The Shit in the Bag

The pre-employment ritual has got to be my least favorite part of getting employed.

For starters, I always have to force myself to draft and submit the perfect resume. I had a business writing class back in college and we had a thorough discussion on resumes. Even then, I still do not believe that a person’s work abilities, attitude and overall personality can be summarized in a 2-3 paged resume.

I find interviews a bit old-fashioned, bordering on pretentious. HR and personnel people ought to device a more efficient way of getting to know their potential future employees other than merely interviewing them. Because in an interview, the interviewed do have the tendency to flaunt their best foot forward. We cannot blame them. After all, they are selling themselves. In an unfortunate situation, some geniuses may clam up during an interview. Too bad for them, they’ll remain as undiscovered talents for failing to wow their interviewers. Bottom line is, an impressive skill in rhetoric is key in acing an interview. Whether the applicant possesses the skills for the actual job is yet another story.

Panel interviews, on the other hand, can be a venue for intimidating the employee wannabe. And although they may partly serve their purpose, we cannot deny that, once abused, panel interviews can turn into one mighty power play. An applicant can only hope, that through the course of being grilled, his/her interviewers really are on the look out for whatever truths that may come out which may hopefully help him/her get the job.

I personally enjoy taking exams and personality tests. I would appreciate it further if I see the results for those exams I take to be aware of my strengths and weaknesses. I may then be able to work with my "bests" to improve on my “bads.” A warning though, some people like me tend to get carried away with personality essays. We end up maximizing the space allotted for our answers. For situation like this, I hope that the employers are prepared to read answers with remarkable abundance of words.

At some point, you have to haggle with your expected salary which is as awkward as it is embarrassing. But the truth is, an employee wannabe just wants to be compensated well for his/her blood and sweat in order to survive his/her everydays, feed his/her family, and at the very least, be able to save something. Meanwhile, companies wish to save as much as they can—what with all the taxes they have to contend with just to keep their business running?! Something has just got to give along the way. Needless to say, the most convenient something to let go of is the newly hired employee’s supposed extra cash.

After everything else that I’ve stated above are over comes the part I dread most: The medical exam.

Aside from having to reveal your height and weight, you have to take your clothes off. Literally.

I still panic every time the X-ray technician tells me to change in their sole lab gown. Because, God, how many people wore that same lab gown? Then you have to place your chin on top of the mounted plate which serves as your background when the technician snaps a photo of your lungs and ribs while you hold your breath. My mind can’t help but be flooded with more questions like, “how many chins have touched this thing my chin is resting on?”, “How many of them are healthy?”, “Or better yet, how many left any contagious imprints my chin is predisposed to picking up?” Wahhh!!!

As if that’s not bad enough, the doctor then starts peeking through all available holes in your body—at most a rectal check is included. Let me say though, that I don’t find this too embarrassing because, hey, it is worse to look at butt holes than to flash them. Don’t you agree?

For women, there’s the breast exam they can't do away with—well except if it’s their time of the month or if it’s about to be their time of the month which almost always happens to me. I wonder why. Even so, I think that maniacs will have a grand time getting paid for touching breasts the way doctors do. So if you find pleasure in feeling mammary glands, I suggest you send yourself to medical school. Your time and effort might just pay off. (A quick note: I know someone whose bosom unluckily fell into the hands of a pervert doctor. The pervert doctor may have thought about my suggestion first. But he forgot to be discrete. His days examining breasts for a living may soon be over.)

Now if you think that the things I’ve stated above are dirty, think again. Nothing can beat collecting blood, urine and…dandandan!...stool samples.

I can instantly melt at the sight of a sharp needle threatening to puncture my skin. It’s even worse when I see blood pouring out of me. I always warn my “injurers” that I have a morbid fear of needles for two reasons: one, so that they’ll realize that they only have one shot at me so they better make it good, and two, so that in the event that I pass out, they’ll know what caused it.

Perhaps the female genitalia is to be blamed for the mess in collecting urine sample. I guess, I need not expound further.

Then there’s the shit in your bag which took a lot of careful planning, cleverness and courage to collect. You can only hope that your travel time and time spent waiting to be attended to will not spoil the specimen you worked so hard to acquire. Because, God knows, you don’t want to go through it again any time soon.

I find it hard to imagine why some folks can easily take switching jobs frequently. It is after all, a painful process to go through the pre-employment ritual over and over again.

Then again, who knows what worse shits are in the bag your new job may surprise you with. You will never really know until you live through your first week to your last, right?

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On forcing myself to fill up a bottle with my pee for the required VOLUNTARY drug test:

“If I drink any more water, I’d be giving you, guys [the people in the lab], a generous amount of puke sample, not pee. It won’t be pretty.”

Beauty and the Poop

Great! I was up all night, working until 3AM; got no more than 6 hours of sleep on a really short clinic bed; and haven’t taken a bath for around 20 hours.

Tapos biglang may narinig akong sigaw, “ayan na ang boyfriend mo!” (nililinaw ko, hindi sa akin naka-address ang sigaw na yon.)

Shet naman, o! Nasa iisang building lang kami ni Dennis Trillo. And as always, ang guwapo niya!



He's such a beauty.

Ako, taeng-tae!

Ate Lala, the person I’ve been working with for the past weeks, was generous to share her picture with Papa Dennis.



At kung susuriing mabuti, nasa picture din ako…



Langaw na lang tae na talaga!

Malamang Mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math Teachers ko

I just lost what I haven’t been using. And taking a test that will measure my skills is the most inopportune time to find out about it.

At malamang sa oo, mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math teachers ko for being sooo slow at handling simple arithmetic. I had around 20 equations to solve in 10 minutes. The moment I saw the numbers, I swear, naramdaman kong bumaluktot, if not nag-shrink, ang mathematical side of my brain. Hindi ko pa yata nakalahati yung dapat sagutan. Nakakahiya talaga ako!

If the seventh grader me were to answer that exam, I would have breezed through it with extra time to brush my hair. Pero na-spoil ako ng calculators na very conveniently kong na-aaccess. Deprived na sa exercise ang math part ng brain ko. Hindi na siya as alive, alert, awake, enthusiastic (!) as before.

I wasn’t bad in Math, you see. At least not generally. In my last year in high school, I could solve complicated equations—those things called polynomials which seemed to have bordered on calculus—in 5 seconds while in front of the whole class. Ms. Maranan, my 4th year high school Algebra teacher, had a thing for board works and she’d literally count to five and expect you to arrive with the correct answer at the stroke of her “-ve” (for “five”). And there would only be two of you in front so it wasn’t difficult for her to see your every move.

If Mrs. Canzana, my grade 6 math teacher, knew I am screwing up my multiplication table again, she’d be throwing her volleyball at me along with her simple yet nerve-wracking “6x7?’s.”

If Sir Melo and Ms. Zuela, my Geometry and my Trigonometry teachers, respectively, knew I’d end up like this, they wouldn’t have placed me in Math A class come senior year.

If Sir Marwin, my Math 11 instructor, sees my score for the arithmetic part of the test I took today, he’d surely take back my 1.0.

If my dad discovers my day’s mishap, he would certainly ban me from going out and playing until I’ve mastered my multiplication table. Again.

On with the Chase

Friday marked the beginning of my chase. Because I figured that if I can’t have money, I could at least have my dreams—those that I can afford.

It sure wasn’t easy chasing after my supposed dream. If last Saturday night I tried squeezing myself inside the forlorn MRT, I would certainly burst into tears out of exhaustion and frustration.

It all started when I attended a meeting that seemed to be a grand exodus which I have met halfway where everyone knew everyone and everything, and I? I was at a loss. But I can certainly use a challenge so catching up I must do.

I was hoping to steal a few hours of sleep after the meeting for my scheduled all-nighter which I didn’t mind at all. To tell the truth, I was looking forward to it the whole week. To see how the Job Market pull-out is made and become part of its being. Even if my mom seemed to object. And my brother, skeptical.

But we all know how traffic is in our country so, I didn’t have time to sleep, and I ended up running late for my night gig. Which was embarrassing because who gets late at night? You can’t tell your boss, “tinaghali po ako ng gising!” (or can you?) Plus, I was afraid I’d get fired even before I was formally hired. You see, I think in extremes.

And so, even if I hate riding the MRT which deprives me of my precious space—I consider my personal bubble sacred—I braved it. I descended the stairs as quickly as I could and in my rush, I stepped on the skirt of the nun walking in front of me. Good thing I didn’t blurt out cuss words. Instead I said sorry. Even better, her skirt did not rip off or fall down to the floor. If that were the case, lighting would probably strike me.

So I did my job. I was lucky the work was not toxic that night. My baptism of fire wasn’t all a shock.

Then it was time to sleep. Sleep where? I was expecting I’d be losing consciousness seated while my arms work as my head’s cushion. (If I assumed that position, my fingers would be dead in the morning due to an obstruction in my blood circulation.) But behold! There was a white leather couch waiting for me upstairs, in the anteroom that leads to a clinic. It was not long enough to accommodate my height but I’d take what I can get.

A few tossing and turning later, everything faded to black—or white, depending on my dream.

The moment I regained consciousness, the sun was up and there were already people inside the clinic. It was embarrassing! I tiptoed out of the anteroom, walked downstairs and got ready for another eight hours of work. By “got ready” I mean, comb my hair, brush my teeth, eat my instant “healthy” cereal breakfast, wipe my eyeglasses.

Eight hours crawled by and I was close to “wasted.” The Bicol Express and rice I bought at the turu-turo nearby (with fingers crossed—sana OK pa ang hepa shots ko, stomach be strong!) for lunch—the sole decent meal I had for the day—had worn out. I hadn’t taken a bath for 26 hours but I don’t believe I stink. Thanks to the air-conditioning, I didn’t! Being that I took a bus instead of the MRT, I was 2 hours away from home—traffic is that horrible! I lacked quality sleep. And a tiny voice was telling me that devoting around 26 hours of my life for this cause and be paid for merely 14 hours is not encouraging at all. For a moment I thought I’d start looking for a printer who’d stamp on my shirt, “starving dreamer.”

But it is too early to complain. Things can’t go worse. How bad can running for one’s life's goal be?

My “bigger picture” will be my inspiration.

And the chase continues.

Letting Them Go

Given the recent roadblock to my supposed shortcut to getting rich, I am taking the path to reconciling with the idea that I have a list of things to let go of. Generally, they are the pseudo goals/plans a berk of mine was asking if I had. As it turns out, I won’t be able to afford any of them anytime soon, if not forever.

So here’s the list:

1. Providing a comfortable life to the people I care about. Chances are, I’d be back to my unsubstantial contribution in maintaining comfort and security. That is, once I’m back in the loop.

2. Living independently. Living on my own will be pretty much impossible now.

3. Raising a kid. Yes, I was planning on raising a child which I cannot very well do now that I can barely raise me. And believe me, this is one of the most painful things I am letting go of.

4. Keeping a bountiful savings. You know what they say, “isang kahig, isang tuka”? I’m bound to that as it is impossible to save when you’re under a break-even spell.

5. Becoming a full-blown philanthropist. As much as I would like to give, I really need a generous source from which I can get the things I will be giving.

6. Staying Zen. It is hard not to worry about life when you can barely afford anything. That’s how budgeting proves to be stressful. Wait til you hear about surviving.

7. Acquiring my dream camera which isn’t much really. I mean, I wasn’t planning on buying any of the complicated ones, let alone those with sky-rocketing price tags.

8. Pampering me. Facials and other forms of pampering that may potentially help me decompress are clearly out of the question, let alone the corrective laser eye surgery I was planning to save for. I wanted to get rid of the contacts and the spectacles in the future.

9. Traveling. I guess, I am going to have to settle on googling Cambodia to see the Angkor Wat. And my latent desire to visit Siquijor or Cebu will remain bleak.

10. Redesigning my space. It has a lot to do with my slight obsession with beauty and order; but it has a bigger lot to do with sticking my banner up and punctuating my identity.

I am letting them go, anyway I’m busy preparing for the days to come which are sure to be far from easy. For all its worth, this is my first step on getting over them.

I was saving this post especially for today

My dear pamangkin/inaanak has just turned one!

Project Runway Philippines is Fierce!

To tell the truth, I’ve been itching to post an article on the show Project Runway Philippines for some time now. Good thing I’m doing this while there are still contestants left. Haha!

So here’s what’s up:

Jaz Cerezo, 25, who’s into designing wedding dresses and evening gowns left the runway tonight. Albeit being a consistent high scorer throughout the competition and besides the fact that she has never been in the bottom two before, she failed to wow the judges tonight in her attempt to turn indigenous fabrics into avante-garde fashion.

The contest is presently down to four Pinoy designers: Mara Reyes, 21, winner of tonight’s challenge and is a costume designer in the more real world outside “reality TV”; Philipp Tampus, 36, an evening and bridal gown designer in Saudi Arabia and Dubai; Aries Lagat, 25, a teacher in Fashion Institute of the Philippines, and Veejay Floresca, 23, a mini-fashion tycoon on his own—he has won prestigious fashion competitions and has been dressing up celebrities for a while now.

This is the show’s tenth episode, and it’s the third one I saw on TV. The other seven I watched through Youtube. (Clueless pa ako kung paano ko papanoorin ito when I was in SG. But—duh!—syempre meron sa Youtube! I needed Benz pa to tell me where I can catch it! Anyway, thanks again, Benz, for shedding light to my shunga moment!)

I am not a follower of the Project Runway series with Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, but I watched it whenever it was on (and I wasn’t doing anything). That’s how I know Christian Siriano and “his” word, “fierce!” However, the teasers for the Philippine franchise for the show, which I managed to catch before I left for SG last June, were quite inviting. I was struck by curiosity. I just had to see how our version will live up to the American version which has already completed four seasons and which, I think, has started with its fifth.



So far, I find the local show fierce! Unlike other franchised reality shows, this one does not disappoint. It manages to keep its class and is has rather been proudly signed, “Pinoy.”

Teresa Herrera, although partly looks stifled at times, effectively handles the show. To think I didn’t know who she was prior to her stint here, but she has a way about her that exudes enough authority which makes her the rightful host for the show. Meanwhile Jojie Lloren is perfect for the “mentor” role. I mean, who wouldn’t agree that he almost always reminds us of our own personal mentors? And I am just glad he and Teresa are not copycats of their counterparts from the original show. They save our Project Runway from turning cheap. On the other hand, judges Rajo Laurel, Apols Aberin-Sadwhani, and all the previous guest judges throw in their share in keeping the competition as intense as it should be. They are not afraid to give their honest opinions, and the harsh ones they do their best to relay constructively without sugar-coating their point too much. (Comments of Pinoy Idol judges were too sweet, I almost threw up.)

I especially appreciate the sitners, featuring local sceneries which set the mood for the show and fill the gaps in between change of settings. Such style somehow promotes Pinas and I’m all for it!

The challenges are well-thought and the objectives for every challenge are well-defined. Also, they have their way of inspiring the contestants to flaunt their Filipino roots in their designs. They make the “Philippines” in the title work.

About the contestants, they are not bad at all. There is subtle backstabbing here and there which ultimately helps spice up the competition. We can’t really expect Pinoys to be blatant in criticizing their rivals especially when they know that they’re on TV. Yet the contestants are stepping up. We certainly get an idea on the contestants’ characters—who protects herself with sarcasm and endless excuses, who saves his face with a faux disappointment from the judges, who loves himself too much, who plays it cool and manages to help others along the way—that sort of things.

However, I still wonder if the contestants were required to speak in English because, although some do it effortlessly, majority of them consistently fumble with their words. I just want to click their translate-to-Filipino-buttons to save them from their pain and the viewers'. Grammatical lapses are always distracting. I commend those who voluntarily speak in Filipino.

Still I look forward to seeing this series through. I am keeping my fingers crossed and I am hoping that this show will remain consistent with its quality, if not rise above it.

Why do I say that Project Runway Philippines is fierce? Because unlike Philippine Idol which was resurrected to Pinoy Idol, Philippine’s Next Top Model, and those easily forgotten reality show franchises, this one definitely deserves a second season!

* * *

Wikipedia has an helpful episode guide for the show. It is even more comprehensive (or, should I say, juicy?) than ETC's website.