
:
The list goes on and on.

I don't get it: why do we want to do new things so much? I can understand if you've never eaten Chinese food before, and you would like to try it. But I don't get it if you've never smoked pot and you want to try it. First of all, it's not healthy. Second, you get real stoned - maybe you get more creative, maybe you get more numbed from the experience. And then the result is that you did not enjoy the experience (it wasn't that pleasant huh?), but you justify it by saying, 'I've tried it'. So the point of the experience was to have something akin to boasting rights, something like a little badge to pin on your shoulder, something akin to another table conversation topic.

I don't get it: why are we willing to fork out good money to experience new things? Perhaps you're genuinely interested in seeing what the underwater world is like. Perhaps you are looking for an exciting new way to exercise. Diving does introduce you to a whole new world, a whole new experience. But it costs you. Nonetheless, you have to go for it. Why? Because it is an exciting experience. Because diving gives you a new high, it gives you great pictures to show off to other people. Then you can go exclaiming about that wonderful underwater world that you discovered, the beautiful coral fish, and that shark you saw swimming by. What of it?

Conversation fillers I think. We're all looking for things to say about our lives, and the more we can pepper our conversations with such experiences, the more we appear to be interesting people.

Pathetic aren't we all?

In case you get me wrong on that count, I'm not saying one should never try smoking pot or diving. I'm just against the idea of doing something for the sake of experiencing it - I think that things should be done for the reason that you are GENUINELY interested in them.

Like salsa. Do salsa because you like dancing. Do salsa because it is a great way to meet people. DON'T do salsa because you want to experience it. Don't do it because you've never tried it before, and therefore you want to try it to 'see how'.

Why am I so strongly against that? Because I think that the typical human being, who tries his hand at something for the experience, is doing it for the wrong reason. The wrong reason is to try an experience to gain an 'experience'. The right reason is to do it because you have a genuine passion for it.

Perhaps you need to try it first to gain a passion for it. I don't doubt that, but don't tell me nonsense about how something like 'doing an MBA' is just for the experience. It's good money spent on just an experience, and without the passion and drive for it, you're just not going to love it.

Love what you do, and love what you experience. I'm being preachy here because I'm kind of high (shit, that's what this Brazillian drink called Capirinha does to you). I just don't think that the 'experience' justifies it anymore. I don't think that having 'been there' and 'done that' is enough of an accolade, and people realise soon enough the phony that you are: it comes out in what you say when you aren't truly passionate for something.

So go: love what you do, do what you love.

Lines in the Sand

Sometime during the last couple of months, it dawned on me that the number of friends who know about this blog has grown.

Here's how I analyse this:

1. There is a universe out there called the 'Friendspace', which are the people I know and can reasonably call my friend or acquaintance. Acquaintances are also in the Friendspace, but are not accorded status 'Friend', though statuses are never a permanent kind of thing.

2. This is a blog I write and which I update as often as I so wish. Usually, I write whenever I have something to get off my chest. At other times, I wrote because I thought I have something clever to say. There were also times when I wrote nonsense just to satisfy that notion that someday I will be a writer of note.

3. When this blog first started, Friendspace and blog don't intersect. Well, they aren't quite in the same frame of the universe, so to speak, but you know what I mean: friends generally do not know of my blog.

4. Gradually though, I started to let some friends know. It's a funny game that bloggers (like me) play: they aren't blogging for the fame (initially). Sometimes, it's because I learnt about a friend's blog, and decided to reciprocate. Sometimes, I left obvious links which allowed people to figure out my identity. Sometimes, I told people outright that I blog. Sometimes, I just get found out by the occasional stumbler from the net.

5. Generally though, Friendspace and blog existed peacefully, but there were times when certain things were blogged about certain friends, and that fragile peace in Friendspace land gets threatened.

6. Thus, with that last thought in mind, I find it so much harder to be truthful with my own blog. Like, there're things I want to talk about, but out of sensitivity and grace, I leave it out entirely. Maybe that explains why really good soulful blogs descend into nonsensical mush - I think some bloggers end up blogging to please. They're playing to the peanut gallery, canvassing for applause wherever they can.

7. So I'm not sure for now how to proceed. I'll still blog, and I think I'll still blog what I want to blog about. This blog is not therapy, it certainly isn't a mundane recount of my daily existence, it isn't really an MBA blog either (I don't say much, really, about school), and it certainly isn't popular enough to be a source of entertainment (I'm no camera whore!).

8. Until I get real serious kickbacks from this blog, I am going to largely IGNORE the fact that there are people I know reading it. Until I experience severe aftershocks in Friendspace, I shall CONTINUE to write in as irresponsible a way as I feel I should, and nothing anyone can say will make me change my opinions.

9. In other words, if you don't see eye to eye with me on my ramblings, I truly don't give a... hehe... fuck.

10. Need I say more?

Disclaimer: Friendspace isn't Girlfriendspace unfortunately, so some things are, still, very much out of bounds. Cheers to privacy!

When Winning Hurts

If you're at the top, there is only one way to go: down.

Winning is not good. When you win, things happen which serve to undermine what you acheived when you won. People are too eager to please, and compliments rain upon you like November showers. And when there are dissenting voices, you tend not to hear (you're a champion after all, what's there to criticize?). Criticism isn't welcome, and genuine advice isn't that forthcoming when you are a winner.

Perhaps one reason why one listens less is because of the ego. The ego boost that comes from being at the top is blinding - the winner is seldom humble after having beaten the competition. The inflated ego only serves to reinforce one's own sense of superiority: what else is there to learn from others, especially the failures? The path carved out by the winner is surely the 'right' path.

Winners are really losers: they do not understand the importance of the lesson that is learnt with a loss. Only when you have lost before can you become a better winner. When you're winning, you may have a formula for why you're always doing that. But unless you learn what the wrong formulas are, you're never going to figure out why when your so-called winning formula doesn't work anymore (and you lose).

The lesson that comes with losing is well learnt, if learnt at all. That is why winners learn the most when they can learn from losers. That is why case studies of the losers tended to be more interesting that those of winners, for, after all, it is the pitfalls to avoid which are more noteworthy, and not the back-thumping self-congratulatory flatteries which add value.

Winners are unhappy unless they win again, and therein lies the problem: they're hard to satisfy. A loser will be really happy to have won, even once. A winner cannot abide by anything other than the champion's podium. Woe is the winner, for he can't see no other way in life. To win all the time is to be blind, obsessed, un-interesting. To win in an endeavour is to lose in most of all other pursuits in life. The winner loses more because of that, while the loser pursues other means of self-satisfaction.

Yes, I know this is turning into one big meaningless rant, but hey, see it from my point of view: I think the initial winners I have seen in my life don't adapt: they think they'll always be champions, and nothing brings them more back to earth when they realised that what they had achieved counted for little in the end. I'd much rather learn, adapt, and become a better person through my failures - not all battles are meant to be won: you need to know when to fight, when to concede, and most importantly, when to walk away.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

Perhaps it is much better to throw in the towel, quit trying and admit that "YES! I'm not strong enough. I don't deserve YOU!". But having accepted the lifeline, I acceot that there is an opportunity to change how you feel.

Perhaps you will be impatient, you won't wait. That is fair - I shouldn't be the reason why you're being held back.

Perhaps I'm fundamentally unchangeable. This means that no matter how hard I try, I cannot pass off being something I am not.

Perhaps you've seen me for who I really am: insecure, weak, defective. I am not all these. I am sometimes these and I am sometimes something else. Are you sure you really know me?

Perhaps you will give me a shot at redemption. I wanted to traverse the course with you since the beginning, and you gave me the assurance that you wanted to do the same. Why can't we work together on it now?

Perhaps I shouldn't wonder - what good comes of asking what if? Live life with no regrets, and perhaps 'perhaps' will no longer be a word muttered this often.

I don't have the conviction now. I'll prove to you that there is one.

You can't win this battle

2 weekends ago, an event occurred which spelt tragic consequences for the rest of my life. It was to cause never-ending grief, locked in an eternal battle against relentless enemies. And yes, it was to make me enemies in places where I never previously thought possible. It was too late for regrets - the doorway has been walked through and the door slammed shut behind me. Locked in, I have no chance to reverse the chain of events which have led up to where I am now.

Oh, that event? I collected my newly purchased car.

:)

Yup, sure I'm now a happy car owner, but I've made enemies. Presenting here, in no particular order (though they are all annoying and irritating to different degrees), the rogues' gallery:

1. Trees - My tree hugging days are over. Trees mean leaves. Leaves fall when the wind blows, and this means leaves can fall on my car. Add in rainwater and damn do they stick like superglue. It is a nightmare walking towards my car and seeing the profusion of yellow and brown leaves plastered all over. No, I don't really need trees for shade - I don't often drive around noon anyway.

And the worst part about leaves? Those buggers can find their way into every nook and cranny of your car. I've had to dig them out of spots where my pinky couldn't even fit in. The moment I dig a leaf out, some other leaf manages to dig its way in. Argh...

2. Birds - These... these... fowl beasts. I don't think I need to describe the indignity of what these... fowls can inflict on one's precious. (oh do curb that Gollumic behaviour). White, brown shitstains with a touch of the acidic. The worst is when they land on windshields - the shit trails (depending on how wet they are) are just plain horror to clean off.

I keep wet tissue packets picked up from restaurants for the sole purpose of wiping fowl shitstains. And I'm already running out (four shitstains cleaned thus far - I'm an unlucky guy).

3. Lorries (and other big vehicles) - They go slow. They don't signal. I'm impatient. They're a nuisance. They don't look out for the little guys. They're big and they block my view.

Ok, I'm just impatient.

4. Hurricane Katrina, Saddam Hussein, OPEC, George Bush, the Middle East, Muslim militants etc - if nothing other than for the fact that all of the above tend to inflict upward trends onto oil prices. I should not pay THIS much for dead dinosaur mulch.

5. Rain - The worst thing the weather can do to a black car is to rain on it, then cook it dry. Something about the rain we have in Singapore is that it leaves behind this white residue-y stuff which clings onto a car and forms a film of whiteish stains. The only hope of salvation is for the next heavy rain to wash them off (with fingers crossed that this one doesn't leave white stains too).

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I think the battle with the elements of nature is one we are bound to lose - the car will always get dirty. I've realised that the moment I cleaned the car, I'm inviting a whole new host of dirt and other undesirables to invade my car. It is the leaves that are especially annoying - they find their way into the unlikeliest places, stick in there, rot, and refuse to leave.

In any case, if you do see a shitstained rain-splattered Mitsubishi Lancer with leaves stuck on like post-it pads zipping around with an SFY plate, be sure to wave --- it could be me. :)

The Week in Review

Ha I haven't updated in a while. Been busy. Work. It's not like I'm sitting here just thinking of things to say.


Alright, I am sitting here thinking of things to say, but hey, it's while I'm at work thinking of things to say. I guess I've got enough to say, especially with the rubbish I've spouted so far. So I shall keep saying it. Hehe...

Work is the shits (what else can it be?). I'm practically swimming in shit. Imagine being stuck in a cesspool, and you're given a little bowl. All the while you're in the cesspool, some celestial being is dumping shitloads of ... erm... shit on you. You're busy scooping shit and getting them out of your cesspool. But it keeps coming. Oh hey, after all, what's a cesspool for, right?

So you're shovelling shit. And nobody cares that you are. (Some do, but when they care, they give you more shit, even if they don't know it, and they apologise about it).

I don't need more shit - just some peace of mind will do.

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So, life takes a turn this weekend - a new member in the house (not by birth though) and new tussles over bathroom priviledges. Wardrobe space got cut in half - I finally managed to dump those old clothes - into another part of the house.

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Stuff never gets thrown away where I live. They just relocate to another part of the house. Mum has this thing for never throwing away stuff - they get re-stuffed into other parts of the house. That old set of books gets boxed up and stacked on top of the cupboard. The old bed is dismantled and lined up nicely under the new bed. My sister's old toys fill up those cupboard drawers which lie unused.

It's a karang guni paradise - frankly, 50% of the stuff should go - can you imagine living with a broken down TV for more than 2 years? Ok so there's a replacement set from a relative (still working, has colour, and works with our cable). But hey, that old TV is spoilt. It's beyond economical repair (haha... where I work, we call this BER). So throw it away. Dad says he might be able to fix it. When he has time (he never does, he's busy watching TV).

I've never felt more like moving out.

Tyranny of the Taxis

Why wait in long taxi queues? Sure, that's what taxi stands are for - so that you can stand in line and wait. But why wait? Why not just call for a cab? It's just $3.00, $3.20 (depending on which company you call). Not a lot to ask for the comfort of a cab designated specifically for you. Heave your tired body into the taxi, and take a long hard look at the queueing peasants as your cab speeds by. It wasn't that long ago that you were there, fuming at the 'On Call' signs.

I guess this is something that's been talked to death, but it just irks me. We're being manipulated by the cab cartels. It's economics they say. The consumers are being exploited, I say. The cartel makes money by charging the cabbie a fee for the usage of its booking system. The cabby must therefore take bookings as much as possible - hey, its 3 bucks, 4 bucks more, and he has to pay to use it, so why not? So, to maximise bookings, especially during those peak hours, he should avoid picking up passengers on the street, i.e. those 'flaggers' and 'queuers'.

See, there're a few kinds of cab customers. 'Flaggers' flag cabs down, usually at inconvenient locations such as 1) near a bus-stop; 2) double yellow lined roads; 3) bus lanes. Flaggers sometimes look like they're doing the sport of one-upmanship - the flagger further up the road usually gets the cab (although there's this little known rule among cabbies that the first hand up gets the cab).

Then there are 'Queuers', or what I would call 'the suckers' (especially during peak hours, and at those oh-so-central locations like Raffles City). Some locations are great for queueing - the cabs have no choice but to dutifully line up to take their passengers. My favourite queueing spot is that one near Heeren, round to the side. However, try lining up at Raffles City during peak hour and you'll see why I think queuers have it bad. It's a booking market there - in an hour of queueing there 2 days back, only 3 lucky fellas got into cabs they queued for. Furthermore, it was only because those cabs had to let their customers off there.

The reason? The 'Bookers' of course! The bookers (and I was forced to be one on Friday) are the ones who spoil the queuers market. Bookers look at the queue, look at their watch, and look at the dire lack of taxis (there're plenty available, for sure, but they're not going to those taxi stands). They make the decision that comes so easily with owning a handphone - they call the cab cartel to book a cab. Well listen up, Booker - you're just playing a losing game; the cab company is laughing all the way to the bank; and we have a modernised, connected transportation system that does not reward waiting in line.

See, the cabs do not want to pick up queuers because the booking fee pays more. Thus, they'd rather circle the block, hang on a while, and press that damn beeping machine to take bookings coming through the system. The cabbies win - they get to earn more. The bookers think they win. The queuers lose - it is an injustice, but that is economics for you. If you can pay, you call that damn hotline and listen to muzak for 15 minutes (it gets that long!), while a tinny insincere pre-recorded voice thanks you for waiting.

So why queue? Well, I found out on Friday. Ahead of me was an Indian man, and a Caucasian fella. They were talking animatedly while I looked dejectedly at the stream of 'On Call' cabs that keep coming. The bookers seem embarrassed as they board their cabs - they're acutely aware of the queuers' plight. The Caucasian managed to board a cab that was dropping off a customer. Then the Indian turned to talk to me. He had been waiting for an hour.

It turns out that he's from Mumbai and he's here on business. He was asked by the Caucasian for the use of his handphone, so Mr Caucasian could call a cab. Unfortunately, Mr Indian's handphone was on roaming - making a local call would have been utterly expensive. Effectively speaking, neither Caucasian or Indian could call a cab, because they did not have the resources or means to.

So that's why there're still queuers, I thought. Mr Indian came up with several ideas for the taxi shortage problem (including one where he proclaimed that some taxis should just be disallowed from having the system installed - such is his belief that Singapore can be that tyrannical). His image of Singapore is tarnished from his experiences with taxi cabs that won't pick up queuers. 'An unfair technology, if I may say so. What kind of a place is Singapore if you can't get a cab the proper way?' so he says.

Well, I didn't have much fun queueing that day either. I whipped up my Nokia and called for 2 cabs - insisted that Mr Indian took one of them. He was genuinely happy to actually have met me, enthusiastically waving as the cab sped off. Perhaps, I salvaged something of that tarnished image. I hoped he did not think we're as 'Booker-ish' as he thought we had become.

Why wait in queues? Sighs...

Doggone tired

I thought it would be nice to do a project where I actually understood what I was doing, for once. A project where I finally got to drive, and to have control over. A project where I could truly be a consultant, because I finally knew more about the issue at hand (and didn't look so stupid whenever utterances such as "I'll go check" come rolling out).

Oh noooooooooooo.....

First, the users. They suck. Of all the users I have ever had to work with, they're the worst. They don't know their own processes, tell you in your face that they don't know, then try to bamboozle you with what they think are the processes. Oh, and they do the solutioning as well! I've never had users who give you what THEY think is the solution, and tell you why the system isn't doing it THAT way, as if it has been tried and tested for yonks. Stupid yobs...

Oh, and the IT folks. They suck. IT folks who do not understand the users' processes, and bamboozle the 3rd party vendor with information they have a half baked knowledge of, then turn to you (the eminent consultant) to verify that they did not speak out of line, like you're some stern headmaster ('Um' = nod, yes; 'Uh-uh' = shake head, no). Their saving grace is that they're able to log things down dilligently, and spout lines like 'oh we'll discuss that tomorrow, and eventually get it signed off, somehow, sometime in the eventual future'.

The 3rd party vendor - ah... the only redeeming light, in my opinion. Smart folks, intent on the solution to the exclusion of politics and preferences. At least they have their heads screwed on right. I'm thankful to be working with them, but with the IT folks meddling like Muggles bumbling in a Hogwarts laboratory, there is little hope of a speedy conclusion to this project.

Oh what I would do to have a lightsaber - I can really sever some heads right now. ;)

Baggage Handling Hell

I originally wrote this post in long hand while sipping my mocha in that godforsaken airport in Minneapolis/St. Paul (Minneapolis and St. Paul are 'twin' cities - two nearby cities that grew so big they became one city). I meant to find an internet cafe to write this but there isn't one -there's wireless access though (talk about taking two steps forward, and one step back).

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My entry point into the United States was Minneapolis. The definition for entry point (this is my word for it anyway) is the place where you first enter into the country of the United States of America. Its the port of disembarkation, the point at which your plane touches down (or, in cases of sea voyages, ship reaches port). The entry point is the place where you go through the most irritating rite of customs any government authority can care to impose on you.

All right, there's the finger printing, entirely electronic without any ink-stained digits involved. There's the camera taking you picture (kawaii-deska!). And the guy with the probing questions about where you're going, why, what you're doing etc. Oh by the way, if you're a Singaporean visiting the US, fill in the GREEN visa waiver form! Don't take the white form (which looks suspiciously similar) cos that's for aliens! Not you! You're not an alien!

That's the easy part anyhow. The tough bit was when I had to collect my bag at the baggage claim area. Unfortunately for me, because of the debacle over the green form (remember, GREEN form), I was held far back in the queue. About 4 planes arrived around the same time I touched down, which meant a massive number of people crowding the customs clearance and baggage claim area.

The baggage claim area was where my troubles started. First of all, there were only two carousels. There were no signs to indicate which carousel carried bags out from which flight - according to the airport's baggage handlers, the bags came out of BOTH carousels, whichever plane you were taking.

I had difficulty spotting my bag - my bag was big, black, squarish and had no obvious marking. Basically this description fits most of the bags I see sprawled over the entire area and this brings me to my most serious problem - there were bags everywhere. Bags were still doing their merry-g0-round on the carousels (I had to look at both, did about 10 turns each). To add to the confusion, baggage handlers were taking bags OFF the carousels and laying them on the floor. I guess this was to ease the load on the carousels, but this DOES NOT help people like me.

Passengers had to search for bags on both carousels, search for bags sprawled on the floor and scramble to get out of the baggage handling area. Not good. I wished I had done the bright orange tag on my bag, or the funky pink ribbon in the corner thing. None of that, so my task was more arduous than most. Plus, given my semi-blind state (LASIK gave me problems with vision in low light conditions), I spent a frantic hour looking for my one big black bag.

Eventually, I gave up and approached this baggage handler (lets call him Papa Tango - he looks like a kind soul). I told him about my situation, and Papa Tango advised me to try again, or give up and file a baggage claim with the airline (NorthWest - worst ever, don't bother). So I gave the carousels one more pass and headed for the queues that will take me out to the next queueing area (I queued 3 times just to get into the airport proper, those customs b******s).

The guy at the end of the queue, a Homeland security officer greeted me (let's call him Father Abraham, 50s, white beard and hair, don't mess with me looks). He noted my 'no bag' condition, asked why I had no bag, and understanding the situation, marked some gibberish on my customs declaration form (make sure you get this one filled too!), asked me to go to the '2nd counter' with a dismissive wave in a generally 'there' direction. I didn't know where 'there' was, and decided to go check the baggage area ONE more time.

Oh Thank God my prayers were answered. I found my bag. Everything was intact (i.e. lock still there, bag still closed shut). Anyway, I dragged the bag and all over to the queue for Father Abraham to get through again. Got to the front and Father Abraham said didn't-I-tell-you-to-go-counter-two in that irritated tone old hassled men do. Well, I had to confess that I didn't know where he meant. Another dismissive wave, this time in a more descriptive manner at certain grey haired folks (pointed out by Father Abraham as 'grey haired folks', no less).

Okay, cleared grey haired folks and they told me to go back to Father Abraham's queue! Oh goodness gracious (actually, I muttered something along the lines of 'What the F***'). Finally, I cleared Father Abraham's station though I cheated - I picked the parallel queue serviced by Father Abraham's clone (same white hair but more cheerful). Goodbye to the customs folks!

Oh, that's not the end of it. I was greeted by another queue, this time for the actual X-ray scans and metal detectors. For most, this is the most difficult part for they have to remove items from their clothes, take off their shoes and wait in line for folks to clear the station. I found that to be easy compared to what I had to witness - to get our bags onto our connecting flights, the bags had to be checked into another 'baggage handling area', albeit one that looks more like those check-in counters in the airport.

The worst part was that the baggage handlers in this area told people who are queueing to 'just leave your bags here'. People were leaving their bags there, while folks further back in the queue were wondering why they were doing so. So the baggage handlers have to explain again when folks from behind come up... the cycle repeats itself.

In any case, I was pissed. Why make me go through the trouble of finding my bag, not bothering to even look into it (for bombs, incendiary devices, terrorist materials), and then making me just 'leave the bag here'? The whole exercise of looking for bag was pointless to begin with if all it ended up was back into another airplane. Customs rules HAVE to change - this is plainly ridiculous. A Californian native told me that Minneapolis airport is to blame - no other airport subjected people to this treatment.

So, left my bag there, with curses, and proceeded to do the X-ray and metal detector thing. With that cleared, I went on to run to catch my connecting flight (took almost 1.5 hrs to clear customs, 3 queues, and lots of frustration).

The connecting flight was cancelled - Oh Misery... what a card you dealt today.