So last January…

A couple of months ago, as I laid out the office directory, I looked at it with aspirations of having my name on it someday.

What do you know, it happened! Actually it’s a pending directory, but as I sketch it out for this year’s reorganization, I finally get to put my name under the I.T. Unit’s local hotline. It’s not exactly my job per se, but I find the task enjoyable. A little bit of an ego boost by seeing what I made being pinned to multiple walls inside the office never hurt anyone.

So anyway, my employment in the office is one of the newer things in 2013. With my arrival came the departure of my boss, however. It’s something she has long planned to do, so I can’t say I’m surprised. The feeling is more of fear of the fateful day, which came in less than a week of my employment. Maybe she left because I came in. Or perhaps it’s just pure coincidence.

I’ve been assigned to Systems Development; programming, basically. An absolutely fine deal. My interests lie more in Network Engineering (wish I found that out sooner). I’ve lost touch with coding. Not to mention the OIC at the moment is our Senior Programmer. But he needs help, since he can’t do coding for 2 systems simultaneously PLUS the managing of the unit. In fact, his demeanor has changed from giggling 30 year old man in his hormonal prime to busy 30 year old man trying to make the best of his hormonal prime. You all know what stress does to people.

Management is offering him a regular position in the office – which pays less than his current position (which doesn’t require him to report for work every day). If anyone can give even one convincing reason as to why he shouldn’t turn down the management’s proposal, give me a heads up and set my pants on fire. Although I assure you my trousers will not be igniting any time.

In other somewhat related news, my uncle’s still on the long road to recovery. It’s not long in the figurative sense as in he’s having a hard time, no. It’s a long road, literally. His psychiatrist says the recovery can take as long as 2 years. Anyway, while waiting for that much awaited 2 years, he has kept himself busy in the house. He has summoned workers to:

  • Repair our leaking faucets
  • Repair our water closet (which I distinctly remember being dismantled by my very own grandfather because “people could get along with pouring a bucket of water”
  • Repair my aunt’s mysteriously broken window; which was shattered 3 years ago and nobody seemed to do anything about it
  • Give his bodega an overhaul
  • Replace the garage tent
  • Re-arrange our not-so-pleasant-looking garden

All of the above, save for the bodega overhaul, were stuff that have been lying there for so long. For some reason, the family (including me) has developed a habit of “adapting to changes”; i.e. not fixing broken things if we can get along with the extent of the damage. So sloth, basically. My grandfather has never failed to chide us for leaving broken stuff (which we admittedly do). His exact words are “leaving an old man to do it.” It’s been that way for 4 years or so.

Now that stuff is moving and another one of the family bloodline is employed, his chiding didn’t seem to stop. Now he complains about us not being home enough and that he has to supervise the laborers around the house. Our caretaker, who has been with us for 10 years, has had to attend family matters in Mindanao for a while, and we were scrambling to find a replacement. The temporary replacement isn’t too bad, but there’s always the learning curve in new territories, so that task falls upon my grandfather, since he’s at home often. Poor man’s restless from not being able to lay down while the people do their thing.

I feel like I didn’t make much sense, or direction, in this post. Feel free to chide, like my grandfather.

P.S. I may talk a lot of smack about my grandfather, but we all love him to death. In fact, I was planning on giving him my first pay. The only thing I got when I told him my plans was more scolding. Not scolding literally, he just told me to give it to the church as the proverbial ‘first fruit’.

He just said it with a scream somewhere near the top of his lungs.


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