June 23, 2006 at 9:22 am | Filed under a waste of human capital
You are 21 years old without a college degree, juggling school and work, and trying to rescue what’s been left over from your teenage heydays (read: oh social life, where have you gone?); you’re sitting on the steps outside the Starbucks behind your office building— you and your immediate supervisor and your coffee and your cigarettes and you talk about college and people you both know and vacations you took and what you hope for for the future. NYC. Europe. Putting up a bed and breakfast. Fucking graduating.
Eventually, the conversation turns to work; this is, after all, supposed to be a coaching session. After the obligatory “so how do you like the program?” question (to which you answer with a little two thumbs-up! dance), your supervisor praises your performance: “I’m so thankful to get decent quick-thinking Wave 16 agents!” Uh-oh, you brace yourself for the inevitable: the constructive criticism that usually follows. Points for improvement, ya know?
But there are none. Instead, she asks you: “Do you plan on becoming a TL (team leader)?”
You fumble with your answer. You manage a “Yeah, I hope so!”
Way to go, Direction, Assetiveness, and Confidence!
What your supervisor says next surprises you: “We can groom you to be one. You have the potential.”
You raise your eyebrows, cock your head to the side, and shrug. You giggle, of course. You always giggle. Normal non-work conversation resumes, but for a few minutes, your mind is on something else. You pull up your mental list of “what I want to be when I grow up“.
Taylor Hanson’s wife- Philippine ambassador to SOMEWHERE
- Ambassadress to SOMEONE
- work for the UN (UNDP/UNESCO/UNV)
- work for the WWF-Philippines
- trophy wife
Customer service associate? Not there. Team officer in charge? Not there, either.
Sometimes, I have to remind myself that this isn’t a career. It’s just a job. JUST. A. JOB.
June 21, 2006 at 7:00 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel
So my shift manager has my yearbook photo up on his workstation. According to him, I am his “new inspiration”.
Helga: How did you get that???
Ken: I stole it from D. He was showing it off and I just grabbed it.
The hilarity.
Of course, D’s giving me the hardest time about this again. Le sigh. :blank:
June 17, 2006 at 5:33 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, college rat
Titan Fun Day Awards! Boo. The beach trip was moved to next weekend because of Father’s Day.
So this is cute. It is beyond me, though, why I am nominated for Ms Rampadora. I do NOT loitter around the operations floor, okay. It just so happens that my supervisor sits away from our team :P
It Gets More Absurd! Miriam College (ya know, my college) has always been strict with its dress code; I mean, two out of the three minor violations (that eventually led to my having a major violation) I’ve had in all my four years in college were caused by my going to school in ‘improper attire’.
It’s a Catholic institution. Common sense dictates no miniskirts, no rubber flipflops, no backless or halter tops, no tank tops with straps less than an inch etc etc. Once, even girls in black bras were randomly reprimanded by the dean of student affairs.
Ever since my major violation, I’ve made it a point to follow college rules and regulations. Thank god for sequined non-rubber flipflops. So anyway, last Wednesday, I went to school to finally enroll my ass. I was wearing rubber platform flipflops, having come from work.
Lady guard: You’re wearing rubber slippers.
Helga: (Like I don’t know?) I’M JUST ENROLLING!!! (Jesus!)
I had to go back yesterday to pay for my tuition. I passed by the guards, waving a yellow form and my registration form under their noses. I had successfuly made it past the gates when one of them went:
“Miss, your earrings are too long. Kindly Take them off.”
I rub my ears as I walk away from them (as they were still calling out to me), feigning to take them off. I send Rabi and Clem a message each, relaying to them this latest Miriam horror story.
Clem: HAHAHAHA, BEEEECAUSE WE’RE CATHOLIC SKEWL GRLZZZ.
See. I don’t get it. Why are dangling/chandelier earrings deemed improper by our school now? Do dangling earrings demoralize women? Do we stoop to prostitute-levels because we’re not wearing boring plain studs? AND WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT THIS UP?
Technically, earrings aren’t part of the Miriam uniform so I *kinda* get THEIR point. BUT! I WASN’T IN UNIFORM YESTERDAY (and won’t ever need to be, since I only have Saturday classes) SO LAY OFF MY PRECIOUS EARRINGS, PLEASE.
Rabi: If you’re not in uniform, they can’t do anything about your earrings.
Helga: Dude! I’m not in uniform!
Rabi: Baka type ni manang! Ibigay mo na!
LOLOLOLOLOL.
June 16, 2006 at 7:03 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, joyful girl, technicolor lover
I slipped and fell on my ass (and on a puddle of water) on my way to work last night. NOT FUN. I had sent my supervisor a message that I was going to be late because it was raining heaven and hell outside— apparently, the rain sort of made its way to my floor’s hallway, too. I walk back to my studio, take off my jeans, my shirt and my rubber flipflops; sit on my bed, whip out my phone and tap in another message for my supervisor: “TL, nadulas ako waaaaah. On my way to get a cab. *@&!#$^@#^%^@$%!”
She replies with an “Awww =( That’s what I call dedication! Ü”
I made my way caaaarefully down five flights of stairs. On the third landing, I almost slip— I grab the railing just in time, and end up breaking my cigarette in half. Sacrifice.
Dedication schmedication. I only changed shirts and my bag, so I came into the office with the left butt-side of my jeans soaking wet. And now they’re smelly. Puh. Or I think they are. I’m not about to ask someone to sniff them for me.
I’m cooking dinner for D Saturday night. I was about to say “It kinda sucks, though, cos he has work at 4am” until I got confused. I’m off this weekend, he’s off this Sunday. He works the 4am to 1pm shift. So does that mean he’s off Saturday night, too?
I gotta go shoot him an email.
It’s just going to be a simple dinner. Pasta, probably. And cookie dough ice cream. I’m gonna play the lazy girl part and just buy a jar of ready-made pesto.
Doesn’t he have plans with his girlfriend? Hmmm.
Argh, I’m confused.
June 14, 2006 at 5:02 am | Filed under ditz drivel, technicolor lover
D: Hey, take care on your way to work. I’m going out tonight.
Helga: Where ya going?
D: DJ and I are going out.
Helga: Hahaha ok, have fun.
D: Hehe, why the need for the hahaha?
Helga: Ok, have fun?
D: ‘Kaw talaga (I have no idea how to translate this into english. ‘Kaw is you, talaga is really).
Helga goes on to sulk smoke in the hallway couch with her copy of Kim Ficera’s Sex, Lies and Stereotypes. When men suck and you can’t do anything about it, turn to lesbian literature? After one stick, she goes back into her studio and gets all domestic: do the dishes, wipe the table, scrub and sweep the floor. Lalalala.
She then notices her pink phone lying on her green bedsheets. Two messages.
D: Oh, are you there?
D: You are such a snob today.
How about I drop-kick you. What exactly do you want me to say, “Wow, I’m glad you’re spending time with your girlfriend”???
Things I wanna do:
- Quit my job.
- Get a haircut.
- Eat a whole tray of chocolate drop cookies. Oh wait. I just did that.
- Eat pork sisig. Oh wait, I just did that, too.
I know I’ve always been a big eater, but this is absurd. I’ll be traipsing around my co-workers in a bikini in four days and I’m supposed to be living on green tea and cigarettes, NOT stuffing my face with sweets, carbs, and fat. Last night, I weighed myself for the first time after more than a week of not wanting to face the truth: 108 pounds. And this is after not eating for 8 hours.
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Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 23. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. 
