Wob

"Look! Up in the sky!" Rayloc shouts out.

"Is it a bird? a plane? Superman!?" I say "or Spiderman perhaps?!?"

I gave a hard look and squinted just to get my eyes to focus. "Holy moley! It is indeed a person in a black shirt coming towards us." But of course, he wasn't really flying, as Rayana's always prone to exaggerate. It's Rob and he's just hovering towards our desk.

Rayloc, seeing another opportunity to play a practical joke, quickly whispered to me "When Rob gets here, don't forget to ask him about his girlfriend Sam okay?"

I was perplexed "Who's Sam? and when did he procure a girlfriend?"

Rayana quickly cut me off by making a shushing gesture, apparently to warn me that he's just round the corner coming towards our pod.

"Kneel you puny mortals!" Rob shouts out as he announces his presence to the pod. "Cower in fear before the mighty Sclaterro! Mwahahahaha!!!...." He says in his menacing and thunderous voice. "But you can call me Wob if you want to."

"Well okay" I thought. He really wasn't the Superman I was expecting. And no, he definitely wasn't wearing his underpants on top of his jeans, but he was wearing his stock standard costume with the spider pig logo emblazoned on his shirt.

"So how's things?" I say, as we haven't really caught up lately. He's been busy back in his hometown hooking up apparently, (100's of kms away). Wob answers with the usual chatter that everything's fine etc etc. I can't help but see Rayana peering behind her chair winking at me, prodding me to set Wob up for the question.

Now, I honestly don't know why I participate. I know that I could get into serious trouble as Wob, the super chap that he is, could easily beat me up using his jujitsu, feng shui and karate but perhaps its the curiousity of finding out who this elusive Sam is.

I give in and without knowing what's in store for me and finally say "...and how's your girlfriend Sam going?"

This is where Wob displays one of his super powers and turns red as a beet root - okay, more like pinkish red, like what a chameleon in a red leafy jungle would do to hide from office predators.Except this time, no color in the world would help if you were to hide in an office pod. I tried this once with Tracy, disguising myself as a rather dull supply box, trying to evade the weekly catchups - but didn't work as she quickly sniffed me out and rattled the cardboard with her forelimbs.

Wob tried explaining, to Rayana's delight, that she's not his girlfriend or anything "just somebody who makes me breakfast at six in the morning."

"Mmmmkay, more clues I thought." Logically, I could now assume that they do live together unless wob lives in a makeshift cardboard box under the motorway bridge and waits for the homeless to serve him breakfast, and that she's definitely not a cat, because I've never seen a cat wake up at 6am.

But there's still a lot of unanswered questions. Like, How'd they meet? how did Wob get a girl to stay with him without having to give his credit card details? (hehe)

Rob's beginning to sense our reluctance in believing that there's nothing going on between them and defensively says "There's nothing going on! She's an old woman."

"An old woman huh?" I said and then thinking about those ladies in walkers hobbling around the retirement home hand in hand with Wob.

"You shouldn't say that aloud! The people around the office might get an impression that you're into that sort of thing." Rayloc says. "Just think of all the commotion when those oldies flock around you."

I think this is where Rob realised his mistake using the word "old". "No!! Not that old! she's only 37!""

Darn." That apparently ruined the momentum I had building in my mind. I thought we had an exciting story of cradle snatching going on.

I never did get to find out the entire story about Sam as Rayloc quickly switched to talking about Coke this time and how Rob doesn't seem to be drinking anything but.

"Wob can finish at least 2-3 litres of Coke a day (?). He doesn't even drink anything apart from that. Not even water or juice."

"What do you mean I don't drink water? What do you think I am? a cactus?" He replied, in which the whole conversation was drowned out by Rayloc laughing. (Yes, kinda like when you're in the airport and a jumbo jet flies by.)

I think Rob would make a great cactus though. Soft on the inside, but prickly to the touch. In fact, he'd be a great comic book villain. "Pathetic humans! Bow before Cacktarr! The Master of Moisture! Mwahahahaha..." -- Which coincidentally sounds like a catchy tune for an aromatherapy ad.

How to make Chris jump

Just say "Lasagna!"

Went out to the cafe for our daily fix of food for lunch. I have ordered a mixture of meat and veggies on rice, while Chris went for a simple "I'll have a lasagna with a side salad, please, thank you". We barely sat down when he jumped up just as the cashier shouted: "Lasagna!".

He runs slow motion through the cafe, overturning chairs, pushing people off to the side, when someone just grabs the lasagna and walks off.

"Oh!" says Chris and backs up to our table slightly pink in the face.

"Beef and Rice!" shouts the cashier, when i slowly unload the weight off my chair and push my way through the line. I come back to my desk and sit down, as Chris jumps up yet again in what is the exact copy of the slow motion run to the cashier. This time it wasn't even "Lasagna!" she shouted, more like Chicken Chow Mein.

He realizes his hungry mistake a little too late as half of the cafe turns around to look at the spectacle and backs away a wee-bit too fast and hits a table.

"This is embarassing!" he says quietly.

He can't help it he's so skinny, he needs to eat a lot and fast..

"Lasagna!" shouts laughing cashier. Chris slowly turns his head and looks in wonder. She points at him: "Yes, you this time!".

We thank the cashier and the people in the cafe and push our way out of the door, happy with the warm food in our hands.

Cooking 101

There's no better way to describe this than to get straight to the point.

Ragz is a single guy, who lives by himself in a one bedroom apartment, short distance from work. Living by himself is an adventure already, as his mom is still back in India and he has no access to her delicious food and most of his troubles arise in the kitchen. Lately all his lunches consist of Subway sandwiches, and we had no way of saying what he had for dinner. Until now.

About a week ago we laughed through our tears when Ragz explained to us about his egg microwaving experience. It was as usual, during our support meeting. Tracy, Chantal and I were in for an amusing story.

- Can anyone tell me where I can buy a microwave plate?
- What plate?
- You know, the plate that sits in a microwave and spins.
- What happened to your plate?
- I microwaved an egg on it.

We looked at each other, unsure if this is where we should laugh, or perhaps an even funnier explanation would follow.

- How da… Why da… What da..? - was all we could manage in response.

- I was hungry. So I put an egg in a bowl of water (ohhh, so there was a bowl of water) and instead of cooking it burst all over the microwave.

It is already hard to imagine why would anyone with a proper stove would use a microwave at home to boil an egg. But after careful consideration and trying-to-be-understanding-while-suppressing-our-laughs looks we got more cooking lessons. Here they are.

Brown eggs cook longer than white eggs, Ragz confirmed, as he had boiled the eggs before in two different pots at home to see which one would boil faster. While the brown egg took 5 minutes, the white one took 2 minutes, so why not stick the white one in a microwave next time.

Forget the amount of water or the fact that the egg wasn't fully submerged in water, how did the bursting egg break the plate?

- Well, when I opened the microwave, the plate just jumped out on me.

No wonder, it was probably very scared after an eggsplosion.

- Can you not tape or glue it together?, said considerate Tracy, knowing that any other plate he buys would probably die of a heart attack within a short period any way.
- It broke, like, in a hundred little pieces!!! - sqeuaked back Ragz

I would too, if I knew there was a possibility of me going back into that microwave with Ragz on the other side of the door.

- You could make it a project? Like mosaics...

Being the helpful bunch we are we started offering subtle advice on how to clean a microwave. Even though he has spent a night scrubbing the egg of the ceiling (don't ask how that got there, no answer you get would be satisfactory as an explanation), the stench and the glued-up particles of yolk have decided to take a permanent residence in the microwave.

- Why don't you put a grape in? - I offered.
- Why would I put a grape in?
- Well, it's got this unusual quality of being acidic and when you microwave a grape, it takes all the smell out of the microwave, not talking about the yellow bits. It's a well known chemical process.

Tracy and Chantal give me the are-you-in-the-right-mind look and I just stare back at them. My stare wins.

- Oh yeah, then it would be sparkling clean! - they shout.

Tracy gives a bit more explanation on how to microwave a grape and for how long. Better yet, put two of each colour in and do not under any circumstances poke any holes in it, as it already has a hole at the bottom of the grape (or the top) where it is attached.

Ragz is all ears, thankful for the well-meaning advice. Until this morning.

- You!!! You!!!! And YOU!!!! He points at us screaming during the meeting in the lunch room this morning.

All angels turn to look at him while discussing the latest data loads.

- A GRAPE IN A MICROWAVE?

The whole lunch room jumped up while we bent over kicking and crying and laughing, barely hearing what he's got to say.

- I CAN'T BELIEVE I LISTENED TO YOU. NOT ONLY DID THE MICROWAVE TURN BLACK, I HAD TO FREEZE TO DEATH BECAUSE THE STENCH WAS OVERWHELMING AND I HAD TO OPEN THE WINDOWS!!!!

- Why would you microwave a grape?
- Because you told me it would help clean the microwave and get rid of the smell! I put it in and left thinking ahh-the pleasures of clean oven and came running back when the smell of the grape got stronger than the smell of a burst egg. It was BLACK and stuck to the microwave.
- Well, at least THAT didn't burst!
- Didn't burst? Didn't BURST?! - he squealed. It had became black and stuck to the microwave!

We forgot he had no plate… Well at least the smell of the egg was gone, right?

That was another sleepless night for Ragz and many more to come, as he's expecting a sales agent to come see the apartment this Saturday and has to scrub and clean to get rid of both smells, an egg on the ceiling and a grape in the oven. That's all right he's got about 72 hours.

Perhaps someone has a tip for him on how to clean up? Perhaps a cocktail of vinegar and baking soda in a large jar? Shaken, not stirred.

Some Links to what he should have googled before he tried it at home.

Grape Plasma

You tube

Arranged Marriages

Apart from proposing various hairstyles for Ragz this morning just as any other morning, we somehow got to the story of Ragz' arranged marriage. He has 3 women waiting for his "I do". But it's not all harem fun, is it Ragz? This is how it is supposed to happen.

Poor Ragz arrives in a house full of her family, moms, dads, aunties and uncles, grandmas and grandpas, sisters, brothers and all the various cousins. He is seated across from his bride-to-be in hopes that something may spark in her eyes and fly across a table full of baked goods into his eyes.

Talk about pressure, when you've got 100 pairs of eyes staring in your mouth, watching your every move, breathing your every breath. This is the moment, now is the time, you either like her or you don't and there's no turning back, you have to start a conversation and make your mind up.

Ragz: Umm.. Good day to you.
Bride-to-be: Hi
Everyone in the room holding their breath.

Ragz: How are you?
Bride-to-be: Very well, thank you!
Everyone in the room: Awwwww…

Ragz: The weather is nice today, you can cook an egg or two on the bonnet of the car.
Bride-to-be: As long as it's not overcooked.
Everyone in the room claps their hands in excitement.

Ragz: Will you marry me?
Bride-to-be: Oi…
As everyone in the room jumps up and pushes bride-to-be aside to hug and kiss and otherwise smother Ragz with their food offerings.

I can barely imagine the pressure he must go through to pick one of those 3, as he needs to go through this three times and take the girl out on a date with her whole family in tow. Maybe this could be another version of My Big Fat Indian Wedding movie.



But I'm sure after his adventures in NZ, especially the rafting trip (see UNTOUCHED photo: What nice legs you have) where he showed his exceptional skills of rafting on his head while masterfully waving hello with his feet, he will do just fine.


Too bad she won't get to wear a white dress, says Ragz, as she has to wear as much glitter as possible.. He said he remembers the time when he wore a tight black dress and he loved it and is sorry his bride-to-be is to miss out on this happy feeling.

This is where you nod understandingly…

May I be polite?

The support meetings every morning would not end before Ragz breaks down in tears over his haircut. We are not exactly forcing him to change it, more of a gentle nudge in the ribs every 15 minutes. He gave us an idea when he tried Bungy jumping, sky diving, water rafting and microwaving eggs. Seeing how his life is full of risk and his head of hair it would be shame if it didn't have a few yellow spikes in it. Ok, so his ribs have now got a permanent dent where T-rex pokes him with her pen while asking for status on data warehouse issues and where I poke him with her pen if he doesn't explain why he hadn't yet microwaved grapes. But if he doesn't have much hair left (his words) might as well put them to good yellow use.

Chantal this morning amused us by describing curious incidents with her son. He has become very polite and apparently it's not something the parents have taught him. "May I eat my dinner?", "May I turn on the TV". This alone is raising a question as to what he generally eats or where he got this sudden urge to be polite, cos the parents are so annoyed that sooner or later they will just say No to test the response. But at least Momo says good morning to himself every morning (see Adventures of Momo below). We have convinced Chantal that asking is usually a normal thing and the child is not in need of discipline… yet. It could be worse, he can actually add "please" at the end.

Considering that one of her neighbours has killed his wife and the other dropped dead after a rugby game on his driveway… but that's a whole other blog for the whole other hood.

Accidents

Now that Jared's out, it's usually just Me, Rayloc, and Tracy who go for lunch.

With Jared not around to remind us, we're usually stuck taking our mid day break at a bad hour. Unlike a camel stuck in the desert, Jared does not have the means to sustain himself after noon as his hump is not palatable enough for him, or for human consumption. Believe me when I say that Rayana got a finger sprain just by poking at it too many times.

As well as late, lunch has lately been cut short, with Tracy always the first one running back to her desk. I'm sure she just can't stand us, or that she just wants to login to Facebook and check her friends out.

Even with the above shortcomings, it doesn't deter them from telling crazy stories. The good boy that I am, I always listen with interest with what these two crazies have got to say.

Tracy has been sporting a bandage lately after trying to take out the stone from an avocado. Which is her story by the way, I know how those pits are "mean slippery buggers", but I think what happened was more more sinister than that. Tracy makes up a lot of stories, just like Rayana makes up stories about her owning a house.

Like how Tracy wants her food seasoned with human blood just to make them tasty. I didn't believe her, because for one, she doesn't have the bite marks on her neck. and two, I didn't hear her say "I vant yor vludd!!!" when she was chasing Ragz this morning.

Russian roulette with a knife? Most probably, as she was the one chosen to organise the activities for the team Xmas party.

Anyway, after describing her torrid affair with the kitchen knife. Rayana decided not to be outdone and told us all about her experience with a paper guillotine on her previous role. She showed us her forefinger with a very distinct scar, like someone's just chopped part of it off at some time. Ewwww. Even the fingerprints aren't aligned anymore. I wasn't surprised when she told us that she was talking to someone when she 'accidentally' chopped the tip of her finger off. Or when she told us that she didn't feel any pain at all but did faint after the blood was spurting from her finger afterwards.

I have to stop here as I really can't concentrate when somebody's hovering behing you, munching noisily on an apple.

On tomorrow's edition : How Tracy bit off Rayana's head after sending too many 'fake' messages in Core.

Hug me

Today's lunch was on the 4th floor, the finance geeks, accountants, portugese people, hugging people and us: Tracy, Chris, Jared and I. While we were discussing the education levels of some of the people present and the ignorance of the rest there were at least 4 hugs given in the kitchen. What's the deal with that? Why isn't it a rule on level 3?

Jared kindly recommended his view on the issue: "A minimum of two hugs per day must be given in BI with each hug given to a different person. If the KPIs for hugging are not met, this must go on the performance review of the individual with severe penalties. Contractors must do free time for every hug missed or misgiven and the pain caused by not adhering to the rules."

Now this might have been the smartest thing he had ever said, but that's beside the point.

Tracy aka T-Rex, being the communications specialist has volunteered to communicate this new policy to the rest of the team. And some of us simply can't wait for it to be a new policy, so that people would stop telling him off for constantly walking into them, right Christ?

I mean, the person just cannot walk straight. Period. The gravitational rules can be proven on him. If you are the closest walking person, he will eventually end up on your feet, if you are lucky and if you are not, well, let's just hope there's a soft spot on the ground next to you. Or worse yet, you might end up carrying him till another person is in his gravitational field.

Any way.. Jared started talking about his trip (my eyes don't roll any further since I met him) again. And this time it revolved around food. He still doesn't know the country I'm from and thinks it's Abercrombie and Fitch and for some other reason only known to Jared, he thinks it's in Egypt.

Jared: "Can you eat food from stalls in Egypt? Because we cannot eat food from stalls in Egypt. Our doctor said we shouldn't eat food from stalls in Egypt."
Tracy stopped chewing on her freshly made sandwiches with chicken and tomato and asks: "Why not?"
Jared: "Well, we are only there for 10 days and I Don't really want to spend it in the toilet." (Actually, he used a completely different word here, but considering this is a family-friendly place we will beep those out).
Rayana: "What is the joy of travelling places if you cannot enjoy the local food and only eat at the hotel restaurants?"
Jared: "Well, what else can we do?"

We can just see those photos. Jared in Egypt - running to the toilet. Jared in Egypt - walking out of the toilet. Jared in Egypt - I don’t even wanna go there.

T-rex: "You should be used to food poisoning by now with Kate's cooking."

I'd like to make a point here that T-Rex said this, not me.. Just keep that in mind when you get to the end.

Jared also mentioned he wanted to get exit row seats in the airplane. Knowing Jared I just couldn't help myself: "Why would YOU need extra leg room?" and all hell broke loose.

I got called names by T-Rex, some pretty, some not-so-much, but the fact remains - he's not the tallest of creatures.

This is when we found out how many languages she could speak.

Tracy in English: I speak many languages
Tracy in Maori: Pakanini (Jared translated this, apparently it's a mix between a stomach and panini)
Tracy in French: Pale voo fla-fla
Tracy in Spanish: Ola and something else that sounded more like the previous maori expression
Tracy in Italian: Ciao

And then they call me mean. It took all my energy to even try and suppress the endless flow of comments that just kept forcing themselves out of my mouth. I promised to be nice till 4:00pm, and it's now 4:18 pm. So out it goes.
Thank goodness for blogs!