A Hormone Would Do You Good
Some people just don’t know who they’re dealing with.
Look, if you know me personally, you’ll find that I’m quite a happy go lucky person, oftentimes childish to the point that it doesn’t fit my status as a person who has another child, unnecessarily loud, laugh at the silliest jokes even its hardly funny because I believe it’s the best medicine and generally I’m nice. You know why I’m confident enough to say I’m nice? It’s because I’ve been around awhile enough to conclude that the world of construction industry makes people so stressed to the point they can discard the politeness and friendliness that they actually have inside them. But hey, it will be a long life if I be one of that people, taking things too damn seriously and not to at least try to see the fun side of it.
I actually one of the few lucky people in the world who can honestly say I love my job. Heck, I never thought I’d say it, giving my history of struggling with my studies, trying to find any remote natural architectural talent in myself, seeing my father draining out of it for years until he decided to find joy in golf instead of being in the field and them talking of how you have to be the menopausal, unmarried woman to make into that world. I’d really thought the closest thing I’d be in architectural field is a lecturer, talking about concepts, how to draw a line and breed more architects. Sometimes when I think back, I have no idea how I got into practising it, let alone running a show trying to build something half a million square feet.
(OK, save me the smirk. Its hard for some people like me to get this far, even though it might not seem far enough.)
So my normal self is to do what I have to to my best knowledge, defend my actions, take precautions, do everything in advance and on certain bad days, suck up to this ever so vulgar project manager who is a guy that I personally think knows better of PMS than any other women that goes through it. Because that is all he is – ranting, shouting, mocking, cursing, blaming like there is no tomorrow. On any other days, I’d pity him, for going through high blood pressure and heart attacks like that on daily basis. Sympathizing him for leading such a stressful life during weekdays I can’t even imagine how he is around his family and friends during weekends. Geez, can you imagine, being bitter and angry as part of your scope of work? I really don’t.
And I had come to terms with a few of his favourite thing, calling me so bloody early in the morning, nagging. Normally its because of what I said to the client, as if my mouth belongs to him. So today with combination of slumberous and hormone due to a real woman’s period, I shouted back at him. Seriously, its a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself. Yes, just like Lester Burnhum in American Beauty. I’m not proud of it though. I’m not proud that I lost my cool that I shouted back til my voice cracked, that I snapped, that I revealed the other side of me til he shuts off. But this morning I decided I’m done being a bully victim, who despite endless commitment and overdoing things, still had to fight to get her official letter of appointment. That after months of “voluntarily” works, I still can’t claim a single cent? That after advancing my own personal saving for trips and meetings, I still have to put up a war for my eff-ing two percent?!
So after that 10 minutes phone call which felt like 8 hours by the way, I got a text saying they have finalized the L.A, and I can start sending my first claim. Haighhh… Its true what John Doe said in Se7en, wanting people to listen, you can’t just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you’ll notice you’ve got their strict attention. Thanks to my hormones, today that was my sledgehammer.