Snowball 3 - Moving Man.

During my confession the other day mentioned getting my contract at work renewed. This means, barring any monumental screw-ups on my part (or an apocalypse or something), I'll be steadily employed for at least another three years. I'm happy for this, of course, especially since my country's economy's driven by our oil and natural gas reserves and the plummet in oil prices last year has forced a lot of belt tightening and even some downsizing here and there. So, no complaining from me. Besides, I mentioned what happens when I complain. The last thing I want is to end up getting transferred to another division.

So why am I not only sitting at a new desk, once again, but also in a new building..?

It all started when I got the call from HR to inform me that all the "i"s were dotted and "t"s were crossed and I was officially reemployed.

HR: How soon can you start?
Me: Is Monday okay? (It was already Tuesday afternoon so I figured I'd give myself three more days of freedom.)
HR: No problem... By the way, you should know there are seating issues to sort out.
Me: Hmm?
HR: Yeah, the new Executive (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) brought some new staff in with her. You know we have a new boss right?
Me: Yeah, I heard (Even if I hadn't it wouldn't surprise me. We've changed five Executives (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) in the three years I've been there).
HR: Anyway, we're short a desk in that unit now so you'll be another department until we sort out the logistics.
Me: (Probably would have been nice if they had figured that out before) Okay...
HR: Don't worry, it's just for a week.

All things aside, I wasn't going to complain. The main thing was I was not returning to the ranks of unemployed and for that alone, I was grateful. I refused to sweat the small stuff.

That week finished quickly and before I knew it I was once again fastening my polyester shackle around my neck. The shiny, purple one!

My temporary place of abode was a department I knew a little about but never had much to do with. One thing I did know was that they deal with major projects and had a lot of work. The Director introduced me to the team and let them know I'd be squatting on their land for a few days. I was given some busy work and mostly left to my one devices.

One week later, I went back up to the executive floor. As luck would have it, one of the new people brought on by the Executive (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) had to go off on maternity leave so a desk was made temporarily available. The plan was to rearrange the floor space and add an extra cubicle (just for lil' ol' me) so by the time she got back, there'd be no more seating issues.

IT had put my PC in storage while I was away so I spent that morning arranging for them to bring it back up to my old desk (after I had them remove the interloper who was there out, that is). True the desk was only temporarily being returned to me but it was mine until the new cube was built. MINE! Soon the computer was set up and IT went on their merry way. I sat down, adjusted my chair back to its original settings, put the all my stuff back where I'd left them, hung my reflective safety vest on the chair-back (did I ever mention I'm also a safety warden?), sat down, booted up and prepared to get back to work...

Then the phone rang.

HR (different person): Hi, Vinny.
Me: Hey! 'Sup?
HR2: Um... What are you doing now?
Me: Nothing. IT just set me up so I'm about to start.
HR2: Oh, okay. Here's the thing... We need you to go across to another division and fill in for a few days.
Me: Huh?
HR2: Just for two days. That's it! There's another drone going on training and they need someone to man the desk.
Me: Well, I guess that's okay but what about my supervisor?
HR2: We'll call her and let her know. Can you leave now?
Me: Now? As in now now?
HR2: Yeah... Her training started this morning.
Me: Hmm...
HR2: Sorry...

I didn't make a big deal out of it since it was just for two days. The other division was one I'd never been to. It was in another building just down the street and was a result of another Ministry being merged with ours after the Prime Minister did some portfolio reshuffling. I got there and reported to the HR Manager. She said I had to talk to the Director but she was out until after lunch. The HR Manager then suggested that, since it was only 11 am, I could go have lunch myself an extra long until the Director returned. Hey, if the HR Manager cleared it, I'm not going to argue.

I got back at 1 pm. The Director's office was still locked. I went over to the HR Manager again. That's when she broke the news.

HRMg: Sooo... as it turns out, the training the person you're supposed to replace is only a half day long each day. She's already back.
Me: Oh... Okay...
HRMg: Yeah, it doesn't really make sense for anyone to come and hold on for only half a day so I guess you can go back.
Me: Huh...
HRMg: I honestly didn't know-

At the same time a young lady, who, as it turned out, was the one I was supposed to fill in for came bolting in. She told the HR Manager to wait and not to let me leave yet. They quietly discussed something then the HR Manager looked up at me.

HRMg: Well, it looks like you may have to stay after all. I didn't realize she was supposed to start her three month rotation to another division uptown. I guess, so you'll be assigned here until she gets back.

(Did she say three months?)

Me: Um... I was only told it was supposed for two days. I'm pretty sure head office might want to say in something like this, since I'm from there.
HRMg: You're right... Hold on. Let me make a call and find out what they want to do.

After a few minutes...

HRMg: Well, I spoke to the HR Director, who spoke to the Executive's  (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) senior minion and he confirmed it. You're staying. Why don't you go with the young lady here so she can hand over? After you meet with the Director we'll set you up on the system and issue you a keycard.
Me: *blinks* Huh..?

Social Interaction - Do We Need To Talk?

One day, while having lunch in a crowded food court in a shopping mall close to where I work:

Some Guy (SG): Anyone sitting here?

Me (Me): Nope.

SG: You mind?

Me: No problem. Go ahead.

SG: Thanks... I’m not bothering you, am I?

Me: Nah, It’s cool.

I go back to eating while I check some messages on my phone. After a few seconds...

SG: Short week this week, huh?

(NOTE: There were two holidays during that week.)

Me: Uh? Um... yeah.

SG: Yeah... I think they sold me stale peanuts downstairs.

Me: (*Thinking*: Who comes to a food court to eat peanuts?) Hmm...

SG: *Continues eating suspect peanuts.*

Me: *Continues stating at phone.*

SG: ... It’s hot...

Did he take my confirmation that he wasn't bothering as a challenge?!

Oh! So *You're* Vinny C!

Have you ever felt like you were being watched? Like there are people... talking about you? I think we all feel that way. We wonder if people acknowledge our existence outside of direct interaction or having some specific need of us. In the workplace, I’m always wondering if my name comes up when my office superiors sit in their dimly-lit boardrooms, discussing top-level executive-type things (while someone is stroking a white cat). They probably mention me somewhere between discussing their plans for world domination and divisional budget strategies.

I guess it’s not uncommon for people to think their bosses talk about them. Of course, common sense will dictate that management has more important things to worry about (world domination can be a logistical nightmare after all) than one lowly office drone. It’s just as easy to convince oneself that those in the upper echelons don’t even know your name, much less set aside the time to actually talk about you. Just who do you think you are, anyway?!

Either way, unless you did something – good or bad – to get on their radar, odds are you probably won’t know whether they talk about you or not.

Until you know...

The other day, I was passing a coworker on the stairs. I’ve seen her around but she works in a different division and we’ve almost never spoken to each other before then. As we neared each other, she did the whole “glance at me casually, smile, nod and look away” routine, as is standard office etiquette when encountering a coworker with whom you didn’t have any particular dealings. I greeted her in kind and was prepared to continue on my way when she suddenly stopped.

Coworker: You’re Vinny, right?

Me: Uh... Yeah. Why?

Coworker: Oh, nothing. I just remember hearing some of the managers mentioning you.

Me: Huh?

If you’re anything like me, I'm sorry you probably would have thought the same thing I thought at that moment: “Oh crap! This is bad. Attention from the people on the top floor is never good. They’re on to me. They've figured out I have no idea what I’m doing and they’re discussing what should be done about me.”

It’s at this point I casually try to get some more info out of her...

Me: Not all bad, I hope? *nervous chuckle*

I know! Smooth, right?

Coworker: No-no. Nothing bad at all. (She pauses) I hear you’re very efficient.

Me: Oh... Thanks.

She nodded and the conversation basically tapered off there and we continued about our respective businesses.

You’d think hearing that I found favor with the people in charge would make me comfortable but, oddly enough, I wasn't. Not completely, anyway. I mean, it’s good in that I have a good chance of getting my contract renewed at the end of the year. So there’s that...

Maybe for those types who have ambition and want to climb the corporate ladder, getting positive attention from your employers is a good thing. But I’m not so much the ambitious type. Not anymore, that is. I know what climbing the ladder is like back when I was in banking. It’s work! A lot of work. And what you are you working for? More work! Higher paid positions come with a lot of responsibility... and pressure. Let’s not forget the pressure. It’s not like I don’t want to climb a step or two. But when words like “efficient” start getting thrown around people start getting high expectations and start thinking up other dangerous words like “potential” and “capable” Next thing  you know they’re “expanding your portfolio”.

I don’t know if I can handle that.

It’s okay to suspect you’re on the higher-ups’ radar. At least, then, you can dispel the thought and tell yourself you are being full of yourself. When you know they’re watching you, that’s something else. I did say this was one of my paranoid suspicions. Didn't I? What if they’re watching me? What if they really do have my phone bugged? At any point I could have left my cell unguarded and they could have gotten into it. I've seen Person of Interest! I know how easy it is to clone someone’s phone! Every text, tweet, status update and call I've ever made since I got here could be stored on one of the office servers (right next to the plans for the weather manipulation device). Hell! My last boss, the Big Man, had spyware on my office computer. And he’s a cheapskate! I work for the government now!!!

Aside from that, what if this is all a trick? What if they don’t actually think I’m efficient after all?

- Secret Paranoid Suspicion # 8: People don’t actually approve of me, they just pretend to and say nice things to make me believe there’s something about me they like.

I’m not quite sure what the reason behind this is yet but whatever it is, it can’t be good.

I need to find a way to become anonymous. I have to blend in! I’m normally pretty good at that. What am I doing wrong? Maybe I should start sleeping at my desk like so many of my coworkers. I bet I could blend in if I did like the group in the cube right next to mine and spent more than half the day carrying on loud conversations about every TV show/movie I watched (or book I read... or what I had for dinner... or where I went clubbing) the night before. Did I mention they were loud?

I need to nip this “efficiency” talk in the bud before something bad happens.

Social Interaction - Quiet Vinny.

I recently figured out one of my main problems. No, not that one! The other one of my main problems. Nooo... Not that either- Wait! I do that? Okay! Let's not get off track here. Just stop listing them for a sec and pay attention. I'm referring to the issue I have when it comes to talking to people.

Despite the amount of words I've put down here on the blog, I forever remain a crappy conversationalist. Fact is, if you met me and we had to have a face-to-face conversation it would probably be a painful experience for all involved. I like to think it's because I'm not a people person. I think I mentioned that a few times in the past. I'm awkward when it comes to communicating verbally. Not because I can't think of what to say but because, whenever someone talks to me, a million thoughts about possible responses swirl around in my head and I get confused. This leads to such gems as saying the wrong thing, not getting the words out properly and – my all-time specialty – talking too fast.

I've thought of ways to fix this but nothing has ever really worked. Friendly and polite have always been my “go-to” states. These, however, are not natural for me. Growing up, I had to work at it. I decided that the mannerisms of a friendly person were what people considered acceptable so I just went with it. (Because what else does an eight-year-old think about?)

After I left the bank, where being fake-friendly was an actual job requirement, I'd gotten my fill of it. I decided to let more of my cynical, dry wit out and it worked pretty well... That is, until the new super-religious supervisor at my next place of employment thought these traits were undesirable of someone working under her and set out to have me removed (I'll mention again that I was never cynical to her). I didn't want to be fake-nice but after that experience I was convinced my initial theory was correct. As a result of all this I'd resigned myself to my awkwardness.

Until recently, that is. See, recently it occurred to me that I was looking at the problem all wrong. I don't always have to have something friendly to say or even something witty. I don't need to improve my conversation skills. I need to do away with them altogether. Well, mostly.

Stay with me here.

You know those guys who keep to themselves, looking all serious and deep in thought and badass. They usually don't say much aside from the odd grunt or one-word response. That's me! I could totally do that! I mean, I already do it sometimes. What I need to do is step it up and be the quiet badass all the time. No one expects the quiet badass to say much. No one expects the quiet badass to smile and feign politeness. The badass does not need to try to be the life of the party.

Have you ever heard of Batman telling jokes during the Justice League weekend barbecues over at Superman's fortress? No! Batman is the one silently examining the pent-up alien beasts in Superman's zoo, figuring out at least eight different ways to subdue and recapture them should they ever escape. No one ever says, “Hey, Bats! Tell everyone about that time you...” No! They all take a vote as to who will approach him to ask if he wants a beer and pray he doesn't karate-chop the unlucky sap through a wall for sneaking up on him too quietly.

I could totally be Batman!

I wish I'd figured this out before! So many wasted years trying to be “social” and “friendly” and none of that was ever truly in my nature. Sure, I'm a nice guy and I'm not denying that, but that doesn't mean I want to talk to you. I honestly don't want to participate in a verbal discourse on how hot it is today. No, I do not care to elaborate on what I meant by “Meh,” when you asked me how my day was going.

Of course, it doesn't help that whenever I don't feel like communicating someone is always there to chime in with a, “Hey, Vinny. You okay? You seem quiet today.” I hate that! Thanks for the concern and all but I just don't feel like talking. That's all! That's it! I'm not upset, I don't need to open up and I don't have a problem I need to get off my chest. Yes, I am sure. I just want to be quiet. It's nice. I like it.

Jeez! It's like society is forcing me comply with their mass-produced standards of social interaction. But I ain't your robot, man! I'm totally not going to dance to your little tune while you pull the strings on my cheeks to make me smile so you can feel comfortable. And I sure as hell ain't going to conform to your fascist rules about mixing metaphors... Man!

Imagine the freedom. I'd never have to fumble for words again. Even better I won't have to pretend to be extra nice and smile just to make others more relaxed. I can finally be the badass I was meant to be!

Now all I need is to get people to stop bothering me. Karate-chopping someone through a wall might seem a bit extreme but I'm fairly certain it'll get the point across.

Tech Support.

You guys are so in luck! I have, not one, but two posts for you today. I have one here and I have one over at Sprocket Ink. So the real question you need to be asking yourselves is: Which post do you want to read? Hmm... Decisions, decisions...

source

Now that that's settled, let's get this party started, shall we?

I mentioned the other day that I helped a coworker, one of the crew supervisors, create his Facebook account. I'm normally here alone, but he and his crew were forced to work out of the office for most of last month, while the company van they drove was being repaired.

Technology is such a alien concept to him that he didn't even have an email address, which I also had to create for him as part of the process (Believe me, I'm as shocked by this as you are). As I said before, his first order of business after I signed him up was to stalk the women from his past. More specifically, he  kept asking me to do the stalking for him, since he hadn't quite joined the computer age just yet.

But he's learning. I made sure of it. Having to stop in the middle of my blogging tweeting Facebook stalking of my own work to help him was an inconvenience, to say the least. That's why, in an effort to free myself up to go back to doing my own thing, I took time out of one of my days this week to show him how to surf the web himself.

You see, I believe in the old saying that if you cyberstalk on a man's behalf, he can only ogle women's photos once, but if you teach a man to cyberstalk, he can satisfy his ogling desires whenever wants.

What can I say? I'm a giver.

Of course, teaching him to surf the web, much less properly use a computer is time consuming too. That's why I stuck to showing him how to find his way to and around the old book o' face, which was all he was really interested in anyway. Seemed like a simple enough endeavor, right? I thought so too... Until he had to use the mouse, that is.

This is my mouse. There are many others like it, but this one is mine!

I know what you're thinking. What's easier than using than a mouse, right? I didn't think there was anything to it, myself, until I actually had to show him how to use one. This was basically how my little training session with Mr. Supervisor-stalker (or "Superstakler") went:

Superstalker: Hey! I think I know her. How did she know I was on Facebook?

Me: She probably doesn't. Those people are your suggested friends. Facebook finds them for you.

Superstalker: Wow! Really? Okay. I want to see if it's the same person, though.

Me: Alright. Just mouse over (my first mistake was using "technical" terms during my lesson) the person's name and-

Superstalker: Do what? (See?)

Me: Just make the pointer-I mean-the little arrow thingy (I've always been a quick learner) move across the screen until it reaches her name.

Superstalker: ...um...

Me: Just move the mouse in your hand in the direction you want- That's it! Oops! You went too far. Just go back a little and- There you go! Good job, buddy!

Superstalker: *smiles gleefully*

Me: Alright, move the arrow over to her name there and- No, too far. Go back to her name again. Right. Now carry the pointer across slowly until you reach her name... Uh... Not that slowly. (Life's too short to wait for him to get there at the speed he was going). Okay, now just click the mouse with your finger while it's over her name... No, get it right over her name. No! Not "above" over her name. "Over" over her name (I can't believe I actually had to say that). On it! ON. THE. NAME. It'll turn into a little hand when you get it right.

Superstalker: Wow! It did change!

Me: Yeah. Technology's amazing, isn't it? Anyway, try to keep the mouse still when you click. No, click with the other finger.

Superstalker: What other finger?

Me: Your index finger. The one on the left. No, right hand, left finger. Just push the button under that finger.

Superstalker: I don't see any button.

Me: Trust me on this. It's there. Keep the mouse still when you click it! There you go!

Superstalker: Well, I'll be damned.

Me: I know, right? So, is this the person you're looking for?

Superstalker: Yeah. We went to school together. So, how do I send her a request?

Me: Just click on that green box that says, "Add Friend".

Superstalker: What green box?

Me: To the top of the screen. The only thing that's green on the entire screen. It has the words "add" and "friend" in it.

Superstalker: ...um...

Me: Just carry the pointer up... Up some more... Just a little bit more... Ri-No! Go back! Right there. Now click on that box. SIGH! Try to keep the mouse from moving. Try it again. Alright! Done.

Superstalker: Can I see her pictures yet?

Me: (No surprise there) It doesn't look like she has them blocked. I guess you can.

A few clicks later...

Superstalker: Who's this?

Me: One of her friends, I guess.

Superstalker: Can I send her a friend request too?

Me: Do you know her?

Superstalker: No, but she is HOT.

Me: Well, I guess. But she may not accept if she doesn't know you.

Superstalker: What about if I send her a message and tell her how pretty she looks?

Me: SIGH! Sure. Why the hell not? You go right ahead, buddy.

And don't get me started on the eight chat windows and six tabs he accidentally opened. TOGETHER!

********

Now, for my next trick, I'll magically transport to my other post over at Sprocket Ink. Just click on the link.  (There was a link, but the site is gone now.) No! Click on the word "link". No, the first one! Hold the mouse still over the word. Not "above" over the word. Hold it "over" over it! Good. Now click. Oh, for the love of- Use your index finger!!!

A Different World Than Where You Come From.

Earlier this week my boss, the Big Man put two of a three-man work crew on a two-day suspension. They're all fairly new to the company and have had problems getting along and focusing on their job. This led to a lot of infighting and dirty laundry being aired. It didn't help that there was also a teeny problem with the misuse of company equipment.

It wasn't pretty.

As a result, the third guy, who I'll call Footinmouth, was left with nothing to do but sit in the office for those two days and await further instructions. None came. Needless to say, Footinmouth got bored. REALLY BORED. Why I call him Footinmouth is because he often speaks his mind, but unfortunately, it often appears that his mouth is running on empty when he does.

Source

Added to this, the guy has zero impulse control. Recently, he was waiting at the office for his other crew members to get in so they could head off and do thing. Since I’m normally at work by myself most of the time it was just the two of us. While he was waiting, a female staff member (one he’d never met before) came in to the office to drop off her crew’s timecards. This staff member in particular is a young, attractive Jamaican girl who... let’s just say is very amply proportioned. When not in uniform, her dress code is normally too tight and too short. This was her off day, so she wasn’t in uniform...

Have you ever seen a train wreck situation about to happen, but knew you couldn’t stop it, so all you could do was watch the horror take place. Not only did she have to drop cards off, but she said she needed to collect more timecards for her crew. I didn’t have enough for everyone at her worksite, so I had to print a few more up. That meant she had to sit and wait... in her jeans that were about two sizes too small and a vest that barely covered anything... next to Footinmouth.

Yeah...

Dispite my telling him (repeatedly) to behave, he didn't waste any time in making his move. He started off by telling her (repeatedly) how “damn fine” he thought she was, which she ignored as politely as she could. And, for some reason, which I’ll never understand, he thought he could get away with asking what model smart phone she had so he’d have an excuse to "casually" reach for it to get a closer look. Conveniently, it was resting on her lap, in the vicinity of her crotch. She wasn’t naïve, though and spotted his play. That’s when she let her phone “accidentally” slide off her lap and onto the floor. By the time she picked it up I'd finished printing more cards, which she collected and she left.

I told my supervisor to be ready for when she lodges her sexual harassment claim.

Anyway, as I was saying earlier, Footinmouth was stuck with me for those two days with nothing to do. The Big Man didn’t really have anything for him so he spent most of his time sleeping in the training room. I didn’t really care as long as he kept out of my way. I even felt sorry for him and let him use my computer while I was on lunch (and hoped, he stayed off porn sites). Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever and on the second day he decided he’d pass the time talking to me.

I blame it on my act of kindness. It won't happen again.

For fun, I’ll leave the conversation in Trini dialect. Don’t worry, I’ll translate (in red) where necessary.

FIM: So how long yuh (you) married?

Me: Almost ten years.

FIM: WAAAAYYY !!! (WOW!!!) Yuh ever horn she? (Have you ever cheated on her?)

This always seems to be one of the first questions I get asked when I talk with some people about my being married.

Me: Nope. Not in the seventeen years we’ve been together.

FIM: NAH!!! (NO WAY!!!) Not even once?

Me: Not even once.

FIM: But I sure real gyals does be tracking yuh! (I’m sure a lot of girls flirt with/express their interest in you.)

Why thank you. I'm flattered. That’s very kind of you to say.

Me: Not that I know of. At least, not in a long time (It's hard to get flirted with when you never go anywhere or do anything).

FIM: What about all them gyals who does be tracking yuh on Facebook?

Me: Nice try, but you’ve never seen me on Facebook (I’m nothing if not discreet with my web habits at work when people are around).

FIM: Yeah? When I was on de computer, I saw ah Facebook message from a gyal.

Me: Well, 1 - That’s email spam and, 2 - that’s the company email, not mine. It’s the Big Man’s Facebook account that’s linked to it.

FIM: Alright, "Mr. Innocent". Allyuh so (Your kind) could never do anything wrong.

I think I detected a hint of sarcasm there.

Me: I never said I never did anything wrong, just never cheated on my wife.

I don't think he ever really believed me. I should mention that Footinmouth has a child and a girlfriend (who he complained to me about during our conversation). Of course, his earlier exchange with that female coworker should not come as a shock, given our conversation. His opinion of women are similar to a commenter a blogging buddy of mine, Jules of According to Jules, had to deal with recently.

There’s an old Trinidad & Tobago Carnival classic from 1982 called “Deputy Essential” that declares that having an “other woman” on the side is a must for every male. A lot of men ascribe to that belief and Footinmouth is one of them.  He can’t fathom the idea of being with only one person.

Source

I, on the other hand, don’t share that sentiment. While I didn't grow up in some upper class, well-to-do family, my parents raised me and my two younger sisters to a certain standard (which mostly took). I’m not a prude and I don’t look down on them, even if I don’t agree with their point of view when it comes to relationships.

However, that doesn’t work the other way around. Guys like Footinmouth think other guys are lying when they say they stick to that one woman and never play the field. Even Footinmouth’s supervisor, a guy about 10 years older than I am, told me he could never see himself getting married, even though he’s been in a long-term, common-law relationship for years. He said he feels like he needs to have an escape route if things went south with the mother of his children.

I... don’t get it.

All-in-all, though, I guess it’s just a matter of guys like them and guys like me being from two different worlds.

Turning Japanese.

I've always had a fascination with Japan. If you've been here long enough, you probably already knew that. I've declared it here more than enough times and it's safe to say more than half the stuff I write about these days on Sprocket Ink has something to do with Japanese weirdness. That fascination seems to have only been growing over the years and now I'm starting to think my lifetime of excessive exposure is starting to chance me and I'm becoming more Japanese than Trinidadian.

First off, there's Japanese anime. I love it. I love it hard! This is actually where it all started for me. I've been into it for a really long time and I'm not talking about since it became mainstream popular here in the western world. I've been watching anime ever since I was about 5. I blame my father for this. Back when he had the video rental business, he fed me a constant supply of Japanese cartoons, mostly because it was what kept me quiet and not torturing Younger Sister# 1.

I was an... um... active child.

At least, while in front of the TV, I wasn't left up to my own devices. Trust me, that was bad.

Probably still is...

Arising out of all the Japanese anime was JPop. In a post I did a while back I declared (with much shame) that I had something of an addiction to the Japanese musical art form known for being performed by really high-pitched Japanese women in school uniforms and Japanese men with a tendency to wear too much eye-shadow.

DON'T JUDGE ME!!!

Anyway, I've been a fan of it for a long, loooong time and that hasn't changed. In fact, it's fair to say that my JPop obsession has also gotten worse over the years (don't ask me how many of these songs I actually keep on my mp3 and listen to on a regular basis. Just... don't...)

Like I said, I wasn't proud of this and I secretly feared someone finding my collection one day and outing me. At least I wasn't proud.

That all changed when the world was taken over by the KPop smash hit (the Korean version to JPop), Gangnam Style. Everyone's listening to it. It's on all the radio stations. Even here in T&T!

True story: Twice I've heard more than radio DJ's say something like, "I don't know what this song's about, but here's the hit Gangnam Style".

Now Asian pop music is going to be the next big thing. Soon it'll be all the rage with the kids and I won't have to be ashamed anymore. (Shut up! It'll happen!) Just you wait and see. Then I'll no longer be a freak. I'll be a trendsetter!

Another warning sign is that people just seem to sense it. It's like they can see anime-geek emanating from me like a glowing aura (or maybe I should change my ringtone). More than once over the years I've had people I barely know have asked me if I'd ever been or will go to one of the locally held anime conventions they hold every year (if I did I was expected to dress up in cosplay and provide photographic evidence). The answer has always been no, but only because I'm desperately trying to hold on to the last shred of decency and self-respect I have. But I want. I really, really want to.

How bad could the  whole cosplay thing be..?

Um... Okay, forget the cosplay.
source

But here's what really worries me... I'm thinking of learning Japanese, people! Seriously! Don't let the writing fool you. I have a hard enough time with English. Now I want to learn a whole new language. By the way, by "thinking" I mean I've already found a school that teaches it, found out how much they charge and on what days they teach the course.

I think I need an intervention.

What's worse, is that my wife isn't really helping. By that I mean she's being supportive. I know, right? What's wrong with her?! The other day I told her about this program being run by the Japanese embassy where locals can go to Japan to work, teaching English on one year, renewable contracts. It was just harmless conversation, mind you. I had just overheard someone talking about it in the barber shop. But to my surprise I hear...

Mrs. C: So are you going to sign up? I'm so ready to start over somewhere new it isn't funny.

I never expected her to actually suggest I sign up.

Bad! Bad Mrs. C!

You guys should have a talk with her. You're supposed to be my enablers. She's really treading on your territory, when you think about it..

Of course, I'm not going to. At least, not now. I want to finish school before I even consider any major move like that. That gives me about three years to kick a thirty-year obsession. It could happen. Right?

But... now I'm actually considering it. If-if I do eventually go there, you there'll be no hope for me, right? I might as well just start abandoning chairs and learn to use those hole-in-the-floor squat toilets now. On the bright side, I bet I could totally rock a hakama.

What? It's airy.
source

I'm scared...

Me Vs. Nature: Part II - Natural Enemy.

MONDAY - 2:21AM: I sit, unable to sleep. Sleep was taken from me tonight by the incursion of an old enemy. Hopefully, by the time you're reading this I'll finally be able to go to bed. I suppose I'd better start at the beginning.

Mrs. C and I had settled down for bed. The lights were off, the room was cozy, everything was right. Sleep didn't come as quickly as it normally would, but eventually I began to feel consciousness slowly slip away. Like an old movie reel slowly whirring into operation, the random images that would be my dreams began to flicker in my mind. Sleep was coming, and I gladly welcomed it.

...

But this was not to last. From the part of my mind that was still semi-conscious, I could sense a disturbance. This was further emphasized when heard my wife next to me growl in frustration. It was then I came to just enough to hear what it was. Something had gotten all the dogs on the street riled up and they were all barking their heads off. Not the first time. I decided to ignore it and apparently so did Mrs. C.

Soon the lights in my brain began to flicker again as images began to fill my subconscious. I wasn't fully asleep when I felt it. A prickly feeling move across the back of my hand. In the dark my eyes opened as I flung my hand upward. That's right! A COCKROACH had just run across my hand!

*Shudder*.

source

I knew what it was instantly. At that moment, all it took was one fluid motion for me to be up, out of bed and flicking on the light switch. At this point I should point out that I'm not one to go into a panic when I see one of these things, but I will not - under any circumstances - tolerating them actually touching me. All this stems from something that happened a long time ago. An event that has been indelibly etched into my brain and may forever haunt me...

You see (*lays down on couch, clasps hands on chest and looks up at ceiling*) it all began when I was about 5 years old. I remember it well. I was getting ready for bed and putting my PJs. I had just buttoned up my shirt when I felt this strange prickling sensation on my stomach. Curious, I undid the buttons to see what was the cause of this sensation and there, running up my little chest, you can guess... Our gazes met, I shrieked, it flew away. I've been scarred since. It was a brief encounter but, since then, I've made it my mission to kill any of these creatures once they dared to venture into my personal space.

You understand.

Anyway, during this most recent encounter, my movements woke Mrs. C just enough to ask me what had happened. I told her what was going on and she, not being overly concerned, pulled her covers again.

I know, right? You'd think she'd at least be worried, especially since the hand the bug crawled over was the one that was thrown over her shoulder, which meant it was only inches from her face. Nothing! She wanted to sleep and nothing was going to stop her. Or at least she tried to. When she realized I wasn't taking the light off until I found the bug, she decided to use the opportunity to go to the bathroom.

It didn't take me long to find it. I've discovered over the years that cockroaches aren't very good at hiding when they're spooked and usually scamper around the place like crazy. This time was no exception. I grabbed a slipper and brought its existence to a quick end. By the time Mrs. C came back into the room I was already back in bed, satisfied that I had made the world a safer place. My wife, however, just gave me this kinda look and nodded before she flipped the light off again.

Honestly, she should have been thanking me. No appreciation whatsoever!

We settle in again. Several minutes passed as we lay in the dark. Satisfied that the ordeal was over I tried not to let the earlier excitement get to me and waited for sleep to come. Then... I heard a familiar fluttering.

Me: Son of a bitch!

Mrs. C: What?

Me: Another one just flew right above my head!

Mrs. C: GROAN!!!

Needless to say, the light was again. Only, this time Mrs C didn't bother to get up. She decided she was going to leave me to face my demons alone. This new invader was smarter than the last one and stayed hidden. After a few minutes I decided to call it quits and go back to bed. But it was no good. Did you know that if it's quiet enough, you can head them scurrying about? Well if you didn't, yes, you most certainly can. It was decided. I wasn't getting to sleep this night.

The cause? My best guess is that, for the first time in days, it rained yesterday. And this wasn't just any sprinkle either. The rains came early in the morning, poured for a long time and never really stopped until evening. Even when it lightened up, it continued all day. This, I suspect drove them from the vacant overgrown lot next door, seeking drier ground. Our open window was just the invitation they needed.

As for me, I got up, grabbed the can of bug spray and went into the living room where I surfed the web until sunrise. I couldn't spray the room since Mrs. C is still peacefully asleep in there so here I am. The bug spray is in case they decide to follow me outside too.

I'll sleep when the sun comes up. I'll be safe then.

The Five Scariest Words.

Bonus day!!! I'm here and on Sprocket Ink with two full posts. You are quite welcome. So click the link, go, read, enjoy and then come back here for desert. It'll still be fresh when you get back.

********

It was a Monday morning like any other Monday morning. I was at my former workplace, The Paper. As I always do, I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. As I neared my destination, I should have sensed there was something wrong. Had it been any other day, my senses would have been sharper. Perhaps, had I already had that cup of coffee, I might have noticed that nature was slightly off-balance. But I didn't. Not until it was almost too late.

I walked through the kitchen door and immediately it hit me. There was indeed a disturbance in the force. There, in front of me, stood Joy and Fitz (not their real names, obviously). They were locked on a stare reminiscent to when a gazelle looks into a lion's eyes and knows he's just breathed his last.

I didn't know what was going on, but every instinct I had screamed at me to get out of that room. Which, of course, I did.

The tension in the air was thick. Soon, Fitz tried (unsuccessfully) to speak.

Fitz: That's not what I meant! I mean- Um... All I was saying was- I didn't mean that you were... Please don't kill me.


This was bad. Whatever he had said, Fitz had crossed a line. A line no man should cross, and now his end was near. Poor Fitz. I almost never spoke to him, but he seemed nice enough. If only I had the time, maybe we could have even been friends. But it was too late now. I decided it was best I get to a safe distance before Joy decided to make me seconds.

After the funeral Later, I found out what had happened. Joy and Fitz had run into each other in the kitchen and were chatting. That's when Fitz said the words that would seal his fate.

Fitz: You must have had a fun weekend. You look fatigued.

I. know. He actually did say that.

Then Joy - the woman who always smiled, the woman who prefers to hug you instead of telling you 'Good morning', the woman who pouted for three whole days because management refused to let her put up decorations in the office at Christmas... Yes, that Joy - stopped. The smile which seemed to be etched on to her face was still there, but somehow it seemed twisted... EVIL. Her eyes froze in a deathly stare and she said the five words that will reduce even the surliest brute to a blubbering puddle of fear.

Joy: What's that supposed to mean?

Even I was rendered speechless just imagining the conversation. Fitz did manage to survive, but he was a shell of his former self. He spent the rest of the day lumbering around the halls, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Though it takes only a few hours for the spine to return to it's solid state, it would be several days before he could face Joy again.

We can only hope he learned a valuable lesson from his encounter and never makes that mistake in the future.

Paranoid Activity.

10:00AM

Editor A: Vinny, Curly called in sick. Want to cover court proceedings?

Me: I don't mind, but someone was supposed to go with me & show me around. Plus, I have an assignment for 11.

Editor A: Oh. We'll see what Editor C can do.

Editor C: Curly called from home already and found out there was nothing important going on in court today.

Editor A: Oh... Well go anyway, Vinny. Just walk and get the layout. You know! Talk to people 'n stuff. You can leave when you have to go to your 11 o'clock.

Me: Um... Ooookay...

While most people would have used this opportunity to go pay a bill or take care of some other errand, I am plagued by...

- Secret Paranoid Suspicion# 23: My employers, past and present, have me under surveillance. They track my every move. -

So, as a result, I spent the 45 minutes that followed that conversation wandering the halls of the courthouse like an idiot.

Since my phone is probably bugged as well, they're probably reading this post I'm typing up on it too.

All of this is normal. Right?

Where My Mind Wanders To When I Find Strange Things In My Pocket.

Me: Hi!

Clerk: Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?

Me: Hi. I'd like to see No. 111.

Clerk: Excuse me?

Me: No. 111. I bought this shirt here a few days ago and I found this tag in the pocket. It says I should return this shirt to No. 111 if there's a fault or a defect.

Clerk: Oh. Is there a problem?

Me: Are you No. 111?

Clerk: No, I'm Cindy. But if you explained the problem, maybe I could help.

Me: Well... Okay... But it really says I should talk to No. 111...

Cindy: So, what seems to be the problem?

Me: It has this weird smell.

Cindy: It does? (*smells shirt*) Oh! Oh my! I'm so sorry, sir! I don't  know how this could have happened. If you have your receipt, I can exchange it for you.

Me: No worries. Here.

Cindy: If you don't mind me asking, didn't you notice the odour when you bought it?

Me: It didn't smell like that when I bought it.

Cindy: It didn't?

Me: No. It smelled like that when I got home. From work.

Cindy: Ummm... So you wore it?

Me: Yeah. To work! I work now. Awesome, right?! I can't stop talking about it.

Cindy: Well... congratulations.

Me: Thank you. Anyway, when I got home, I took it off and a few hours later, there was that smell.

Cindy: Oh. I have to ask. Did you sweat?

Me: Did I!?! I sweat all the time. I think I have hyperactive sweat glands. That's how much I sweat.

Cindy: Then maybe it's possible that the scent came from your sweating then?

Me: Uh-uh! No way! I thought you'd try to say something like that so I brought this.

Cindy: That's-

Me: My deodorant.

Cindy: I'm confused...

Me: Hello! De.o.do.rant! As in it takes the odour away. No way it could have been me.

Cindy: It doesn't-

Me: And what about the fact that the shirt was wet when I got home. It was hot yesterday. Not a drop of rain.

Cindy: Well... the sweating...

Me: Ah-HA! Look again. See?  It's also an antiperspirant. It blocks perspiring. Nice try, Cindy.

Cindy: Sir, I... You said you did sweat-

Me: You know what? Lemme talk to No. 111. I bet he or she could sort this out.

Cindy: Sir, these shirts are made in England. Whoever 111 is, they're all the way over there. I don't know the inspectors.

Me: Trying to stall me, huh? What's your number? I need to report this.

Cindy: I don't have a number, sir. Besides, there isn't anything we can really do for you.

Me: Well, that's not a very helpful attitude. It's no wonder you don't haven't been given a number yet. Is it, Cindy?