Blogger Lang

It is a sad, sad day for the country when we are laying to rest a good man, a public servant who truly cared for the public; mourning the loss of a man who was taken too soon.  And on the same day, we are made to suffer the indignity and humiliation of being represented to the international arena by a rambling, rumbling, filibustering politico of the lowest degree, who is the complete apotheosis of the former.

It started with a speech that rang the wrong bells and left a bad taste at the mouth, what with its outdated studies, unscientific claims and crocodile tears, truly anyone with enough sense would find it laughable.  If only the topic weren't so serious and all-encompassing.  And to find out that parts of the speech, which was punctuated by hysterical emotions, was copied verbatim online, now that takes the cake.

It should have been a simple case of non-attribution, quickly remedied by an apology and a correction.  But Philippine politics being the circus that it is, and a clown at the helm, mustering the bravado of a hundred bigoted chauvinists, everything has gone to hell, leaving the true topic for discussion all but forgotten.

Three speeches hence, wasting the people's time and tax money, we are no closer to a resolution, but more focused now on this idiotic source of world-wide humiliation.  

And the temerity of someone in power to claim to be bullied.  Mr Sotto, the bullied does not have a voice, and you, as majority floor leader have it.  Lots of it.  Kill the messenger, indeed.  From the very beginning, your arguments have been met one by one with cold, hard facts and valid, up-to-date science, but like a mule with blinders (and seeming like one too) you refuse to listen and see their counterpoints.  Just because you refuse to see logic doesn't mean your points were not addressed.  Because they were.

It was you who, like a drowning man grasping for flotsam, focused on the controversy.  Point in fact, even now, you're delaying the conclusion to your turno en contra, just to abuse you position and give a privilege speech against your detractors.

And there's a fine line, no, a definite demarcation, nay, a whole universe of a difference between parody and satire and impersonation versus plagiarism.  On one hand, you're alluding to the person, intimating to your audience the perverse humor derived from a person, while on the other, you're easing out the source and intimating that the thoughts are your own.  Willie Nepomuceno impersonating Vilma is that, impersonation; he knows who Vilma is; he knows the audience knows who Vilma is, and in that lies the humor of his art.  There is no plagiarism there.

Maybe your teachers at Wanbol University forgot to mention it, or most likely you were out playing hookie, but there is this tiny little concept in leadership called Command Responsibility, where the boss is bound and is accountable for the actions of his subordinates.  So your staff's non-attribution becomes your own.  By voicing that speech in the hallowed halls of the Senate, you, Mr Sotto, make it your own.  It will forever be etched in the annals of the Senate that you, Mr Sotto, not your clown of a Chief of Staff, certainly not your ghost writers, uttered those words.  And it should be you, Mr Sotto, not your whipping boy attorney, nor your underlings, who will be held responsible for those words.  You are the majority leader, you should know that, right?

And how magnanimous of you to shell out your own money and clothes and food to those helped by your show.  Or are they?  But wait, you just failed to attribute the hundreds of sponsors and donors and writers and staff, who did shell out those cash, did all the legwork and marketing and collection so you can show up on cam and dole out your generous, generous help.  After they sing and dance and generally debase themselves on nation-wide tv, of course.  It was once rumored that Willie was paid a million per episode on his noontime show, maybe you were paid below or at par, but I wonder, did you ever shell out a week's talent fee in all those years of clowning on air?

You say we social media people have not done anything to our society and therefore need not be taken seriously.  But we are, Mr Sotto, by exposing how frivolous you and your ilk are, and how unfit you are to rule over Philippine society, that is our contribution, and no amount of corny bulagaan skit you write can match that.

A powerful business tycoon was caught plagiarizing his speech, he apologized and offered to resign his post and return his honoris causa to rectify the damage.  The President of Hungary resigned his post when it was found out he plagiarized his Phd.  Germany's Minister of Defense resigned, too, over a plagiarism scandal.  You see, greater men than you have shown humility over the same infringement.  

Of course we do not expect you to resign, you're too simple to even contemplate that form of sophistication; but an apology would have sufficed.  We are a forgiving lot, after all.  But no, you couldn't even give us that.  Instead you belittle us bloggers, especially those whom you stole ideas from, and attack us via a privilege speech.  And like poisoned icing on maggoty cake, you threaten us with the curtailment of our right to free speech via a law to regulate our blogs?!  Who died and made you dictator?

True, plagiarism is not a crime.  But as one of the land's drafters of laws, at least a little iota of decency is needed, but you can't even give us that.  And as one of the highest elected officers of the land, you, Mr Sotto, represent us -- represent me -- to the rest of the world.  How utterly humiliating to be represented by a bigoted, crass, unapologetic trapo with no sense of delicadeza.  How mortifying!  

But then, again, blogger lang ako, so what do I know, right?

And so, Mr Sotto, I dedicate this Lily Allen song to you.  I hope you like it.

photcredits: thief blogger henyo

Grade School Mentality

I know I said I wont blog about work anymore, but certain developments are just begging to be picked on.  So please allow me to rant a little.  This is my blog after all.


It may not seem like it, but accounting is a high-pressure job.  Sure, we spend the whole time sitting at our desks and facing the computer, but the pressure mounts at our side, trying to balance multiple reportorial deadlines while at the same time pacifying internal and external stakeholders.  And believe me, talking with stubborn agents, irate customers and impatient stockholders can take its toll.


To take the pressure off of work, we joke around in the office.  Instead of whining about the work, we laugh it off.  And resume work afterward.  Sometimes we even joke around while working.  And what good it brought us -- employee turnover have been curbed, at least for the time being.  As with my experience with the Great Place, no matter how toxic the work is, as long as the work environment remains nurturing, or at the very least, fun, your employees will not turn tail and run the opposite direction.


It isn't always the monetary factor that keeps the employee happy, after all.


Unfortunately, some departments do not think so.


The Internal Audit department has complained to the HR about our noisy behavior in the office.  They talked with our manager, and it was communicated to us in turn.  Since then, the jokes have been toned down.  But they still found it fit to report the incident to HR. 


More than that, they are apparently checking the number of times an employee is out of the desk.  Which is funny because that employee they mentioned has one of the largest output at any given time.  I am astounded that even at this time, they are still adhering to attendance-based management, when what they should be monitoring is performance.


And with various backlogs across all departments caused about by the changes in systems and implementations, I'm surprised that they still have the time to monitor the activities of the employees of other departments.


Furthermore, this grade school mentality is galling me to no end.  All the while I thought I've already outgrown the list of noisy and absent and those not in their proper desks, but apparently, I haven't.  The sergeants at arms are still roving around the classrooms with their lists, ready to rat us out to the principal if we get too noisy.  


Suddenly, I feel like we're being held hostage inside our own office.  You can feel the sudden drop in the atmosphere and the dreary, sleepy silence that have begun to permeate.  And I will not be surprised when the resignation letters come pouring in once more, especially now that the annual audit is winding down.

[Not] Born This Way

...too bad the song supports homosexuality. =( God didn't make gays lesbians transvestites and they were definitely NOT born that way. pero ang ganda nga ng boses.

I really hate to ask this, but are Christian viewpoints really so narrow?  Here we are again, met with another little Filipina to make our race proud, another soul recognized internationally because of her talent, and all you can focus on is the "un-Christian-ness" of her song selection.  Did you even research on the rest of the song's lyrics?

I'm beautiful in my way,
'Cause God makes no mistakes
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way

Correct me if I'm wrong, but those lyrics seem like a praise to God, and how perfect He is, and all His creations.

Don't be drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're lebanese, you're orient
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'Cause baby, you were born this way


How can you dismiss a song so utterly just because it gave a shout out to "gays, lesbians and transvestites".  Did you not see how the song aims to uplift the spirits of those outcast for their appearance; for their color, race or disabilities?  The song wants you to embrace who and what you are, to not let yourself be the victim of the stereotype.  It tells you to love your quirks, your uniqueness -- your GOD-GIVEN individuality.


So raise your glass if you are wrong
In all the right ways
All my underdogs, we will never be, never be
Anything but loud
And nitty gritty dirty little freaks


Cause baby you're a firework
Come on show 'em what you're worth
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
As you shoot across the sky-y-y
Baby you're a firework
Come on let your colors burst
Make 'em go "Oh, oh, oh!"
You're gonna leave 'em all in awe-awe-awe


Pink and Katy Perry said much the same things with their songs, why are you not panning them in the same way?  Is it because the "gays, lesbians and transvestites" have made Lady Gaga the figurehead of their advocacy?  Or maybe because Lady Gaga, when placed side by side with Katy and Pink, looks weird?  I can only hope that it isn't the case.

I have been blessed with quality, secular education during my formative years, and I was taught that our God was a Father who loves his flock as much as the sick, the lepers, the outcasts; and who readily forgives.  He taught me to love my neighbors as much as myself.  He was no longer the vengeful, wrathful god of the Old Testament who commands his people to crush the infidels.  He was a universal, CATHOLIC God full of love and tolerance.  Or do you worship a god that is different from my own?

I remember years ago, when Madonna was much maligned and criticized by various Christian groups to no end because of Papa Don't Preach; stating that the song promotes pre-marital sex; urging people not to support her and her music for its un-Christian message.  An unfair treatment (yet again) considering the very pro-life message of the song.

Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, oh
I'm gonna keep my baby

Give the girl a break!  She knows she made a mistake, and she's pregnant because of it.  But she has decided she'll correct that mistake and let her baby live.  Must you dwell on the wrongdoing committed rather than the actions made to make amends?  Isn't passing judgment on other people also an un-Christian trait?

I've digressed.  Too much, it seems.

We're talking here about a girl, a Filipina, who is a source of national pride for being recognized for her talent.

Why couldn't you have left it at that, and steered way away from quick judgment on her song choices?

I am SO glad you are not one of my facebook contacts.

Are You Mad?

Dear officemate, no, I am not angry at you.  Honestly, I care too little to be truly angry.  I seem to remember telling you that before:  that I am not mad, I just lack patience.

And it's my patience that you're once again testing.  

Granted, I did lose some of that patience when you tagged each and every ugly picture of me on two of your albums, and on another officemate's photo album.  Said albums, by the way, are not even private, and available for everyone to see.  As you see -- or probably, you don't -- I love my privacy.  I took pains to cluster my contacts to various groups to minimize overlaps and to ensure that information is restricted from one group to the other.  And with each and every tagged photo, I get a notification on my email and phone, and it's such a bother, especially that we're on our busiest weeks at work.  


I playfully called your attention to that and, how did you react?  You went all emo on me, posting loaded status messages on facebook and yahoo messanger about how you're sad and how I don't even look at you anymore.  And don't give me the "how do you know it's about you" rhetoric, you've already tested my patience, don't insult my intelligence as well.  I know it's about me, and not just because your office buddy keeps on commenting on your emo posts with her own loaded comments.


Do you know what I do when people piss me off?  I erase them.  I write them off.  I ignore them.  If they are not in my world, then they will not piss me off. And congratulations, you've won yourself a ticket!  And the more that you force me into acknowledging you, the more that I will ignore you.  And come on, with your work, and your friends, and your husband and child, you really don't need me to clutter up your life, so please, do not clutter mine.


You've seen me in one of my moods before, and I told you to just let me be, as it will subside eventually.  Why can't you do the same now?  Especially now, that you are the object of my abject disapproval, and not just collateral damage.

Beaching About Anawangin

Suffering from insomnia before an out of town trip can really cause havoc on your system, and that is just what transpired on the day of the trip.  It was nearing 4am when the drowsies hit me and before I was even halfway to REM-land, I can hear knocking at my door, telling me to get up and prepare for the trip.  I was in a state of half-consciousness for most of the travel to Zambales, and being situated in the middle seat with no hand rests to grasp on wasn't doing me any good.  The presence of two pets didn't make matters any easier either, but at least they gave some mild distraction.

Four hours, a flat tire, and several top load repacking later, we finally reached our destination.  I was mildly amused that the place we would be staying at was a stone's throw away from where my friends and I stayed while waiting for our boat from the last two times that I've been at the place.

The very same windmill that we use as our landmark now greeted me from the right side of the fence.  I laugh inwardly.

Pundaquit is a nice place in itself, but the presence of the fishing village and the myriad boats along the shore does not make for a promising swim.  Compared to other seaside settlements though, its waters are relatively clean and does not stink of fish.  It also boasts of a good view of the island of Capones and its neighbors.

Come nightfall, there was little much to do but eat and wait for the following morning for our boat ride to Anawangin.  Provided that we were thirty in the group and would surely need plenty of food to keep everybody satiated, there was still a ridiculously large quantity of seafood waiting to be consumed.  Clearly, someone went overboard with the fish.

That was dinner.  A similar quantity of seafood was consumed by the group during the few hours between lunch and dinner, including a yellow fin tuna that met its demise over various bottles of booze.  Said booze, by the way, didn't even survive till dinner and no one had the heart to buy additional bottles which the resort was selling at more than twice the normal retail price.  Which is good in a way; no one wants to care for inebriated people who can't handle their drink, especially not me.

Come morning, the group stirs to prepare for the boat ride to Anawangin.  This will be my third visit to the place in three years, and I was mildly excited at the prospect of returning.

A bigger boat meant a slower ride to the Cove.  It also meant better opportunities to take photos along the way.

At last, we finally made it to the cove.  But this reunion was more bitter than sweet.  You see, the two times that I have been to Anawangin, it was peaceful, tranquil, and every bit the paradise you are seeking away from the hustle and bustle of city living.  It is that place where you can really be at peace with yourself and at one with nature, hearing the wave, listening to the wind, and smelling the clean air.  With no electricity, no amenities and no cell phone signals, Anawangin provides the ultimate detox from civilization.

This is Anawangin from my memory of a year before:

This was what greeted me that day:

Ugh!  Crowds!  The horror!  I have never been to Puerto Gallera before but this is what I pictured Gallera was:  a small beach fair teeming with hoards upon hoards of people.  It wasn't right that this secret cove should be this crowded!

From my two previous visits of Anawangin, there were two areas at the left most corner of the beach that was made into a camping ground, and cordoned off to make a sort of compound.  Those two areas had an entrance fee, for the use of the water pump and wash rooms; the rest of the cove was free, and the free area away from the crowd is where we usually park our tents.  Upon descent of the boat, a person greeted our group and promptly billed us for 50 pesos apiece.  Apparently, the whole cove is now private property and they are charging visitors for use of and for the maintenance of the beach.

I don't really have problems with the fees, but had I expected there to be fees, I would have led the group to the left side of the cove, where there are ample trees to provide cover.

The other problem I had with the imposition of the fees is that the attitude of some people change for the worse when they are paying.  some people find it justifiable to leave their trash everywhere just because they paid for the service and are expecting other people to clean up after them.  Sure enough, all around us are evidence of people's neglect:  a circle of cooking fire that was left unattended, tables full of trash, litter everywhere!  What's worse is there are ample garbage receptacles scattered all around, but these lazy people do not even have the concern to use them!  I even saw a table being bussed by the cove's caretakers after the wake of it's previous users.  Imagine, a picnic table being bussed, what is this, a restaurant?!

To be fair, Anawangin Cove is still beautiful, I do have some shots to prove it.  But at the rate things are going, two years and it will become another wasted beach, to suffer the same fate as those beaches of old from Cavite.  Does anyone even remember Puerto Azul?

If you would look closely at the photo above, you would notice the presence of a backhoe parked idly at the back of the cove.  This thing boded ill for me.  The presence of that giant hunk of metal signaled the encroaching of civilisation against this nature paradise.  What would happen to this place in the next months to come, I fear to know.

Shirking Responsibilities: Villainy

The problem with being responsible is you are expected to sustain the role indefinetely. The moment you exhibit lapses in your role, you immediately become the villain.

The Bibliophile Cries Blood!

I am a bit obsessive-compulsive about stuff, and I can sense if my things have been touched by other hands, which is not to say that my room is sparkling clean and impeccable; quite the opposite, really; but I know my mess, and I know when some other people have messed around with my stuff.

I came home from work to my empty room. Nothing extraordinary about that. But only after a few minutes upon entering, I notice some things that are amiss. I saw that the drawer of my study table was askew, evidencing that it was recently opened but was not properly closed. I'm not too bothered, because there isn't anything to be coveted in there, mostly papers and other paraphernalia that are valuable only to me, and only through sentimentality. I have a nasty habit of collecting receipts, calling cards, bus tickets and movie tickets and they all go in that drawer to mingle with credit card bills and other sundry items.

Seeing my bookshelf was another matter altogether, though. Somebody had the temerity to go about my books and steal one of them! This culprit even had the gall to take one of the books that I haven't even read!

Still in its vacuum seal and as fresh as the day I bought it from Powerbooks' bargain bin (two Christmases ago), I placed this book on the shelf to remind myself to buy more plastic cover. I have made it a point to never read any of my books until I have covered it in plastic, but as much as I want to read them in the order in which I bought them, some books demand to be prioritized and moved up the list, to the detriment of others.

But who in this limited household is the red-handed book thief? Had it been some other stuff missing, I would automatically cast the blame on my younger sister, for she does have the history of rummaging through my things and never returning it. But this is a book we're talking about, and my sister is all but allergic to reading. I remember buying her a Sorcerer's Stone paperback only to find out two months later that she never even touched it. My elder sister was actually egging her to read the book, and it came to the point that my younger sister cried a tantrum so as not to be forced to read it further. I also bought her a copy of The Secret Garden for her school project, but I ended up the one enjoying the book. I doubt if she even so much as smelled it.

My mom, on the other hand, loves to read, but her current fare consists of self-help, inspirational and business books. I even gave her my two Robert Kiyosaki~s for I know she would enjoy it. Fiction is not really her thing; she even advised me to stop investing on fiction, but there is just no stopping me.

My elder sister, upon the other hand (yes, there are three hands, I am a mutant), share my taste in books. What she lacks is my passion for it, and my disregard for budgets when it comes to buying books. It isn't in my nature to borrow books, but I don't mind lending my collection, which suits her perfectly. She used to borrow some of my books and I can only cringe in horror when I see my books, my beloved children, opened wide and face down on her bed, with the spine accumulating lines and creases from the tension of it being folded upon itself. I remember employing the help of several large bull clips just to remedy the damage inflicted upon that book. Buying books second hand has given me the creativity to somehow salvage the books and return it into a more presentable condition. But my elder sister isn't the type to just barge in on my room and take whatever she fancies. And it has been years since she last borrowed any of my books.

Still, I'm bothered about the loss of my precious. I can't make out who in their proper minds would steal from me, and Lynne Truss, of all authors! Even though she has a massive following in the US and Europe, I am not in the opinion that she is that accessible here. This puzzle, combined with the theft, perplexes me so. I am mad at the crime performed against me, and I am intrigued as to the choice of the perpetrator.

Still, a crime is a crime, and someone has to pay.

I'm out for blood!

The Circus Continues

Mag-BIR ka muna

The day of reckonning has finally come; the day that has been in our collective psyche since December; the day that had our full attention and energies since March.  The deadline for Income Tax Reporting has finally arrived, and the months of audit will finally come to a close. 

But the heavens decided we are not yet stressed enough and thus made online reporting impossible.

I have four tax reports due on April 15, the first was for the annual income tax, the three others are for monthly withholding taxes.  With the BIR's IT department being so considerate as to implement updates on their website on the busiest tax reporting date in the year, we have no choice but to file our taxes manually.  This involves going to the accredited agent banks of the Regional District Offices (RDO) to pay, and for zero-payment reports, to go to the RDO itself to have the forms received.  This further means that I have to go from our Makati office all the way to Rizal to file and pay for my tax reports.  It also means that we have to rush everything to have the checks printed and signed, something that online payments no longer require.

Reports and checks on hand, I commute from Makati all the way to Cainta, where the agent bank is located. Riding a taxi is not an option, for it would take a miracle to find a driver who would be willing to drive me all the way to that place. Besides, the traffic is monstrous, and if ever I get a driver to take me there, I might arrive at the place too late.  The fastest means is by train: MRT to Cubao, and LRT2 to Santolan; and a jeepney ride to Sta Lucia, all done under the heat of the unforgiving April sun.

I arrive at the bank by 2pm and am delighted to see that the queue is comparatively short.  I made a beeline to the writing desks where I will fill up the BIR payment forms needed to pay for my taxes, but there are none in the desk.   I ask the guard about it, and I was directed to the New Accounts desk for my querries.

Me:  Hi ma'am, I'm here to pay my taxes, where are the payment forms?

Teller:  Sorry sir, but we can no longer accept payments, as we already ran out of forms.

Me:  What do you mean, you wont accept payments just because you don't have the forms?

Teller:  You can go to other agent banks, if you like, sir.

Me:  That can't be, as the check was drawn to this bank.

Teller:  Why don't you have the check's payee changed?

Me:  That is not humanly possible, as the signatories are in Makati.

Teller:  Well, it's not my fault that the checks were drawn to this bank.

Me:  It's not my fault either that BIR decided to go off-line and issued this memorandum (shows her copy of memorandum) that I go and pay manually.

Teller:  Sir, had it been a cash payment, I can do something about it, but this is a check, sir, and we have a 12nn cut-off on BIR payments.

Me:  But the BIR also issued a memorandum that all agent banks are to accept any forms of payment until 5pm today.  Why don't you just issue me a written letter stating that you wont accept my payment because you ran out of forms, then I can go to the BIR to have my forms received, then I pay tomorrow.  Hopefully, you have the forms by then.

Teller:  Wait sir, I'll ask the manager.  

(walks out of her desk and goes to the manager.  I can hear the manager bellowing at her about unintelligible things.  It's been a long day, and my eavesdropping skills weren't working.  After 15 minutes, she goes back)

Teller:  Sorry sir, we don't issue letters like that.

Me:  (Thinking of my other forms for submission to the RDO) Then I will just go to the BIR and ask them about this.

From Cainta, I then head to Taytay, where the RDO is located.  Two of the four reports I have with me were zero-filing reports, and I had an easy time having those received.  I asked the person who received my forms as to whom I should talk to regarding my payments, and I was directed to the Head of Collections.  

Head of Collections told me things I already knew:  That their office is not allowed to accept my payment, and that I should go to the bank to pay them;  that the banks were ordered to accept payments til 5pm, and that they are not allowed to refuse anyone still in the vicinity after 5pm; and some other stuff I care not to think about now.  Alloyed with their information nonetheless, I head back to Cainta to force the bank to accept my payments, reaching the place past 4pm. To my surprise and mounting incredulity, the bank has already closed for the day!

I need to rest and reassess my battle plan, so I headed to the store I am accounting for and called the Head of Collections about agent bank's early closing.  Upon her instructions, I drafted a letter request for manual filing of reports, and added a request for extension of payment.  I also asked my manager to prepare a "food offering" that I will give Head of Collections for helping me with my tax reports.  While waiting for my bribe, we were discussing month-end reporting stuff and other things, while eating the clubhouse sandwich and spicy new orleans pasta served at my table (the perks of working for a resto business).  My body rested and my hunger sated, I go back to Taytay to have my forms, and the letter I drafted, signed and received by the RDO. Finally, after a tiring day/week/month, I am able to relax, my forms having been received by 7pm.  Afterward, I went back to the store and turned the checks over to the manager, for payment on agent back the next day.  

The Next Day:  Mag-BIR ka ulit

Manager:  ShatterShards, what do I do with the checks?

Me:  Have someone go to the bank to pay it, and show them the letter received by the BIR attached to the forms.

Manager (after 15 minutes):  They didn't accept the checks.  They don't have payment forms.

Me:  WTF!  I'll call the bank.

So begins the redux of the circus I hurdled just the day before.

I seem to have all the luck, as all other stores have managed to file and pay their tax reports without even half of the hassles I have experienced.  The first I tried to call was the RDO, to report on agent bank's alarming lack of payment forms.  Unfortunately, all office lines are already busy, or disconnected, because it was already 11am, and lunchtime is sacred.  I have no other recourse but to talk to the bank.

Operator:  Hello, welcome to agent bank, how may I help you?

Me:  Hello, I'm ShatterShards, I was there yesterday to pay for my taxes, but you didn't have payment forms.  I sent a person there earlier to pay, but our payment was still not received for you still don't have payment forms.

Operator:  Umm... wait sir, I'll have someone to talk to you about your querry.

Me:  Yes, please.

(after 5 minutes of dead air)

Accountant:  Hello sir, this is V, I'm the bank's accountant.

Me:  Hello, as I was saying earlier, I sent someone to pay my taxes there but the tellers refuse to accept the payments because you lack forms.

Accountant:  Yes, sir, we can't accept payments without the proper forms.  Why don't you just change the check's payee and pay on another bank.

Me:  That is not physically possible, as I'm here in Makati, and the check is there in Cainta.  When will the payment forms arrive?

Accountant:  Maybe later in the day, sir.  All forms come from the Head Office, and we're still waiting for delivery.

Me:  I have a 12nn deadline with the BIR.  Why don't you just accept my payments, stamp it received as of 12nn, and process it when the forms arrive?

Accountant:  We can't do that, sir, or we might incur penalties.

Me:  Well, I will not accept penalties over that one either.  You did not accept it yesterday when I was within the deadline, and I had to request for an extension of payment just to have it processed today.  I am well within your bank's cut-off, so it shouldn't be my fault if my payments are processed late.  I should have reported you to the RDO, but unfortunately, I can't right now, for it's already lunchtime for them, and all lines have been disconnected.

Accountant:  Sir, can I call the Head Office first, so I can ask permission for your transaction?  

Me:  Okay.  I'll call them myself as well.

Accountant:  Okay sir, please call back in 15 minutes.

It's not even 12, and my head is already throbbing like mad.  I can feel my blood rushing to my head, and my back and shoulders are acting up as well.  Stress.  Pure, unadulterated stress.  The stuff I eat for lunch almost on a daily basis since March.  Calling agent bank's head office did did not help me much at all, although they did state that BIR was already online once again, and they suggested that I try to pay online, to which I refused, because the online facility will definitely charge me penalties for late filing.  I did try accessing online, just to placate myself that I did everything humanly possible, only to find out that the online facility still isn't working properly.  After 15 minutes, I called agent bank again.

Operator:  Hello, welcome to agent bank, how may I help you?

Me:  Ms V, please.

Operator:  Wait sir.

Accountant:  Hello?

Me:  Ms V, this is ShatterShards, how are my transactions doing?

Accountant:  I've cleared it with Head Office, sir, you can send the checks for payment.

Me:  Good.  I'll have someone come over to give you the checks.  Thank you.

A rush of relief flowed through me, washing away the weight forming at the base of my spine.  I felt my adrenaline crash, leaving me tired and a bit drowsy.  Finally, my tax reports are done.  I can now continue with my monthend and quarter-end reports.

Award!

I have long expected this award.  I knew I will get one, as early as the 2nd week of March.  I knew it was just a matter of time before they hand it to me.

Employee: ShatterShards

Position: Corporate Slave

Company Policy Violated: Tardiness Policy

Details of incident as sited:

As per attendance report, it was observed that you incurred thirteen (13) lates for the month of March.

In line with this, you are given VERBAL WARNING.  You are reminded by the Company to do necessary improvements on your part so as not to reapeat the same offense you have comitted.  Repetition of such violation shall mean a higher degree of penalty.

This is the second award for tardiness I received this year, the first, I got last January.  The next award would come with a 1-day vacation, I mean suspension.

The Great Place I work for decided to repeal our 15-minute grace period last year.  This means that the cut-off time is 9.00am.  If you log in at 9.01, you are already considered late.  Of the 13 instances cited, 9 falls within the grace period, which means that, had the grace still been in effect, I wouldn't have had received an award for March.  But that is crying over spilled milk.  I used to never even bother with the grace period;  I was almost never late.  I still wake up at 7am like clockwork (at times, much earlier), regardless of when I slept the night before, but I have problems getting up in the morning.  The time I'm spending forcing myself to get up out of bed is growing longer by the day.  If not for the fact that my house is just 15 minutes leisurely walk away from the office, my list of tardiness might have been longer.

I haven't yet counted my tardiness for April, but I'm suspecting that I'm getting an award again this time.

The Arena and the Coliseum

B-liscious: Where are you? What are you doing?
Me: Nothing much, I'm just here at home.
B-liscious: Let's watch the UAAP finals later.
Me: Sure. What time is it? Where is it?
B-liscous: 2pm at San Juan Arena. Go now, I'll meet you there.
Me: Ummm... okay... text me how to get there.

----------------

I was having my late lunch while watching Flushed Away on HBO when B-liscious called me up to invite (or rather, drag) me to watch the first game of the volleyball finals. Seeing as it was 1.30 when I received the call, I had to really rush to make it to wherever the venue was.

----------------

Me: I'm about to go now. How do I get there?
B-liscious: I don't know also. I'm taking a cab going there.

----------------

No choice. I guess I'm gonna have to cab it as well. I distrust taxi cabs and their drivers on principle, and would rather commute using public transport going anywhere than put my trust (and my hard-earned peso) upon the taxi cabs. Yes, I am prejudiced, but I have my horror stories to back me up. Still, going to uncharted territories without any hint of where the destination is is rather foolish and a clear waste of bravado. Time to swallow my pride and ride the cab.

Amazingly, I was able to hail a cab with only just a few minutes of waiting. Rather surprising, since cabs usually disappear whenever you need them, and are abundant in numbers when you don't. I got in the cab and told the driver my destination. Another surprise, since the driver didn't even ask where we should go to get to my destination. The driver knows his geography, I think to myself. Good. This places less pressure on me.

A little bit over 30 minutes, and we're in San Juan. He turns left to some street and I see a wall with San Juan Coliseum painted on it. It's past 3pm, I am late. But at least I'm already here. I pay the driver and alight his vehicle. I go straight to the entrance and at the same time, I'm taking out my phone to call B-liscious to tell my whereabouts.

But the noise from the Coliseum distracts me from my musings. There are cheering crowds, but the voice from the speaker system is rather odd, I think. It's in the vernacular, and somehow, his hosting skills does not really suit a volleyball game between two colleges. I look around, and to my horror, I realize that the cab driver dropped me off, not at the volleyball venue, but to a Cockpit Arena!

There it was, a newly painted building with centralized air-conditioning and ample parking space. The San Juan Coliseum. But this is not the kind of game I was expecting, far from it. Immediately, I give B-liscious a call. No answer. I call again, and again, and again. No answer! I am in uncharted territory, on a limited budget, and my contact seems to have vanished on me! I try another lifeline; a friend who lives near the area. No answer as well!

This is starting to feel like an episode from the Twilight Zone. I'm starting to get a little bit bitchy when B-liscious finally answered my call. At last, after innumerable attempts, my call has been answered!

-------------------

B-liscious: Are you there already? I'm still having lunch.
Me: I'm at the San Juan Coliseum, and it's a Cockpit Arena!
B-liscious: WHAT? Wait, let me make some calls.
Me: Yes, please.

------------------

My tension abated, my head finally cleared, I did what I should have done in the first place, and ask the locals for direction. The guard told me that the venue I was looking for was The Arena, and that I can get there by riding a tricycle.

Having finally located the place, I fall in line to buy my ticket and managed to watch the third set of the men's finals. Partway through the 3rd set, B-liscious makes an appearance, and we scan the area for a place to watch the game, late as it is. It wasn't too bad though, considering there was still the women's finals to wait for.

It was a good game, though disappointing at times. A group of ball-crazed fan girls and boy did obscure the view for us, and I wanted to push them down the railings. Thankfully, B-liscious held me back, and I rather contented myself with my partial view of the game and the amusing cheer from the pep squad (GO LUH-SOHL!!!).

It was a good day, and barring the misadventure, it was fun.

By the way, UST won over UP 3-0 on the men's game, while FEU won over DLSU 3-2 in the women's division.


Photo credits for Dondi Nolasco, FEU vs La Salle, 15Feb09. www.starshrek.multiply.com

Broken China and Missing Utensils

It was announced around lunchtime earlier that all unwashed items in the office pantry sink will be thrown out and disposed of, to keep the cleanliness of the pantry. No one from our side of the office stood up to try to save any of the stuff in there.

We've become familiar with the routine. Every once in a while, the pantry will be rid of any unwashed stuff for the sake of cleanliness. And every once in a while (especially during the weekend) someone will use platewares and utensils in the pantry for their lunch, and leave it there without washing. It is unfortunate if, like earlier, the two events occur, and your utensils are the ones that fall to the trashbin.

I used to have a mug in the office. It was bigger than the usual coffee mug, and it was glazed black. I usually keep it on my desktop, but one time, I washed it and left it at the pantry to dry. A weekend passed, and I never saw the mug again. Someone may have picked it up for themselves, or, most likely, it fell victim to the pantry purge, after some god or goddess used it and never bothered washing after use.

I just don't understand how some people find it hard to wash the dishes after they use it. It is one of the basest chores I was taught as a child, and I think it isn't stretching it to assume that other people have been taught this as well. It is, after all, one of the minor things to do to clean up after ourselves. I mean, come on, at this day and age, can you really afford to have your yaya trailing after you and cleaning up after you 24/7?

Still, the big cajuna was suspecting one of us to be the culprit, and the plateware disposal was announced at our side of the office, to somehow punish us for not cleaning up after ourselves. I'm not much affected, for my new mug is on my desk, and my spoon (I've lost the fork, unfortunately) is in my pouch. I still believe that that punitive remark was somehow misdirected, for I doubt that office regulars would be brash enough to leave their foodstuffs unwashed, when we all have been victimized at one point, and "suffered" the loss of a utensil, or two.

My Day at the Bank

I went to the bank during my lunch break to make a deposit to Garfield's account, hoping to make short work of it.

The queue looked promising enough; there were five people in line, and three people in front of the counter. Not a bad number of customers. I took my place in the line, thinking of other things I can maybe do after my trasaction.

Ten minutes went by, and the same three people are still in front of the counter! This is getting suspicious. I craned my neck to see what they were doing, and it galled me to see that each of the three persons in front of the counter had at least ten items to transact with the teller! They've even spread the transaction slips on the counter for the tellers to sort out.

Precious minutes went by, and the same three people are still on the counter. Our queue of six doubled, and then tripled, and still, they're on the counter. My quiet excursion to the bank became a noisy one, as the customers in line grudgingly waited their turn.

At last, the three people completed their transaction, and the line started to move. I was in front of the counter for like two minutes; my total stay at the bank, 45 minutes. I've no more chance to do any other activity, for I'm needed back at the office. It was past 2 when I got back. I acted like nothing was amiss, and proceded with my after-lunch rituals.

I have nothing against people doing multiple transactions with the banks, and I have nothing against the tellers. In fairness to them, the tellers at that bank work briskly, unlike some other teller at some other bank I have the misfortune of transacting with. I just wish that they implement an "express" line where customers with sigle transactions can queue up, and not get caught up in the middle of limbo, watching the backs of corporate lackeys doing their stuff. Or maybe, the ones with multiple transactions should be the one having their special lane, so they wouldn't eat the precious minutes of those regular customers with just one or two transactions to deal with.

Whatever. I just needed to air that out.

Shirking Responsibilities: Movietime

I've been watching movies lately; too many, actually, especially for someone who professes to have too little time for liesure. Juggling two jobs which are both equally time-critical, and for the past months have been overly demanding of my time, I have now learned the best way to keep myself from imploding: DON'T SHOW UP.

More and more, I'm turning irresponsible, showing up late for work, or just not reporting at all. I know, it sounds childish, immature, and least of all, unprofessional; but given a choice between my sanity and my work, I believe I have chosen wisely.

I have two pet peeves: Books and Movies. Getting lost in either realm for hours at a time is a needed remedy for my weekly dose of reality and the rigors of 20-hour workdays. After Thursday's monthend vigil, I feel I deserve some liesurely rewards.

I went home early Friday night (I reported to work just half day) to reacquaint myself with my almost-lost loves, my books, and after a few chapters of my new read (Showdown, by Ted Dekker), I fell asleep. My ever-faithful moblie woke me up with its trilling, indicating an incoming message, and I was pleasantly surprised by Stitch's inviting me to a movie along with his group.

Thirty minutes later, I'm in Glorietta looking for the group who has my ticket. I haven't yet eaten then and I made the mistake of buying takeout from Wendy's. I made another mistake of falling in line on the counter that had the smaller queue of people. I the queue was short for good reason: the girl at the counter was woefully inept, and took her sweet time taking orders and serving the food. It didn't help that I'm strapped of time, with the movie starting in 15 minutes, and she taking 5 minutes per customer. I was fourth in line.

I fear that accounting for a food business, and entering the kitchens at least once a month had a negative effect on me: I am overly critical of services performed for me, and easily loose my patience when I see that service is slackening. My track record with food servers is long and colorful; my volley-friends can attest to that fact. Being hungry and late for my movie did not improve my mood when I got to the counter. And seeing three customers on the other aisle finish their transaction, while in my line, three people are still waiting for their takeout, my bitch-button took auto-pilot. Curtly, I asked said counter-girl to make an advance call of my order.

Lately, when I get frustrated over something, especially over my old computer in the office, I get into banging fits. Armrests, keyboards and desks are not spared my banging fits, my fists falling heavily on any surface, to relieve my head of mounting tension. Wendy's counter-girl met with the same reception. I was holding my wallet-pouch then when the banging fits started, and in sheer frustration, repeatedly slapped my wallet onto the counter, causing a mild scene, which in my impatience, I failed to appreciate fully.

It did me good, actually; my head was relieved of the mounting pressure, and counter-girl quicked her pace; finally moving at an acceptable speed for a fastfood personnel. She was displeased, and she made it known, tearing from me the money I was handing over. Had I been clasping the cash tight, we would have torn it in half. She didn't even give me the customary closing spiel when she unceremoniously handed me back my change.

But who cares about her, I had a movie to rush to.

I so HATE my job right now

But then again, I hate it on a daily basis.

It's just that everyday, my loathing for this job reaches new levels of hatefulness I never thought was possible. I find that everyday, I see more and more reasons to leave; to once and for all move away. And everyday, I get burried in tons of paperwork that acts as shackles forestalling my leave-taking. Everyday, I am further bound to this job by responsibilities beyond measure.

And everyday, I am asking myself why, why WHY! did I ever find accounting to be so interesting in the first place. I could have been successful on a job that entails travelling; or be a hotel and food critic, anything! Getting paid to bitch, rant and complain -- that could have been heaven!

But NO! I'm here, chair-bound, desk-bound, honor-bound to account for other people's money, and it's getting old fast!.

Next time, use MS Word...

Here I am, blogging my life away and feeling proud of the thoughts I've transcribed in the past hour or so, when suddenly, the internet gods decide to piss me off. No particular reason, It's just that you were there.

I click on Publish, and lo and behold! my entry, my 1000-word work of one hour, gone. It doesn't exist. Makes me want to summon my cleaver and hack away at people...

Crap.