It sure doesn’t look like it. It’s technically Christmas Eve, Saturday, so I headed to the grocery store today. The walk there was pleasant enough, but by the time I got back (same CD as last week, but it took me two more songs: I had to hunt for bleach and forgot sugar and had to run back for it) I was again drenched in sweat.
It’s consistently 90 degrees outside. How can it be December? I just can’t get used to it.
And the workload is the same, so it just doesn’t seem like a holiday.
Christmas is a holiday here, but we’re publishing the day after so we get to put it together on Sunday. Not a huge deal to me, but apparently people felt like we were getting Sunday off and not publishing Monday, either.
I have no idea why there was a rumor like that – perhaps something based on previous years? – but from early last week, I’d asked the higher-ups if we were working and got a “yes” for an answer. So did others, so I’m not really clear on why the rumor that we might not work would persist.
So I’m working tomorrow. And I’m working the day shift, too, because one of the day guys asked me to switch so that he could go away on Saturday-Sunday morning with the rest of the fellowship kids.
As far as I know, there is another person – another fellowship kid – scheduled to work but from what I understand he was trying to arrange it to be off so he could go on said getaway. No one asked me about it, like to ask if it was OK with me if I was alone on a day, so I figure he’s probably going to be there.
Of course, having said that, it’s not like communication abounds in a news organization. Or any other business, I’ve found.
So I’m just going to show up at 10 a.m. tomorrow and whatever happens will happen. Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. And at 6 p.m. I’ll head home.
My Sunday walks are a lot lighter than other days. There aren’t all that many people around and there are far fewer food stalls to dodge. Less traffic, too, so that’s nice.
I see the same people every day, which is kind of cool in a familiar sort of way. I feel like they look out for me.
There are groups of people, mostly always guys, sitting at the same spots – in front of the kosts (“My Name is Earl” residences), at this food stall or that one, at this barber shop (open at 10:20 p.m. – weird) or that Circle K.
There are little routines. This group will ask me to come in and eat and I shake my head and keep walking. One older man at one food stall and two young guys at a food booth insist on high-fiving me every time I walk by. Another guy in particular – he’s there coming and going – ALWAYS smiles and says hi.
Down the last leg, I pass portable restaurants – they’re there on the way home, but not the way there – and shout out to the group working there, then I get to a smaller food tent and chat with the husband and wife. Sometimes I slow down, but I don’t stop.
But on my very last turn before I cross the overpass, there’s one more temporary stand to greet. In the middle, there’s this young kid – he looks all of 13, so he’s probably 20 – and it’s almost like a rehearsal. He is the only person I will come to a complete stop and talk to, and it’s always the same dialogue, though it gets botched and out of order.
In a perfect world, what happens is I stop in front of him (he’s usually cooking) until he sees me. We’re at a point now where the people he works with know it’s coming and will poke him to get his attention if he’s too into his work. Then they sit back to witness it and giggle.
“Hi, how are you?”
“I am fine. How are you?”
“I’m fine, too. Good night”
“See you tomorrow.”
We’ve *almost* gotten this down. Earlier, it was much like the Brady Bunch Christmas play, when Alice reports someone said “Who goes there?” before someone else says “Hark!”
I’m not even sure if he knows any other English, but he’s such a sweet kid I indulge him.
One day last week he wasn’t at his spot and it threw me, but then I saw him a little farther down, on the phone. I stopped and we went through it. I noticed a police car slow up and flash its lights – I’m sure they thought the poor kid was harassing the bule. I ignored him, which is what most people do to the police around here.
The cops are allegedly out in mass this weekend, except they’re really not. We had one story on the fact that 6,000 police officers would be “safeguarding” the area churches from attacks on Christmas day. I went to clarify that was extra police officers and the guy was like, no. Um, what?
Turns out, it’s not extra officers. Usually there are 9,000 law enforcement officers on patrol (Jakarta encompasses 650-square kilometers), so basically this means that if you want to commit a crime tomorrow here, just don’t do it in the area of a church.
So happy holidays!
PS -- writing this thru to note I just got back from a Christmas Eve buffet. I am fairly convinced I gained all the weight back I've lost in the last few months. I ate salmon, grouper, some other kind of fish, turkey, ham, pork, some other kind of meat (though I passed on the duck), rice, mashed potatoes and roasted potatoes. Oh, and carrots and a little Japanese salad. I went back for more salmon.
Had desserts, too: a little chocolate mousse, two strawberry cheesecakes (hi, Dorothy!) and a fruit cup. I wanted ice cream but also wanted to walk home alive.
Two Cokes, an OJ and two glasses of water.
I am FULL. Like uncomfortably full. I really hope my fitness center is open tomorrow morning.
I fear I will have weird dreams tonight. Perhaps involving Christmas songs as sung by Toby Keith, which, oddly, was what was playing in the background of the Intercontinental whatever hotel it was. The dreams will probably involve salmon and pigs hunting me down.
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