Thursday, February 15, 2007

Fight or Flight

Yesterday, I trudged through the growing piles of snow towards the office. Flurries of snow swilled around me, little icy flecks stinging my face. Slowly, gingerly, I inched my way onwards (let it forever be remembered, the tenacious HR bod). Step. Squilch. Crunch. Slip. Step. Squilch. Cruch. Slip. Fall. And that was the pattern, tentatively across the street.

And then, suddenly, a snowball splatted me squarely on the head. Quite nearly knocked me off my feet, to be honest. Dratted school kids. My Fight or Flight instincts kicked in immediately, and I felt the surge of adrenaline.

And then I realised I was stuck in piles of snow, eliminating the 'Flight' option. I don't think the plod-plod-slip-skid-plod move counts as 'flight' really.

And then I realised the school kids were actually bigger than me in size (boy these kids here grow HUGE), eliminating the 'Fight' option.

I think the modern metropolitan being needs to develop some new instincts. (eg. shout back witty retorts. I don't know. But something.)

What's a bod to do when your instincts arent enough?

Anti-Dentite

Back to my cave, where I hide from the world.

I had an appointment for a dental checkup the other day. I hate dentists. I'm an anti-dentite. No matter what I do with my teeth, dentites are always full of reprimand.
"Why don't you floss six times a day?"
"Erm, because I have a life."
"Well you might just lose all your teeth by thirty, missy."

Yikes.

Anyways, so I worked myself up into a right little nervous wreck. ("Heh, heh, he's going to shout at you," said Delta, co-anti-dentite).

All started fine with the dentist (he went through my teeth, 'fine, fine, fine' he said to each one), until he suddenly turned out to be the harshest sub-human dentite to have ever existed. First, he pounced upon one of my teeth. If truth be told, I'd known that tooth might create a bit of a hubbub, having felt a slight soreness there a couple of days earlier. Still, I decided to play defence and feign surprise. Until he pronounced his treatment, and then suddenly all pretences were out the window.
"You're going to have to get a root canal on this one."

Having never had anything of the kind before, a root canal sounded like brain surgery to me. I trembled. "Do I have to? I mean, Can we try with just a filling?"

And suddenly he was thundering at me. "TRY? We don't try with teeth. A root canal is what you need, and you better have one now! And anyways, its not because you need a filling! I think you have an infection!"

"Oh. Erm. Err. Uhmm. Can we maybe try antibiotics or something then?"

"Who's the dentist, you or me? When I say you need a root canal, you need a root canal!! I mean, look at that, that tooth obviously needs a root canal!"And he stormed out of the room, slamming the door.

Silence.

And then, the most embarrassing thing happened. I felt my lower lip tremble. For gawd's sake don't cry, Ficali! And I think I would have maintained control, had it not been for the kindly nurse.
"Are you all right, honey? That was horrible! I thought maybe you'd cry."
And that little trick opened opened the floodgates. I started bawling.

I started bawling. I didn't even know why I was crying. Sitting there in the dentist's office, acting like a 5yr old. But there I did sit, crying my heart out for about half an hour, while the nurse kept stroking my hair. All because he had shouted at me.

I guess I've just never been shouted at before, nothing to quite prepare me for that. (Always blame everything on deficient parentage).

I am MORTIFIED. Simply MORTIFIED.

Monday, February 12, 2007

The professional HR bod

Richie Rich screeched to a sudden halt as he passed by my office today.
"What's that?!!"
I glanced around the room, as though trying to figure out what he could be referring to. Looked at my laptop. At the phone. At the post-its. Took my fair time over it. Finally, down at the large ball on which I was perched.
"Oh, this? Heh heh. I've taken to sitting on a fitness ball. Apparently its good for your abs and back."
"Oh," he said. Blinked.
"You don't mind, do you?"
"No, you're cool."
"It doesn't distract from my overall professional veneer, does it?"
He laughed and headed off, shaking his head.

I'd meant the question seriously. Well, kind of, anyway. Until I looked at the scene from his perspective. Taking in my entire office at a glance: the little Batman and Joker dolls perched on the cabinet (someone else's, not mine); the Calvin & Hobbes strips all over my pinboard; the bright purple post-its; and me, clad in jeans and trainers, perched on a bright pink ball.

I guess I should be relieved he just laughed.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Abs to reckon with

Inspired by the large fitness ball in Jenn's apartment, I decided to replace my chair in my office with a fitness ball too. As long as I sit behind my desk, I reasoned with myself, there's no reason why anyone should even notice.

So come Friday lunchtime, I dragged MetroHom to the sports store near work. Headed down to the fitness ball section in the basement. And looked in mild panic at the rows full of deflated, packaged balls. How one can reduce an entire fitness ball to 3 cubic inches in size I will never know.
"Erm, okay," MetroHom glanced at me, trying to decide which one to go for, "55cm, 65cm, or 75?"
"I have NO idea. What do you think?"
"How tall are you?" he asked.
"Erm, 110 cm I think." I have no idea where that came from, other than an absolute inability to translate between the American and metric systems.
"Three feet?? You're three feet tall??"
"Okay okay FINE I don't know!"

In the end my greed got the better of me. I picked the largest of the balls, 75cm. ("I think that might be almost your height," MetroHom snickered.)

Finally, we were back at work. I quickly pumped up the ball, and much to my delight (and luck) it was exactly the right height. So gone is the era of the office chair. From now on, it's going to be all straight backs and taut abs.

Over the course of the afternoon (after only a couple of mishaps), I got quite used to sitting on a ball instead of my normal chair. And as long as I sat behind my desk, facing the door, I didn't think anyone would even notice the difference. But then MetroHom popped his head into my office as he passed on his way to the kitchen. "You do realise you're bopping up and down as you sit, don't you?"
"Oh." I wonder if that detracts somewhat from my credibility at work.

A moment of drama

The other day, I was washing my face after work. Working up a right lather, like I'd been taught as a child. Remembering to go behind the ears and under the chin and round the neck and... when suddenly I realised - wait a minute - my nosering's missing! Now, my nosering, designed with a swooshing looping curl as it is, takes an inhuman amount of persistance and dexterity to remove.

Once, I was at a dental appointment, and the dentist asked me to take my nosering off so he could take a successful x-ray of my teeth. And I pulled and twisted and cursed and wrung my nose, but the darned thing just clung on like a barnacle, until the dentist finally had to ask me to reschedule the appointment. That's how difficult it is to take nosering off.

It's no wonder, therefore, that it didn't at first register with me when I was washing my face, that my nosering could have fallen off. The possibility just didn't exist within my parameters of reality. It took a moment to realise there wasn't a ring on my nose. Then I reached up with my other hand, to confirm the findings of the first. Nope, still no ring. Glanced around the sink, squinting through the soap. Still no ring. And then my eye fell upon the gaping crater of a drainhole at the bottom of the sink. And in that instant, my heart leapt into my mouth.

No.

It took another moment (or two) for ye ol' instincts to kick in, but when they did, I turned off the tap pretty nifty like. Luckily, having lost things in the sink before, I knew about the U-shaped trap under the sink. I called the building Maintenance. "I, uhmm, lost, I mean, my nosering washed down my sink. Is there someone available to come check the drain??"
But I received a stoic "Ma'am, it's after hours, and this doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."
"But it is an emergency for me!!"
"Ma'am, it doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."

My face felt naked without the ring. And I couldn't just let it go. It was a ring.

So I called Delta, "I was washing my face, and my ring fell in, and it washed away, and the Maintenance guy won't come, and - "
Sigh.
So Delta came over, spanner in hand. (Or wrench. Or nutcracker. Or some unidentifiable tool.) And pried apart our plumbing, emptied the trap, and there gushed out my nosering. All safe and sound. "Thank you! thank you!" I couldn't stop gasping as he put the pipes together again.

It was only as I tried to slip the ring back in my nose, after the plumbing had been taken care of, that I realised it wouldn't go in anymore. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the tip of the ring through my nosehole.
"The hole couldn't have closed, could it?!" I asked Ilajna, "in half an hour?"
"Yep," she confirmed.

And so it grew into a full-blown operation. Ice and an earring to re-pierce my nose. ("Yikes, I can't watch this," said the panicking Delta and hid himself in my room.) And I must admit, there was a fair share of groaning. And painful hissing. And frustrated yelping. But finally, two icecubes later, the ring was back in. I came back out into the lounge, still touching my nose gingerly. Yep, ring was back in nose. Yep, nose was still on face.

So there I was, back to original. But golly, what a moment of drama.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Yesss!!!! I knew it!

Today, I realised, I have the ability to turn invisible.

I was strolling through the supermarket to pick up lunch this afternoon. Drifting innocently down one of the aisles, when a passerby thwocked me one in the eye with her elbow. Not an accidental passing graze, but a full-on collision as though she didn't even know I'd been there. She was bigger than me, so I didn't say anything. Oh boy, I've learnt the rules of this world.

Turned round the corner, still rubbing my eye, when a woman wielding a pram almost ran me over. Gone are the days when I used to look at a woman with a pram and think 'oh how cute'.

Finally, I reached the soup counter (relatively) unscathed. Well, alive, at any rate.

Reached out to get my daily soup (turkey chilli and a seven grain dinner roll, my new standard lunch). And a man approached from behind me and simply cut me off, elbowing me out of the way and hogging the soup tureen himself. I mean, what. It's not like the worlds supply of turkey chilli is running out, you know.

And then it occurred to me, wouldn't it be funny if the reason people kept bumping into me was that I was invisible? I chuckled out loud.

Grabbing my soup and dinner roll, I headed to the cashier to check out.
"Hello," I greeted the girl at the cash register, with a friendly grin.
No response.
She scanned my goodies, and as she put them in the bag, I handed her my credit card. "Credit, please," I said helpfully.
No response.
She handed me the bag, and I signed the cheque. "All right, see you later, have a good one!"
No response.

How rude, I thought at first. And then, suddenly, I stopped short in my tracks. OMG I really AM invisible!!

On the way back to the office, a car almost ran me over. Bumped right into my leg. Not that I was jay-walking, nope it was my right of way. Just that the driver felt like barraging right through me I suppose. I raised my fist in anger, but to be honest, I'm not sure he could actually see me over the hood of the car if truth be told. That's the thing with being a diminutive soul. But more than that, this to me was the final bit of proof that I had turned invisible.

I reached work in a panic. Called Delta.
"I think I'm invisible."
"No you can't be, I can hear you."

Hmm. Glad I feel reassured now.