Wednesday, December 07, 2005
My working days are numbered and it won't be long before running frantically between classes once again becomes the daily occurrence of life. This experience has been an eye opener to the corporate world, the engineering world and the world of powerful oil company executives that will dictate world economies.
But there's more to this story than just power hungry individuals. A totally new vision on life has beckoned and a maturation process hastened by the solitude over the last few months. I've met so many interesting 'characters' that it's hard to fathom the end already draws near.
The supervisor or The-Big-Cheese as I call him because it seems like the place would fall apart without him. Don't think I've ever seen a harder working man; at least none that show up at 6 a.m. and leave at 8 p.m. every single day. Not to mention the weekends that he puts in too. The man's an inspiration to hard work and certainly does lead by example.
Though, it was not until we sat and talked on a misty Sunday evening, the kind that invites to long walks, did I realize the price he was paying. He despised being in the office that long but his position demanded so. I still remember asking him, “Do they at least compensate you?” subtly referring to materialistic offerings.
“How can anyone be compensated for being separated from his family?” His response caught me totally off guard. I was ashamed for even uttering such words but more so for how I had misjudged the man.
Then, there was the South African lady next to my desk. Her being the only environmental consultant on the project, we get into all sorts of political debates that eventually break out into random socio-economic-religious discussions.
The building watchman who religiously called me 'sir' despite being my father's age. The pretty girl from the floor above who had an uncanny ability to make cost estimation analysis a 'tad' bit more interesting. The old man who always rambled on to me about his life experiences in the North Sea and his close encounters with Gaddafi in Libya. The over-enthusiastic 'yes man' who seemed to agree with everything the supervisor mentioned.
Though the most interesting of people that I met at work were the family of janitors that would come by to clean the office after everyone had long gone home. Working late many a nights, I would frequently notice the family, consisting of the parents, son, and daughter, meticulously making their way around the floor to empty every garbage box and clean the desks.
Marie from El Salvador was how she introduced herself in broken English. A lady in her mid-fifties with a short stature of barely five feet, she somehow managed to ooze that warm friendly glow. It would be the same routine everyday; I hunched over some document, incessantly trying to crack its code while she would quietly tiptoe towards the garbage trying her best not to break my concentration. At times, I would think about letting her feel well in her attempt by not acknowledge her presence, but always felt she’d appreciate it more if I made small talk. And so I did.
She seemed surprised at first, perhaps used to being treated like the inanimate garbage truck that collects trash from our homes. Whatever the reason, I persisted in treating her like a colleague rather than a ‘subordinate.’
The intriguing part was her children. In their mid-twenties and certainly older than I, they seemed very content in working with their parents. Maybe it’s the fact that my best friend growing up hated working at his parent’s store or the society’s expectations of us, I had naively assumed everyone had a similar demeanor. Nevertheless, it was a sight to behold, like something made for a TV Christmas special. All four working diligently with a hint of smile and satisfaction on their faces like a farmer after a hard day’s work.
The daughter looked like a carbon copy of her mother, to the extent that initially I couldn’t distinguish one from the other. But over time, I began to differentiate them due to the wrinkles that had found a permanent home underneath the mother’s eyes. The son spoke good English but not good enough to make me think he was born in Canada. In a slight conversation one day asking him to translate the Spanish lyrics of the Outlandish song Walou, I noticed he spoke softly in a respectful manner taking me back to the ‘uneducated’ Muslims I met in Dubai who were more courteous and polite than some of their more accomplished counterparts.
They seemed like a close knit family reminding me of the stories from grade two. Stories of ‘papa’ and ‘mama’ bear going to look for honey while the ‘baby’ bears played in the lavish fields; perfect little worlds with wooden houses under the shades of giant trees, leading lives that only had happy endings. Always imagined those to exist in fantasies but it seemed not. I had developed a great sense of respect for my late-hour colleagues or for anyone that lives with a smile on their face.
Maybe the reality was different and they were bitter inside……..
.................or maybe it just didn’t matter.
But there's more to this story than just power hungry individuals. A totally new vision on life has beckoned and a maturation process hastened by the solitude over the last few months. I've met so many interesting 'characters' that it's hard to fathom the end already draws near.
The supervisor or The-Big-Cheese as I call him because it seems like the place would fall apart without him. Don't think I've ever seen a harder working man; at least none that show up at 6 a.m. and leave at 8 p.m. every single day. Not to mention the weekends that he puts in too. The man's an inspiration to hard work and certainly does lead by example.
Though, it was not until we sat and talked on a misty Sunday evening, the kind that invites to long walks, did I realize the price he was paying. He despised being in the office that long but his position demanded so. I still remember asking him, “Do they at least compensate you?” subtly referring to materialistic offerings.
“How can anyone be compensated for being separated from his family?” His response caught me totally off guard. I was ashamed for even uttering such words but more so for how I had misjudged the man.
Then, there was the South African lady next to my desk. Her being the only environmental consultant on the project, we get into all sorts of political debates that eventually break out into random socio-economic-religious discussions.
The building watchman who religiously called me 'sir' despite being my father's age. The pretty girl from the floor above who had an uncanny ability to make cost estimation analysis a 'tad' bit more interesting. The old man who always rambled on to me about his life experiences in the North Sea and his close encounters with Gaddafi in Libya. The over-enthusiastic 'yes man' who seemed to agree with everything the supervisor mentioned.
Though the most interesting of people that I met at work were the family of janitors that would come by to clean the office after everyone had long gone home. Working late many a nights, I would frequently notice the family, consisting of the parents, son, and daughter, meticulously making their way around the floor to empty every garbage box and clean the desks.
Marie from El Salvador was how she introduced herself in broken English. A lady in her mid-fifties with a short stature of barely five feet, she somehow managed to ooze that warm friendly glow. It would be the same routine everyday; I hunched over some document, incessantly trying to crack its code while she would quietly tiptoe towards the garbage trying her best not to break my concentration. At times, I would think about letting her feel well in her attempt by not acknowledge her presence, but always felt she’d appreciate it more if I made small talk. And so I did.
She seemed surprised at first, perhaps used to being treated like the inanimate garbage truck that collects trash from our homes. Whatever the reason, I persisted in treating her like a colleague rather than a ‘subordinate.’
The intriguing part was her children. In their mid-twenties and certainly older than I, they seemed very content in working with their parents. Maybe it’s the fact that my best friend growing up hated working at his parent’s store or the society’s expectations of us, I had naively assumed everyone had a similar demeanor. Nevertheless, it was a sight to behold, like something made for a TV Christmas special. All four working diligently with a hint of smile and satisfaction on their faces like a farmer after a hard day’s work.
The daughter looked like a carbon copy of her mother, to the extent that initially I couldn’t distinguish one from the other. But over time, I began to differentiate them due to the wrinkles that had found a permanent home underneath the mother’s eyes. The son spoke good English but not good enough to make me think he was born in Canada. In a slight conversation one day asking him to translate the Spanish lyrics of the Outlandish song Walou, I noticed he spoke softly in a respectful manner taking me back to the ‘uneducated’ Muslims I met in Dubai who were more courteous and polite than some of their more accomplished counterparts.
They seemed like a close knit family reminding me of the stories from grade two. Stories of ‘papa’ and ‘mama’ bear going to look for honey while the ‘baby’ bears played in the lavish fields; perfect little worlds with wooden houses under the shades of giant trees, leading lives that only had happy endings. Always imagined those to exist in fantasies but it seemed not. I had developed a great sense of respect for my late-hour colleagues or for anyone that lives with a smile on their face.
Maybe the reality was different and they were bitter inside……..
.................or maybe it just didn’t matter.
Faraz Ahmed 4:37 p.m.
1 Comments:
To play the devil's advocate, in today's society, there are no other standards to measure people by.
As soon as you take God out of the equation and hence any notion of an afterlife, success is determined by the size of your house and the model of your car.
Not to say there is anything wrong with having them but they are not what determine a person's worth.
ps. by today's society, I refer to all societies not just the western one. On an individual level, we still have many ppl who don't think of success in purely materialistc terms, but there is not a society in existence today that does the same.
As soon as you take God out of the equation and hence any notion of an afterlife, success is determined by the size of your house and the model of your car.
Not to say there is anything wrong with having them but they are not what determine a person's worth.
ps. by today's society, I refer to all societies not just the western one. On an individual level, we still have many ppl who don't think of success in purely materialistc terms, but there is not a society in existence today that does the same.
