more on the same front

o I thought I'd give you a feeling for what my work is like-
I work from 10-7 am, so around 5 I wake up and shower, text my driver for later, amble to Beatico cafe a few blocks away (ignoring the frantic pleas of the tricycle drivers RIDE!!! RIDE MA'AM!!!) and eat a cold crab sandwich and coffee. Then off to the mall to loaf at Starbucks, window shop, hang out and read, and then off to work.

Work for me is set up like a small college campus, dorms, mess hall, rec hall, small outbuildings. My job site is in what used to be an aircraft hangar.
I usually leave my bag with the lockers at security, get scanned, swipe my badge, and then into the empty first part of the building, which is honeycombed with computer stations not in use (the company had 7 or 8 major contracts for outsourcing- so the office is a series of smaller units for each program).
I then enter the "clean room" of [my project], getting a pat down first. We can't bring any papers, pens, phones with cameras, anything. So I lock upmy tiny purse with essentials in the lockbox and swipe in. The floor is very loud, my desk is in the far corner. We have 170 agents, about 90 of which are on the floor at any given time.

The night MOD, Amit, is there, shouting the same things over and over with his drawling Mumbai lilt: "ACW!! AY CEE DOUBLE UUUUUUU" (this means "after call work, please hustle it up and get back on the phones") "VEE HAVE 5 in and 10 on AY CEE DOUBLE UUUU and WE ARE QUEUEING!!! (meaning calls are stacking up) GET BACK IN PLEASE". "First break? ONE MORE CALL!! FIFTEEN MIN- UHTS!"

Amit, who is charming, well dressed, and handsome,in a very European way- fitted button downs, tightly tailored pants to show off a thin body, like an Arab lounge lizard, gives me the double kiss and I boot up my computer. Like all the managers, he is Indian, married with children, and a terminal flirt. "Naomi! Have you found out what 'Amit' means yet?" he twinkles,still jealous over my exclamation to Shah K-(a word meaning "king" in Mongolian) (yes, his real name!!), the other boss, that Shah's name means "king king", and I call him "the double king", which he takes like the lord of the manor he is.

All around me Pinoy are chatting and milling around. They are shouting the same things over and over too: "RETENTION!!" (Which comes out "ree ten shun" in that Pinoy slush they all have, and means, a customer wants to cancel, get an experienced op on the phone, now). "First BLEAK!!! ONE HOUR BLEAK!!!!" I can hear the murmur of the reps "I'm sorry for dat, sir. And how can I help you today?"

Nikki blows in late, as usual, wearing a tiny little white tee shirt (these men are so small, it's annoying) and a corduroy blazer, and pop star jeans- he's very handsome and he knows it, and is a bit of a dandy. He did give me my first "sis" the other day, which made me melt. Here everyone calls each other "brother" and "sister" as a sign of respect and affection. In English, they translate literally, so it's "thanks sis!"

Nikki, a naturally charming, studious, and gracious Libra, is generous with his "brother" and "sis", and yesterday as we beavered away on our PPT, he said "oh, we have 5 more slides, sis! Ay!" I was touched. Nikki and I work together every day, and are at the point of wordlessly handing each other mints, coffee, holding lighters for one while the other pulls out a cig ( me for Nikki), or opening glass bottles of cola (nikki for me) with a manly flourish. OH, what they call mints are COUGH DROPS!! Mentholated mints are the thing. They're called MAXXX and boy did I get a surprize when I had one. I gasped to Jessica "this is medicine! This is a cough drop!" Jessica: "oh?" She pops another one like no biggie.

My other two closest coworkers, Jessica and Lea, wave hello like we're old sorority sisters. HI NA-ooo-mee!!!

Nikki and I confer and I open OCS and get pinged by Ryan and Anne.

Ryan ( who I told you about in my last email) wants to go to Goodboy's pizza, like, now. Anne wants to have a cig and talk business. Anne wins. We meet (her office is in the At&T building) and we meet at the snack shack area, near a place i call "potato junction". It's really called "potato station", but potato junction is way better sounding and cracks the westerns up.


Randy, a sleepy eyed Anglo ex pat who lived in Japan for 17 years before coming here, is holding court, surrounded by his fans. He's the sales trainer for[a project], and he's been here about 2 or 3 months and lives in a hotel, which he loves. He is single, permanently so, and dapper as hell. He's wearing a thin Brooks Brothers shirt, perfectly cut trousers, and dress shoes. He's just taller than I and has a body like a tailor's dummy and a smile like Dennis Quaid. He looks like a world weary 1970's Jack Nicholson character in a thriller about East meets West. Randy usually saunters up and joins us, and we gossip. Then, work for 8 hours, which is boring and technical, so I won't bother you with it, and then text the driver, put on shades, go to mini stop for a pan de sal, chat with Randy, and go home, pull the drapes and sleep!