FUNNYACCENT

THIS TIME YEAR 2004

I wonder what will I be doing on February 29, 2008 at this hour? I am waiting for a train to go work. It is 10:50 p.m. The platform is deserted.

GRAVEYARD SHIFT

My present job gives me an opportunity to view part of the city before midnight. I take a red line from where I live, switch to Orange Line at Downtown Crossing and switch to bus #39 at Back Bay Station. It's all in 45 minutes flat. The bus ride from Back Bay station is the most interesting part. From the station, there is usually a driver, one or two passengers and me. But right after Christian Sceince Museum, the stop becomes frequent. Along Huttington Avenue, the bus stops to pick up college students, graveyard shift people like me, or people who have just get off from afternoon shift.

How can I tell the different? Well, I don't. I like to play a guessing game. But from my observation, most
of the people who are on their way to work look fresh as they've just step off a shower. The faces show more anticipation, an eagerness maybe, while the persons who are on their home after eight hours at work, seem bored, empty eyes looking into space.

But I have to give credit to Spanish speaking people, men or women. Either they return from work or going to work, they enjoy talking. They talk compasionately. As soon as they sit, they open their mouths and talke. As one of my Puerto Rican friend like to say, "We love party, we love talking, and we talk loud." I'm not sure if he refers we as Puerto Rican or Latino people.

A few years back when I was working in Braintree. Every morning, I took a a train to Quincy Adams and switched to a bus (which I forgot what number it was). The bus ride was 45 minutes. After the second week, I remembered all my fellow passengers faces. Most of us sat at the same seat every morning. Unfortunately my seat was third row from the back. Everybody seemed to avoid this seat. I learned the reason behind it on my third day.Every morning for five weeks I'd been working there I had to listen to these two Spanish girls yakking. The moment they put their wide asses on the seat, they talked. Yakkediyak, Yakkedi yak. Not even one day of those five weeks, they took a rest. Their high pitched voice was unbeareable.

One day, out of exasperation, I turned to my seat-mate.
"Do you have a duct-tape?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you have a duct-tape, the one that McGyver carries in his pocket."
I tilted my head towards the young women in front of us.
His question-marked expression turned into a big smile and he started to laugh. His laughter eventually stopped those two girls for that morning. The next morning , they resumed their acitivities as usual. When my former manager at the cafe I was working called me and asked me to go back, I was hesitated first. When he raised a hundred/week, I said yes, before he finished he question. I didn't miss that bus ride at all.

UNDER POSITIVE LIGHT

The only person I trust my books with is Mary. She is not like any other persons I know. Both of us love reading. From time to time we talk over the phone and discuss the books we're reading. Most of the time Mary ends up buying the books I was telling her about. I wouldn't mind lending my books to her because I see Mary treats her books. Unfortunately, Mary doesn't want to borrow my books even I insisted many times. She'd rather buy them.

I called Mary this morning and left her a message. I have a couple of new books I just read and I know she might be interested to take a look at them. So, around 7:00 p.m, I heard the bang on my door. That's her. She never knock the door. From books, our topics took a turn to movies, climbed the mountain to men and reversed to tantric sex. We rested at this topic for a long time. We whispered ( I had no idea why did we whispered), we giggled, we laughed, and we howled. I left the my tv on with the volume was a little higher than usual. I know when Mary and I got together, we rocked. My apartment was thunderous with our laughter.

Our laughter froze for a full three seconds or might be more when we saw a new commercial on tv. I forgot what it was and it wasn't nothing unusual with the help ofl the technology we have now. But what Mary and I saw that moment really impressed me.

It was a boxing ring, the audience was in full capacity. In the ring, Muhammad Ali in his peak era was boxing with his daughter Laila Ali. Both of them moved around the ring gracefully and Laila gave a few low jabs to his father, Muhammad Ali. Both of us, stopped with our mouth opened.
"Damn.................look at that............" said Mary.
"Damnnnnnnnnnnn." I absolutely agreed with Mary.

FACE IN THE DOOR

I have two photos of the door of the bathroom on the first floor at work place taken last week which didn't come out as I saw it. I was wiping my hands, facing the closed door when I noticed a visible horse's face on the door. Actually it was as they called it wooden texture (hopefully it is a right term). I was standing three feet away from the door, and the more I looked at the face, the more it became visible. Yes, it was a horse's face. It had a big nostrils, a pair eyes, mouth,forehead, a pair of ears and mane. The lines that form the face met and ended where they were supposed to be. The next night, I brought my Olympus Zoom 800 camera. Unfortunately it's not a digital. It it was I can easily download to my computer.

When I went to CVS to pick the film, I was beyond excited. My hands were shaking trying to open the damn red envelope. I flipped all the photos looking for my horse's face. I was looking at the picture of the door when finally I got to it. No horse's face visible. Nothing what so ever. Was it the light? Was it my camera couldn't capture the essence of the wood? Should I give another shot and take another one? Maybe I should.

IT'S NOT WHAT I WEAR, IT'S A LABEL YOU SHOULD'VE NOTICED.

I almost missed my stop at Park Street this morning. If it was not for a cell phone's ring from a woman sitting next to me, I'd probably ended up in Lechmere. I opened my eyes and it took me a few seconds to adjust my vision and my sense of being. I hated it when I fell asleep on the train. Riding a train when you're physically and mentally exhausted is like you're swaying in a hammock on the beach.......well....almost.

Last night (or morning) stretched forever. Three cups of Bustello didn't do the trick, but I managed to stay awake all night, or I might be dozed off a couple of times between 3 a.m to 4 a.m.
I thought I would never be working on graveyard shift anymore after 20 years of working on rotating shifts on and off back home. We never knew what's waiting for us at the corner. We can play, we can set a goal, but the ultimate result is always surprise us. Well, that is from my experiences..............

By 5:00 a.m I was wide awake. C was late again for her appointment. I offered to wake her up, but she declined, saying her alarm clock was working. She asked me if I could changed baby J's diaper and made her formula.
J was already up, googaa by herself. She is a wonderful baby. She sleeps through the night, and when she is awakes, she contents with her rattles toy. To see her toys fill up half of the space of C's room, it's amazing to see her favorite toy is only a triple colors of square little plastic strung up together.

Come to think about baby toys, I've seen mothers go beyond necessary on baby toys when they are still in pregnancy. I've been to a few houses of the people I know who have babies. I thought I walked into a mini toys store when I stepped into their babies room. What a fortunate babies. I wonder if men do the same thing to their babies, or is it just women? Why not spend the money in moderation, after all the baby is definitely going to grow up. Why do spoil the baby, or is it a mother's own gratification when she starts spending her money on her baby's toys?

Anyho, I took C in the office, changed her diaper and her clothes. She has tons of brand baby clothes and shoes. Nike, Addidas, Fila, you name it, she has it. They are all match, from head to toes. She already has seven pairs of sneakers of Nike, Puma, Fila and Adidas. And she's only eight months.

MINUS PINKY COFFEE BEANS MAN

I don't know what category am I falling into as a coffee drinker. I drink coffee every morning, but I never finish it. I drink it while it's hot, when it turns lukewarm, I throw it away because I hate an after taste lingers at the tip of my tongue.

During the past two winter seasons when I had a cold, I skipped my morning coffee because my coughing became severe as soon as coffee got into my system. Funny thing was, I diidn't miss it. As soon as my cold was gone, my percolator was back to business. I broke my coffee pot a month ago while washing it. Until now, I haven't replaced it. I want a four-cup coffee pot with reasonable price tag. I saw one last week at Macy's, but it was way too expensive for my coffee taste. I'm not paying $40.00 for a coffee percolator, maybe I should wait a little longer, or maybe I should chek out at True Value?

Back in Malaysia I seldom drank coffee. Besides, coffee in Malaysia is different from the coffee serves here. Malaysian coffee is as strong as esperesso, and the amount of sugar they add to a cup of coffee is unbeliveable. Malaysians named black coffee as coffee O. When you order a cup of coffee without saying 'O' you'll get coffee with condensed milk in it. That's how Malaysians drink their coffee with cream. Tons of condensed milk in their coffee. Most of the serious coffee drinkers add sugar in their coffee plus the condesnsed milk. Imagine how sweet it is? The coffee is so sweet, it wrinkles your brain for a few second.

When I was five, my father went to Congo. Me, my mother and my two little brothers went to live with grandmother for aboout 15 months. She lived in a big two-story house in Batu Uban , Penang. I remember the coffee man who came to grandmothe's house every two weeks. We knew he was coming when we heard his big Norton motorbike engine. We the kids, stopped playing as soon we heard engine aproaching. We ran into grandmother's yard waiting for our coffee man.
Prrr...prrr........prrrr.......his humangous motorbike engine was a music to us.

The coffee man had a special compartments built at the back of his motorbikes's seat. An old fashion small scale he had under one of the compartments. The scale he used to weight the coffee beans, then he poured the beans into a grinder. When he turned on the grinder, we watched in fascinating the coffee beans swirled around the grinder like crazy. Bits by bits they turned into small pieces and finally they became coffee powder. The gound coffee slide down through a tin funnel into a bag made of newspaper. We thought it was cool.
The aroma of coffee beans filled the air, and long after he was gone, the aroma lingered.
Two things I remember well about our coffee man are his missing fourth finger of his right hand (we call it jari manis) and the unlit chubby cigar he had sticking out from his lips. He must've had chewed the cigar all day, because the cigar didn't look like cigar at all. I knew it was a cigar because of the smell.

The first time I saw him, I blurted out, "Pakcik,- Uncle, what happened to your jari manis?" My grandmother who was standing near me was horrified and scolded me. i knew if I were standing close to her, she would've had pinched or slapped my arm. My grandmother had a fast hand and poisonous words.
The coffee man laughed and said to grandmother.
"Kids are blessing. They are honest while we grown up pretend not to notice."
I don't remember what my grandmother's respond was or the reason he lost his sweet finger. I was busy trying to remove myself from grandmother's reach. I wonder if he still alive? If he is, he must be in his seventies.

EXCUSE ME, WHAT IS YOUR TITLE?

Job titles and power. walk or maybe run hand and hand. It doesn't matter the size of a company or an organization a person is working with. It's not about the responsibility that comes with the titles, it's not about a capability of the a person who pursue the title.
A title behind a person's name means a great deal to some of us. Title means you have a power that two, or five, or ten or fifteen people that reporting to you do not have. Title means you do not have to know the job 100%, as long as you know to play the game. Title means to some people they have a control over people or situation. Yes, that's what is all about: To control. Title is like honey to bees, light to moths, sugar to ants.
People are killed, stabbed on the back, climbed over, pushed, shoved for title. when is the last time you worked with a person whose title is as strong as double espereso, but has the knowledge as a dollop of froth non-fat milk? In other word is he/she doesn't know shit of what he/she's doing?

THE GREATEST JOB ON EARTH

Of all the jobs I had before, watching another person taking a leak was never in a job requirements. Earlier tonight, or lastnight I had to stand and watch a grown up woman taking a leak for an urinal test. A new resident was admitted on Friday, taking two samples of urine is mandatory for a new resident. Somehow, the new resident only be able to provide one sample.
When I walked into the office thirty minutes before midnight, an outgoing staff told me I had to get a urine sample before the clock strike 12 midnight.
"Why can't I wait until tomorrow morning?"
"Because the second sample must be taken on the sixteenth, and you know I can't do it," said Jake.
"So, what do I do, where should I stand?" I took a a pair of rubber gloves from Jake's hand.
"Watch her taking a leak."
"You meant I have to stand facing her while she's peeing?"
Jake nodded his head.
I'll be damned.

I thought working with women and children from domestic violence background was tough, I was wrong. It turns out, working at the women shelter is nothing compare to here.

I'm Not Your Pin Cushion

What a bless day. 40's degree in the mid-winter in New England is precious, is rare, is ThankYou my Creator. Despite of a couple of crappy customers and a Spanish girl with an attitude , the rest of the customers I waited on were a bunch of friendly and wonderful people. And not to mention how generous some of them.
I've been waitressing for a while, and I'm still amazed at some people mentality and attitude when they are out eating. Do some of these people really plan to be mean to their servers as soon as they step into a restaurant?
Why do you order Chocolat Madness Ice Cream, and after half of the ice cream was gone, you realized it was not a vanilla ice cream, and you complained to your server it was not what you ordered. Or
After half of the glass of Pina Colada disappeared in your system, you found out it didn't taste like Pina Colada?
Or your boyfriend finished the meal before you did and he ordered another drink, and when your server brought the drink to your table, you were angry at her because she didn't ask you if you liked another drink, and you were fully awared that your glass was still full?
Or you complained to the restaurant manager that your server was late taking your order when in fact four times she went to your table, you were on the cell phone?
I have one suggestion to a couple , young or old, seasoned or new.
When you have a fight with your boyfriend/husband or whatever, please don't enter the restaurant. And if you did, don't think we are the waitress/waiters are your pincushion. Try to poke a sharp pin on your arm, does it hurt?

YOU LOOK BEA-U-TAY-FOOL IN STILETTO

When I went back to my work place to pick up my check, Iesa and Yoe were in. Yoe opened the door for me. I had to squeeze myself in through stacks of buckets and boxes of new resident. I saw her right away sitting near the payphone, sourfaced. I said hello to her, she's just looked at me, and turned away. Well, we'll be seeing a lot of each other, lady.
Jett was back from school and he said hi to me for the first time. Usually he is sullen in the morning and never responded to my goodmorning to him. He even smiled and told me I looked nice in my shearling jacket. Well, thankyou Jett, you looked cute too when you smiled. His face turned red. Iesa pulled me aside and told me they ate all my mixed-peanuts I left on the cabinet during the meeting.
"Don't worry about it, I told you it's for everybody."
Before I left Justin asked me if I had it more at home. "I like it very much," he added.
"Sure, I'll bring you some on Tuesday."

Three buses were back to back headed toward outbound while I was walking to the bus stop. The afternoon was warm for winter. I was glad I didn't bundle up myself. After ten minutes standing under the afternoon sun, the bus appeared with full capacity. Actually there were more spaces and empty seats at the back, but I've always wondered why do people refused to move back when they ride a bus. They'd rather had their bodies slammed with antoher bodies every time people board the bus.

On an Orange Line train, a woman with those sharp pointed stilettos that could drill a hole in a wall crossed her legs way too far. She sat near the door, so everytime people board the train, their legs hit her pointed shoes when they moved inside the car to get the seats. She looked at the them with contempt but she didn't bother to pulled in her crossed legs, not even an inch.

A young girl sat opposite me had three and a half inches with sharp, pointed stiletto too. She had a baby with her. I'm trying to imagine how she carries a wiggling a year old baby in her arm and walk in three and a half inches heel. I can't even imagine. First I don't have kid, second I don't wear high heels. So, forget about trying to imagine, because I can't even comprehend it. I was just thinking about a baby's safety. That's all.