Finish

Another language lesson: You’re never out of or through with something. Instead, it’s “finish.” That’s past tense.

You hear this a lot, especially in restaurants. Oh, you wanted tomato on that sandwich, sorry, it’s “finish.” The cheap bottled water? “Finish,” though the pricey one is available.

That guy standing over there that you’re hoping to ring you up? Oh, he’s “finish.” Same with the shoes you were hoping to get in a size 40.

And now I join the crew. After a week of lasts, I’m finally “finish.”

As far as work goes, it ended appropriately: having to stay over an hour late for the second time this week. At least in this case, it was for breaking news, but the thing is, we had six people waiting on one story that wasn’t going to make deadline anyway. Please, people in charge: recognize what you have to do to run a paper successfully.

I don’t think that’s been the case so again, I am just more and more glad I am getting out of here.

Everything, or at least most everything, has lined up properly. I came down to the wire there getting the passport back (had to have my visa canceled) and getting my final utilities paid, but that stuff came through.

My landlord even, without question, gave me my entire deposit back without checking the apartment (which is pristine, really) and HR advanced my both my housing allowance and salary for April.

My two little wrinkles have been the cab tomorrow morning and the cable. Of course the cable.

The cab wouldn’t take a reservation from someone who doesn’t have a phone – they hung on me, in fact. I guess I will have to risk that. I plan on leaving at 6 a.m. for the airport. Usually there are cabs around, so hopefully it won’t take long to flag one down.

The cable is just a pain. I called to cancel from work as I’ve already given my phone (bought in Morocco three years ago) to someone. Again, they pressure you for a number and don’t like it when you claim to not have one. As What’s-His-Name said (repeatedly) in “The Princess Bride”: “Inconceivable!”

After some convincing, they eventually got the picture I wanted to end all services. Now, the cable bill that I paid says it’s through March 31, coincidentally, the last day I need cable. So I figured that should be fine.

No. Cable companies being globally evil, they claim I must pay another month. Well, they can kiss my butt and sic Interpol on me. I have no intention of giving them $30 for zero days of service. Negative one, if you count from the day I canceled.

So I feel I’m set. I even have already exchanged a HUGE pile of rupiah for exactly 10 US currency bills. Lightens my load. Hopefully, I’ll still exchange a little more at the airport; I still needed some for today.

I tried one last time to find decent tennis shoes. I located a not-too-bad pair off the 50 percent off rack and lined up to get them but the sales people claimed they weren’t on sale. Yeah, right. No sale.

I certainly won’t miss white people prices.

Tonight, a crew from work is meeting at a place called Bluegrass to say goodbye. Me leaving is really just an excuse to get together, and I’m fine with that. I’ve got one more load of stuff to pass along and it’s a prefect opportunity to do so.

I did agree based on the name of the place, but I’ve since learned it’s not really a bluegrass place but rumor has it there are good burgers so I’m ready. God knows I need the meat. I’ve been anemic since PC. (Not to self: Get iron tablets.)

The next 12-14 months have taken shape. I’ve officially signed on for an AmeriCorps position in North Dakota. It’s in Minot, the town that had bad bloods last June. I’ll be doing flood relief, which is different than anything I’ve done but it really sounds awesome. I’ve talked with the people with whom I will be working and they all sound great.

Plus, there’s the whole cowboys and oil men thing to consider. Mmm. I must say, that did weigh in on the decision, but only slightly since the other choice was the beach. Tough call, and that job sounded really good, too, but this one seems like a better fit.

I will begin at the end of June, which seems like it’s a long time away, but here’s what I have to consider: between now and then, I’m on the road off and on. And by that I mean *really* on the road. And in the air.

Tomorrow I leave. It’s a 35-hour trip, except I’m not sure if that includes the 10 hours in layovers. I hope so. I have over six hours in some airport in China (CAN) that seems to rank dead last on international airports and then over four hours in LAX. One hour in Atlanta I can do, especially if I am near the Chick-Fil-A. (Note to self: Look up which terminal it’s in.)

I spent about $8 today on snacks for the plane, varying from the fake M&Ms to fake Pringles to these baked pea things that are coated in something that’s as addicting as crack.

Since the LAX-ATL leg is overnight, I am on the first flight into Tally. Hoping Country Kitchen is still open for breakfast; I am in need of a buttered bacon biscuit.

Next week, I head to DC for the assessment, for which I am starting to freak out. I return on Wednesday, then leave on Saturday or earlier for Zippy’s P’cola tournament. I’m picking her up and we’re heading to check on Gray in Lafayette.

After that, I’m in town or so – hopefully taking Mackenzie with Leanne and James to the Junior Museum -- until mid-May, when I go on a mission trip to Nicaragua. TRBC is taking a soccer/football team (I’ve been calling it football for a year now, have to get back into the habit) though the 18^th. We’re flying in and out of Orlando; maybe I can meet up with my boys there. Oh, and Laurie, too, of course!

Z is then playing in Reno again over Memorial Day, and who can turn down a trip that puts you 15 minutes from Tahoe? I have a $99 Delta companion ticket and I’m thinking I should use it since vacations next year will be scant.

My AmeriCorps training is June 11-14 in some Chicago suburb. Really? Usually it’s Denver or Minneapolis. I’d have way preferred either, but seems like if they’re sending us to the Windy City they could at least put us where we could “El” it to a baseball game. Ah well.

And then after that I’ll be heading up to Minot. It’s 30 hours by car, so there will be several stops. I don’t remember how far Laramie was, but I have already mapped this one and noticed Nashville is on the way. Would love to stay there two nights but we’ll see what the time frame is. St. Louis and Omaha are also potential overnight stops.

And then I’ll start the next 12 months.

But for now in Jakarta, I am “finish.”

Complications and choices; chilling out and counting down

So with a week remaining, little bumps have risen up in my path. Nothing’s insurmountable, but some are just annoying.

This past week, for some reason, the management of my apartment building put a lock on the fitness room door. It’s a key entry thing and says “Members Only.” Well, a sign in the room has said that for the year I’ve been there. Since it’s in the lease and all, my assumption is that by virtue of living there, I’m a member.

After all, that’s pretty much how I’m known to the many people floating around who service the building. I walk down in the morning, my MP3 in ear and sarong in hand for the post-workout swim and everyone smiles and waves.

When I see workers (and there’s a variety, from janitors and desk people to guards, car attendants and the like) they always make this pumping iron motion and say “Fitniss?” Yes, fitniss. Eleven months now.

So, upon finding the locky thing on the door, I simply found someone to let me in, and they did it, no question. Of course, no one seems to know the combination of the lock, and no one knows how to officially sign up to be a “Member Only,” so letting me in turns out t be most easily done by tripping the circuit and cutting the power to the door, letting me in, and then turning it off.

The second day this happened, the hear guy let me in. He also instructed me specifically to not let anyone else in, as I’d done the day before for the Chinese man who is in there almost as regularly as me.

I’d wondered what to do if someone I recognized knocked on the door, like Spider-Man (who’s gone missing) or Grunter (who seems to have switched back to evenings), but so far that hasn’t happened.

What did happen is some guy I have never seen before knocked and knocked. Without getting off the bike (which restarts when you stop even for a second), I motioned him down the hall. He continued to knock and I ignored him.

But at the end of my 60 minutes on the bike (I hate this. God, the bike is boring.) he was still there, and had enlisted a small group of workers to whine to. (I found this out later.) One of them let me in as the guy was berating me for not opening the door.

I told him, and them, that he head guy, Erwin, had specifically told me NOT to let anyone in, so that’s why I hadn’t. I asked where he was, but it was a holiday so he was gone.

Anyway, it got ugly but I left to swim. Life’s too short. The kids who worked there informed me the guy was a jerk, but I’d already figured that out for myself. And I swear, to my knowledge, I’ve never seen him before.

He wasn’t there today, fortunately. In my experience, there are fewer people on weekends than during the week, so maybe he won’t be around tomorrow, either. And that’s assuming I can track someone down to let me in, which seems to be getting harder.

And again, no one knows how to initiate someone into “Member” status. I hate to pester people in the morning, but sheesh, is it so hard?

Since I only have seven days left, at this point if I can’t get in I’m not going to sweat it (ha, ha) but I really wouldn’t mind paying for a week or whatever. But no one knows.

Next week I’ll be spending enough time in the office, though. I have to pick up my final bill and get all that straightened out. I’ve told them I’m leaving. I planned on doing that Tuesday, but I just realized that I don’t get my living allowance (the money I use to pay my bills) until Wednesday, so I can’t pay that until Thursday. Ah, complications!

But some other stuff is coming together. I did my last official grocery shopping today (except for plane food; that’ll come next week) and am cooking my last batch of rice/garlic/onion/carrot soup-ish stuff now. I managed to time both the macaroni and alfredo sauce as well as the peanut butter and bread to run out at the same time and am low enough on everything else to where if I can’t give it away I won’t feel bad if I just toss it.

Haven’t gotten to the doctor because I learned that office no longer takes my insurance up front and when I went for my appointment I hadn’t brought any money with me. After all, I’d *just* done the lab work 10 days before and didn’t have any insurance issue then.

So that’s my off-day assignment, if I choose to accept it. I won’t die, or at least I’m fairly confident I won’t die, if I don’t go.

I’ve also been interviewing for several AmeriCorps positions. This is tough, because I have been trying to figure time changes and manage to be both on time and on my game at hours like 2 a.m. and 5 a.m.

I miscalculated the last interview, though (really? Indy isn’t in the central time zone?) and the lady had gone home, as she should have. That was Saturday morning and I need to get back with them. Oops. Embarrassing error.

Skype has been fairly reliable except for one phone number it doesn’t like.

I’m getting psyched about the possibility of an AmeriCorps assignment. It’s essentially another year of service at the poverty level, but it’s doing good and living somewhere else for awhile. I’ve talked to some really nice people.

So far, I’ve had four interviews and all have their advantages. The challenges are really about the same: living on something like $800 a month. However, I’m pretty sure if anyone can do it, I can.

I had to turn down another interview because the timing didn’t work out and one place found someone else, which, honestly was welcome. That one, which was in Utah, sounded good but it just didn’t feel right for me. I was honestly relieved to get the email that they’d named someone else because I didn’t want to turn them down.

Choices to make. No pressure there. It’s only the future.

So who knows what next week will bring. I am off Tuesday and have a few things to do, but mostly I’m hoping to chill out a bit.

My packed day today cleared up a bit when a 1 p.m. appointment fell through. I was fairly relieved, though. I got back home from the grocery store at noon and just crashed until 2:30 before heading down to the cinema to see “Hunger Games.” (Excellent choice.) The little fallback store where I’ve bought my little Polo mints only had one roll, though. Horrors. It was a fairly innocent habit and now it’s gone.

I’m down to the “last” whatever. The last meal for the week is on now; tomorrow is the last Sunday, etc.

So the countdown has begun.

The elevator game

Since there are so many big buildings in this megacity, elevators are a way of life. Up and down, constantly.

But what’s more constant is the wait. I am glad my building doesn’t have more than 20 floors, because a lot of times, there’s no rhyme or reason with the elevators.

My building has something like 16 floors (allotting for the non-existent 3, 4 and 14) and we have two elevators. But they’re not on the same system, so it’s sort of like betting on horses as to which one to call and hope.

Most people just hit both buttons, even if, say, you’re on the UG (second, I think it means “ubove ground’) and you need to go up to the 8^th floor, which is where I live. Never mind that one might be on the 9^th floor and going up and the other one is on the ground floor and going down.

I can respect the fact that you want either elevator to get there ASAP, but c’mon, people, use common sense. Don’t tie them both up because it’s pretty obvious that the one on the 9^th floor isn’t coming your way any time soon. And since they’re not on a system, that other elevator is going to still come to you, possibly delaying someone else’s call.

But common sense never prevails.

I remember taking Nic and Zac to Ron Jon in Cocoa Beach. They were something like 3 or 4, maybe, and completely unschooled in the way of elevators.

Fortunately, there were only two floors and very laid back people in Ron Jon who didn’t seem to mind that as soon as the doors opened, no matter which side they were on, both of the kiddos did the bum’s rush thing to get in. Screw everyone else, here we come.

Now, that’s one thing from a young ‘un, though I tried really hard to curb it and explain that people getting ON need to stand back for the people getting OFF first.

Little did I suspect that my nephews were Indonesians in training.

My God, the simplest of concepts go over people’s heads here. It’s to the point where you want to smack people. If you’re trying to exit an elevator, it’s remarkably frustrating to have even three or four people trying to muscle on when you’re trying to get out.

Let us off first. What a concept.

And the people getting off are often no better. I get on the ground floor and push “8.” The other people will push 12, 16 and 19. But they stand, Kocur-like, with their nose in the door, forcing me to push around them to get out. 8<12<16<19. Me first, thank you.

I try to get on, and it’s the same thing. People just stand there and you have to basically shove your way in, even if there are only 2-3 people in a large elevator. It’s not that space is lacking, just intelligence.

I’m clueless as to how people can be this ignorant of their surroundings. I’ve been on elevators headed to the 11^th (top) floor at work and once we get there, people just stand. HELLO? This is it, folks. It’s not a “go and come back.” Get off. (And yes, the Gordie Howe elbows come out again, not only for them, but to get by the crowd that’s standing *right in front* of the doors when all I want to do is head to work.

Most people are too busy texting to even notice where they are, I think. I don’t get that, either. The world around you is a fascinating place. Look around once in awhile and participate in it.

I swear I just don’t get it.

The funny thing here about behavior in elevators is the reaction to the “open” and “close” door buttons. The unwritten (or heck, knowing the funky laws, fatwas, regulations, decrees and bylaws here, it might be written for all I know) is that you MUST MUST MUST press the “open door” button AS SOON AS the elevator stops. Never mind it’s automatic and you’re just some Pavlovian responder, you must press that button as many times as possible until it opens.

And, the second people step off, it’s pertinent that you push the “door closed,” because, you know, that half second you may or may not save really makes a difference in your destination time.

It’s kind of funny when you get on an elevator loaded with people and, since no one makes room for you, you can’t get in any further than the control panel and you *don’t* press the button. You can feel the tension – people are standing there thinking, “What a fool bule, doesn’t know the elevator game! Should I squeeze past her? No, better not – I think she can take me.” And then the door shuts on its own anyway.

Yeah, I have to get my kicks when I can.

Sometimes elevators bring surprises, too. For a long stretch, my building, which has two elevators, only had one operating. This was a great source of frustration for everyone in the building, I think, because you really had to just wait and wait.

But during the day, it got really weird. The service elevator was the one working, and occasionally I’d notice that it would start on 12 or something and I’d hit the button to go to the UG floor. It’d go to 11, then wait. Then to 10, and sit there awhile. Then 9, same thing.

But once it got to me, the doors would open and ALL that would be in there would be four trash cans. ??? Seriously, it was like Oscar the Grouch was just pushing buttons.

I still haven’t figured that out.

No Need for a ‘Go and Come Back’

When people live overseas, whether it’s as a PCV, expat or whatever, their conversations often focus on what happens when they finally get back to the States, and what will change.

As a PCV, this leads to a lot of speculation, most of it leading to conversations that would gross most people out. After all, PCVs can have long, involved discussions of bodily functions. They’re always entertaining.

Eating is another big topic, at least where I’ve been. In Morocco, it’s common – even polite – to belch at the table, eat with your hands, toss the chicken bones on the table, wipe you hands on the bread and loaf around as a sweet overworked lady pours tea and fruit down your gut, then wipes off the table as you curl up for a nap.

In Indonesia, I haven’t dined with locals in their homes, so I haven’t really been subjected to that. But I don’t even look twice when I’m going through carrots at the store and a roach crawls out, or when I pour out the rice and little things come out at me. And rats circling the food stalls? Ah well, live and let live.

You alter your vocabulary, too. In most cases in public, folks living abroad learn quickly that some words in English mean similar, but related, things where they are. They also learn how to use the most simple words to convey ideas. Forget flowery speech – just get the basics of communication down. That’s appreciated.

You forget what’s, for example, Darija, and what’s English, which complicates things like Bananagrams. “Wait, is ‘chufk’ a word in English?” – not an uncommon question. You also forget words or sub out the local translation, machki m3k. (No problem.)

Sometimes, the words we use in English are changed slightly or just flat-out altered for the local language. I remember mailing a package from Thailand and sent it “ek-a-NOM-i.” Locally, it was spelled “economy” with a “k” and an “i,” but its root was our “economy,” and it meant sending it the cheap way. It’s not misspelled; that’s the local word that came into the language from English.

The next time I go to Five Guys (Please, God, let this be my first fast-food stop in the US!), I will have to remember NOT to order it “to take.” That’s what it is here. Well, not “here,” because that’s the other option. “Here or to take?” Not “to go.” I need to remember that.

What we know as a “round trip” ticket is, at least in the SE Asian countries in which I’ve traveled or lived, a “go and come back.” I have no idea how this is easier to learn than “round trip,” but you gotta admit, it is exactly what you’re looking for.

But not me. I only need a one-way. I guess that’d be a “go.”

As it turns out, when my contract expires in mid-April, I am out of here. In another effort to cut the copy editors to bare bones, my job’s been eliminated. This isn’t welcome news to anyone except the skinflint HR department, but what can you do?

I found out last Friday and have been busy sending out applications and stuff like that. Joy. I’ve told most people here, and they’re all completely floored because we’re SO short-staffed and it’s just going to get worse.

Honestly, I feel sorrier for them than me. I’m looking forward to it, though every time I think about it, I think I’ll be seeing Kocur and then remember I won’t.

The place here is going to be a nightmare, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’d previously scheduled my vacation starting March 31, so even though my contract isn’t up til the 11^th or something like that, my last day of work is March 30. I’m on a quest right now to get things settled, doctors visited, souvenirs bought, stuff like that.

Haven’t told the landlord. I’m paid through the 20^th but they have a deposit I need to figure out how to get back. I’m not all that hopeful on that one, though.

No idea what lies in store, but I’m up for the ride.

Do need to remember it’ll be back on the right side of the road, though.

Clone Wars

Before the copy editors get the stories to work on, they go through translators. We have four of these guys, and by far, the one that rocks the most is Hayat.

He’s awesome. With the others – and no slight intended – there are often gaps in stories, wrong verb tenses and the like. Lots of work.

The biggest, and possibly only, thing I’ve ever had to consistently fix is something little like this:

“I got a new puppy and named him Rally” Zippy said.

“He’s very high maintenance. A Kocur-in-training.”

Can you even tell what needs to be done in that? Barely anything – just close the graph.

So that’s darn clean. He’s the kind of journalist I wish could be cloned. My life would be so much easier.

Around Christmas, he was out for a little stretch. I missed him, as did we all. Not having a schedule or anything, I had no way of knowing if he was on vacation or what, so at some point, I asked when he was coming back.

Someone told me he’d had another baby, so the next time I saw him, of course, I congratulated him. He said thanks and I asked something about his other kids. At that point, one of the other guys said something like, “No, that was Hayat.”

I looked really perplexed, I guess, and the other guy repeated it, adding that Hayat was “Hayat’s twin brother.”’

Sure he was. And Hayat just laughed and said yes, he was Hayat’s twin brother.

I laughed it off and thought nothing of it.

Then, a few days ago, my neighbor colleague and I were lamenting the horrid work pace and Hayat’s name came up. In a positive way, I mean – he rooms with two of the other copy editors and they’re all in agreement that Hayat should run the paper. He’s that good.

Then, Neighbor Colleague said something about his twin brother. I almost fell over and asked for clarification. He said yeah, Hayat has a twin brother who looks just like him and works here. He said the brother sits at Hayat’s terminal and uses his login.

A bit later, another colleague came in the three of us discussed it. Apparently no one had ever seen the two together, though the second colleague claimed to maybe be able to tell them apart, a little in the face. He said that on those nights when we think Hayat, though still turning out clean copy, seems to have a little bit of an off night, it’s really his brother.

This is absolutely so bizarre to me. I mean, when I think back to the Christmas time incident, it now appears they weren’t blowing smoke.

Why, WHY would I have thought they were being clean with me? I mean who on earth, hearing that story, would have believed it? I mean, seriously, why would anyone believe that, from time to time, some guy who looks just like someone else would come in, take his computer, use his login and crank out copy? It’s just too bizarre.

But man, of all the people to clone, he’d be the one.

It was just too weird.

In other news this week, cable companies are globally annoying. My internet went out about four days ago and I still don’t have it back. The technician was supposed to be here two days ago and then today, but, after sitting around ALL Friday waiting, they never showed.

Once again, too, I am in between phone numbers (if you don’t use the phone, your number goes away), and the concept of “no, don’t call me, just show up when you say you will” doesn’t sit well.

Today they were supposed to show up between 11-2 but, even though I stayed at the house until 5, they never showed.

Thoroughly ticked, I finally left the house at 5. I had hoped to go to a movie and a doctor and half my weekly shopping but that didn’t pan out.

Instead, I at least made an appointment for a doctor and did about a quarter of the shopping plus I got the fourth phone number I’ve had since I’ve been here.

Then I called the cable company and asked where the heck the technician was.

The story I got was that the guy had showed up at 11. Beyond pissed, I was. I was here. Not only was I here, I was waiting in the lobby, where the guy would have had to walk through.

The dude on the phone kept saying the guy had tried to call me and I practically resorted to screaming. Four days in a row I’ve talked to these people and told them I do not have a phone, but they’ve been calling, apparently, my number No. 1 or something. I kept saying, “So why would you do that?” or whatever.

Oh my, I was – and still am – irritated over this. I just don’t understand why it’s so hard, but what can you do about it?

I’m trying again tomorrow.

Oh, Mother did get a new puppy, and its name is Rally.

The fact she paid $300 for the little guy is living proof that if you brand something, people will pay more. It’s a “chug,” which is basically a Chihuahua/pug mix that has a good publicist.