THREE THINGS.

March 30, 2007 at 7:46 pm | Filed under Y!M conversations, a waste of human capital, technicolor lover

EDIT// Haha! Who bitchslapped who— I fucking aced the assessment. 

One. I feel like stabbing my head with a spoon. One week of learning and working with Sabre and I’m about thisclose to giving up and endorsing myself to our HR department for a position in maintenance. It’s all codes and commands and again: I REFUSE! to be had by a string of letters and crosses of Lorraines and filters and dashes and slashes and ARGH!!! It all follows a certain logic and I’ve got that nailed. It’s the fact that I. Don’t. Get. The Process. that’s killing me. And command pricing (forcing prices on flights) has me down on my knees.

I’m scared (not skurrred) for tonight’s first assessment.

Two. The other morning, D sent me the most romantic message in the eleven months we’ve known each other: You suck, dude.

A heart tug, a heart pop!, and after four months, I finally get it. I don’t recycle men.

Three. Goat.

Okay, I’m off to get bitchslapped by Sabre. :(

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McDUH.

March 16, 2007 at 2:03 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, urban primadonna

Just to say: because pay day is two weeks away, I have temporarily moved back in with my folks. There are pros (I have access to the intarwebs, even though its dial-up!!1) and cons (we never run out of food). So for the past few days, I’ve been taking public transportation back and forth Antipolo and Makati, and I realize: it fucking sucks. Like, no word or phrase or sentence can convey just how much I hate passing through C-5/Pasig at two to two-thirty in the afternoon. I’ve already been late three times this week.

Anyway. I usually take the bus from the office until Galleria, and then take a cab home from there. Tonight, I took the bus all the way to Valley Golf since our trainor let us out an hour early (for the sheer lack of anything to do to review for our US geography exam later). And two things happened:

1) The guy sitting next to me slipped me his calling card before getting off the bus. Well, not really slipped slipped. More like he put his card on top of the crossword puzzle I was answering (Rosario, Pasig and its All-Day All-Night Traffic Specials). Lulz, and his name is Jojo.

2) I ran out of phone credits just as I was about to text my mom that I was near our village (so my brother could pick me up at the gate). No working pay phone, no store where I could buy credits for my mobile. For ten seconds or so, I seriously thought I was fucked and would have to walk the five miles (or maybe even more omgz) home. Until I saw the guard house.

Life is so exciting.

I’m glad that alcohol the weekend still makes me giddy. And I’m gonna be a normal person next week in the 7am to 3pm shift.

And yes, Klassy, I remember:

Oh, Miriam College days.

Comments (7)

iTERMINATED.

February 17, 2007 at 1:52 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride

So I am without a job. This is kinda funny. Last month, I got my first eviction notice. This month, I got my first “You are terminated!!!!111″ talk. Teh universe doesn’t wuf me anymore. Anyway. Management doesn’t think I’m right for this company because my work habits include this: websurfing, Y!M-ing and making less than 80 calls a day. Except for the last part, I didn’t really do anything wrong.

It’s fine, really. I have so many options now, I don’t know where to apply next. I can’t afford to take a break because MY MONTHLY BILLS ONLY AMOUNT TO 9.3K A MONTH, ya know?

Let’s consider my options.

Option #1: Gamepal. Where my housemate works. Chat support for gamers. 16k net.

Option #2: ICT. Outbound sales, credit cards. 15k basic, 2.5k allowance, 20 percent night differential, easy commissions. Murderous hours.

Option #3: People Support. Customer service for expedia.com. My former co-worker asked for 20k, they gave him 20k. It’s located in Makati :hmph:

Option #4: Coastal. Inbound sales, training materials. 22k starting, plus commissions. Standard income per month, including spiffs, is around 24-25k for new hires.

If you feel sorry for me, STOPRIGHTTHERE. My bootcamp batchmate actually gave me a cookie!

I’m taking a graceful exit. I disputed my manager’s evaluation stats because he was SO WRONG, and he never showed me my new score even though I asked him for it. Drew tells me to do something about it before I leave, but I don’t know. I’m going to Starbucks in a while. I’m still thinking if I should wait out the whole shift and get paid for the day, or go home and drink BECAUSE IT’S A FRIDAY NIGHT, YEAH? The other guy who didn’t make it went home already. Dude was sexually harrassing his seatmate, what was he thinking?!

By the way. We’ve moved into the new condo. I’m such a rockstar today. Fourth time I’m wearing the same pair of jeans this week because I can’t find my clothes.

WANT A NEW LIFE? YOU CAN BID FOR ONE!

Comments (9)

PEACHY KEEN, EH.

December 21, 2006 at 11:32 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride

It’s a fact that I hate to admit, but in Katipunan, tricycle drivers are kings. Those shitheads own not just the roads, but a huge chunk of your everyday Katipunan existence as well. And on days like today, I wish I were God (like, truly truly God) armed with an AK-47 and the legal right to open fire and headshot their sneering smirking heads to bits.

Today, I left the apartment at half past two in the afternoon with 21 Christmas cards in my bag. I took a jeep to get to the UP Post Office. Now UP is only SUPPOSED to be ten minutes away from Katipunan, but no thanks to the traffic, my plans of sending out those cards were foiled. The post office closes at 3. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been to the Diliman campus in MONTHS— I had this wild look in my eyes that screamed “I DON’T BELONG HERE!” and I just had to leave my cigarettes at home. I could be naked and fat in the middle of EDSA during rush hour, but hand me a lit cigarette and I can fucking strut the highway and make naked and fat look cool. Or the new black.

So anyway. I passed by Shoppersville to get some boxes and wrappers because ’tis the season for that. After dilly-dallying for half an hour, I leave the place and approach a parked tricycle. I give the driver my street name and my exact compound, he pauses and then asks how much I normally pay. 12 pesos, I say. Asshat starts reasoning out and for the nth time that day, I wish I had my cigarettes with me so I could’ve blown smoke into his face before I walked away. This cretin (a tricycle driver, too) who was sitting on the sidewalk next to his tricycle scoffed at my back: “12 pesos? For a pedicab, maybe!” Fucking idiot. You’re a trike driver, I live on lower, not upper Abada. KNOW THE FARE DIFFERENCE.

So off I walk to the tricycle terminal outside the dorm where I used to live. I stopped by the bank, drew out some cash, and as I walked past Rustan’s (the grocery), I hear someone calling my name. Not just one “Helga!” but many many Helgas. “Helga! Helga! HELGA!”

I turn my head and what do I see? A group of tricycle drivers sitting on a concrete stump with silly smiles pasted on their grimy city-tanned faces. My mind seriously froze. Like. Seriously. Froze. I was holding my phone because I had a message from Chuchubells and the words were a blur and for a few seconds, it was like my brain had forgotten how to string letters and words together. I approached a waiting trike, stared at the driver (who stared back) before I was able to go “Abada. *pause* Family Montessori. *pause*” And then I realized I actually had to get in, to get home.

I texted Chuchubells about the incident and he said that’s what I get for always walking along and around Katipunan. IT’S NOT LIKE I DO SO WEARING A FUCKING NAME TAG!

“Maybe I should change my name”, I told Allah when I got home. So from now on, my Katipunan screen name is MARY-KATE, okay? In front of tricycle drivers and tambays, I am NOT Helga; I am Mary-Kate.

Also, I’d just like to point out how much I hate office gossip. D texted me last Tuesday night, out of the blue, to say that he’s disappointed that he’s heard I’ve been talking trash about him. I replied with a “Don’t talk about you. Don’t even THINK about you.”

So last night, I was drunk, pissed off at Chuchubells, had downed three Vis, and had the brilliant idea to bitch at D. Don’t ask me what happened because my memory’s a bit fuzzy. Why are the Alabang people even talking about me, damn it.

Comments (4)

DIAMONDS IN MY EYES.

December 5, 2006 at 11:02 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, joyful girl, technicolor lover

It’s been a while. I was sick for one week and I’m all better now, thankyouverymuch. I’ve succumbed to being Boring, though, allowing my time to be consumed by work, sleep, getting drunk on rhum, and sex.

Last weekend, I sprained Chuchubells’s dick. It was funny. That’s what he gets for calling a ‘Sex Night’. But I weep at the aftermath: my bedsheets are still a crumpled mess, most of my clothes are still strewn all over my bedroom floor, and I have a three-week old bottle of apple C2 fermenting in my room. Yowza. Plus, my hamper is overflowing with laundry while my closet is slowly becoming devoid of clothes.

Oh! Oh! Oh! I got kicked out of my team (here at work) because I suck. November was a bad month for me, so I was put into Phoenix or PIP (Performance Improvement Program). And then my previous team’s supervisor switched from inbound sales to outbound, and guess who’s handling my previous team now? CHUCHUBELLS.

Had I not slacked off last month, this would be this month’s scenario:

Helga: I’m not going to work tonight.
CCB: Why?
Helga: I’m.. umm.. going.. uh.. drinking.
CCB: Drinking?! With who?! I’m not with you, no, you can’t be absent tonight!!!

So yeah, I officially like Chuchubells. I realized that when we were drinking with the Frenchies two Saturdays ago and Elton John’s Tiny Dancer was playing and he started singing along. And theeen, while dressing up to go out, I put on my knee-high fishnet whore stockings which freaked him out/pissed him off. He refused to get out of my bed/take my pillow off his head, and insisted that he’d rather go home or stay at my place than have me go out with prostitute legs :cute:.

People from work are starting to sense that something’s going on between us. It started with me wearing CCB’s jacket to work (a nondescript men’s company jacket) and then him being absent during my rest days and.. uh, our matching hickeys (how very grade school, I know). So much for keeping a low profile.

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