No kidding. I’ve just come off a rather routine week and the only things worth highlighting are the fact I am not on a three-day weekend right now and that I had a largely unsuccessful shopping trip to the Walmart-ish store.
The second is a direct result of the first.
We got our schedules for this week through mid-November or so and, oddly, I was devastated to realize I had a three-day weekend this weekend.
Yeah, that sounds weird, I know. But right now isn’t a good time to have a three-day weekend.
The schedules are done as fairly as possible, I think, and our “floating” day off tends to rotate during the week. We’re always off on Saturdays, but our week ends on Sunday, which means that occasionally, you have to pull a Sunday-Friday shift and then will have both Saturday and Sunday off.
Once in a while on those weekends, I think an attempt is made to then have your day off for the next week be Monday, meaning you get a three days weekend BUT you have to work six days to be off three and then work a five-day stretch. I think that’s the plan.
And it’s a good plan, especially when it’s rotated through all the employees. But somehow, my days off got bumped – or something – and I wound up with my second three-day weekend this month, and basically the weekend between them was a two-day.
Not sure how that happened – especially since some of the fellowship kids have only had two in the whole time they’ve been there – but I didn’t want it. I mean, I got that schedule and my heart sunk.
That’s because my own vacation is coming up the 28th, which would have meant taking a three-day weekend, working three days and then going on vacation. Money’s still really tight and it would have not been feasible for me to do anything whatsoever on the three-day because I already don’t have funds to do a proper vacation. And again, sitting in a 28-square-meter apartment for three days is enough to make you consider stabbing our eyes out with chopsticks -- and I do have a pair handy.
So when I got an email from a colleague asking if I would swap, I was absolutely thrilled.
Actually, the email came from another colleague, who had the same three-day weekend. He wanted to know if I wanted to go somewhere on the weekend because he needed a break. And although I thoroughly get that, I just couldn’t do it this month.
However, the last part of his note, almost as an afterthought, was kind of an “oh, by the way, if you don’t want to go, would you maybe be interested in trading your day off” with the other colleague. Oh, man, I was so relieved.
Turns out, due to the rotation, this colleague has never had a day off with someone. (The joys of being almost at full staff: more than one person can be off on the same day.) So our swapping both days – which we were able to do – wound up working out for three parties, which is practically unheard of.
So right now, those two are off seeing a volcano or something and I’m hanging out on my normal Saturday off. And my next week day off was moved to Wednesday, meaning I didn’t have to go to the grocery store for a full load like I usually do on Saturday.
I did go to Carrefour, which is the Walmart-ish store, this past week on my day off. I didn’t need much since I hadn’t known I’d be off and had already hit up Giant with a week’s worth of stuff, but I like to stop in there once in a while, though I’ve learned it’s not in my best interest to do it on busy Saturdays.
Plus, they have had moon pies, which are a big draw. I went armed with a list of maybe seven things.
Well, they didn't have the first item, the second was cheaper at my regular place and the third I could only buy in bulk, so that wasn't a good start. THEN, I learned they didn't have the moon pies this time. Oh, I was devastated
At that point, I had already driven the little cart around the entire place and it was still completely empty. (Oh, and grocery carts here are just as wobbly-wheeled as in the States.)
Since I’ve now been here six months and I can count the non-essential splurges I’ve give into to on one hand (tennis shoes, umbrella – though I can make arguments that both of those are essential – and a movie) I decided it would be OK to spring for something small.
And what I needed was a new pair of underwear for the lineup. We’re talking the whole Seinfeld thing of “underwear particles disintegrating” kind of thing going on here with a particular pair that I must have had in Morocco. This particular pair, when worn with the pants that now fall down my hips, make me look like some kind of really sick hip hop wannabe. Saying more would be TMI and I do not want to be held responsible for any unintentional visuals, so I'll shut up now about that.
These days, though I've no inkling of what American size and certainly not what Indo size I wear. So I browsed some really ugly undies trying to figure out how large or small my butt is now. That is really hard to determine. After two rounds of the underwear aisle (conveniently, both men’s and women’s), I finally grabbed a pair that wasn’t exactly a decent color but considering I was under the watchful eyes of three associates, I just wanted to get out of there with some success.
It was on sale, marked “diskoun 50%” and marked Rp. 30k. That was in line with the other prices, so I didn't question that being the price. They seemed well-made -- at least more so than the soon-to-be-cleaning cloth-if-they-don't-disintegrate Fruit of the Looms.
Tossed them into my no-longer-empty cart and started to leave but got stopped by the associates, who motioned for me to give the Mello Yello-colored pair to them. I complied.
Turns out, the sales process here (not sure if it was the “on sale” or the fact it was clothing or what), what happens is you pick out something, then you get what is kind of a raincheck and then you go pay for it with your other stuff (in my case, at the slowest possible register; I thought I was going to scream), then you go to information, give it to the (in this case) three boys working so they can inspect it, then they summons someone else to go bring your item to you. This person (who, thankfully, was a woman), hands you the goods stuff in a bag and checks both the raincheck and the receipt before you can leave.
So, in case you need to know how many people it takes to help a person buy a really ugly pair of underwear in Indonesia, the answer is eight. Three in the underwear department, the checkout girl, three boys at information and the runner.
This does not inspire me to go bra-shopping, that is for sure.
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