Ring the bell, school's back in.

School's back in:

For the last few days I've been going back to school- IE, the Language and Technical Classes that my agents go through before they "hit the floor". Reason? Quite a few, and by that I mean 66%, of our agents "abandon job" in the first few weeks as it hits them like a ton of bricks just what the job is, and despite the coworkers (who are great) they don't want to work there so much. Or at all.

Anyhoo, I joined the class, was given a group, and here's the notes:

The class immediately picked a "mascot"-- this kid who's called "Travis". ( no relation to his actual name, naturally). There's a few hotshots who use his name the way a hillybilly would use "f---k"-- ie, as a verb, noun, and adjective. For example, when repeating difficult English words, some wiseacres yell out "Trav-isss". This is somehow a compliment. Also, Travis is picked for every "volunteer" activity, etc. Travis appears to have a love hate relationship with his sudden Britteny Spear-ifcation.
Who is this dude? He's a thin, spare, and dramatic looking gay guy- fair skinned, a bit of a ham, handsome in a slightly off way- large teeth in a small face, a lean and hungry look, well fitting clothes, aviator sunglasses, the works.

Other:

When asked to list the differences between Americans and Filipinos in several areas, (Money, Work, Family Life, and Buying Habits) one group gave this tragi-comi presentation:

The guy holding the paper is channeling a fourth grader giving a show and tell, slightly shaky hands, stiff voice, the whole bag:
"The main difference between Filipino and Americans in Family is that Americans put their old ones in a home for the aged. I think this is...I think this is due to busy lifestyle, because they can't care for their mother and father."

This sweet and totally mistaken excuse is very typical Fil: give everyone the benefit of the doubt, no matter how much it hurts.

Removing the dart from my chest, it was now my time to be "interviewed" by my lucky team, who had the "import" and was also the team who had a bossy male of indeterminate sexuality (there is NO TELLING over here with some dudes) who was loudly orchestrating our presentation based on the failings of other presentations, while they were going on. Other teams were good naturedly yelling "Import!!" as my lucky team made their way, shepherded by bossy, BHP club- polo- shirted Brian, to the front.

The room expanded and collapsed with laughter as I explained that here no matter what social class you are, you do the same thing: drink and sing videoke. Plumber? Cori Aquino? No matter who you are!

Red Horse and some ragin' Stevie Nicks!

Not so in the states.

The place we have class is called NTF, it's actually a pleasant little concrete shack in the middle of the jungle, with a cafeteria that closes at 8 pm and no vending machines, seven classrooms chilled to the point that a martini glass would be jealous of, with a resident stray kitten that I love who has a black mask on a white face like the Lone Ranger, and two kubos for smoking.

As I was reading and having my break in the one kubo, just at sunset, the air finally cooling off, I was listening to the sounds of an impromptu rendition of "More than Words" (a song I like but heartily disagree with on principle) with guitar by the all male group in the next kubo over. This is very NTF. NTF is like a smaller, "little island" version of the big campus, and as such is more laid back. Also more isolated, but that's the way I like it for now.

"Hold me close don't.... ever.... let... me... go....and you wouldn't have to say I love you, because I'd already know....".


I could argue with that on many levels, but listening to the sweetly accented voices of 22 year old Asian dudes plinking away on the guitar and cooing along to this, I really had nothing to say.