Whole-Day Quickies

I was at work in less than an hour with my brother. He had to do a bunch of stuff before finally bidding “Good ridance!” to the company for another job, and I had to do a bunch of stuff before finally bidding “Good ridance!” to the company for Holy Week.

While I was picking up some last items, I saw our dear Momma’s Martha Stewart magazine called Living on her desk. It was a 2003 edition and its about everything in the holidays. I browsed it, drooled over the featured food, and wished it would be Christmas tomorrow.

I haven’t gotten over that wish so I just took borrowed the magazine for a while.

After looking at the receipt coughed out by the ATM machine in a grand mall in Ortigas, I wanted to cry. First, I just realized that my annual increase this year felt like it all went to my witholding tax; second, having recalled what my manager told me about the new salary increase, its effectivity, and the total coverage of my retroactive pay, I felt that what they’re giving me is less than what I have earned. I’d like to think that they didn’t miss including my pay for the promotion from last position I had; the people in Finance just, well, they didn’t want to include it. What’s bad is that my manager didn’t seem to notice it.

Mourning over my salary won’t do me any good now. I guess I just have to take that part-time technical writer job I saw almost five days ago in Jobstreet. But before that….

I went straight to Red Ribbon “harken” the cries of my stomach. Knowing in this stage that I am already tight on budget, I decided to treat myself a good plate of my all-time favorite Palabok. I was extremely deprived.

Digging into the palabok, alone on a solo table with cake and a tall glass of Sarsi, was heaven in its most simple (Oh, that luscious meat!). I remembered I would be fasting tomorrow, and then I was like “Yes, you are going to deprive yourself with food this good.”

“Ah,” I said, then put another meat in my mouth.

Thank God I didn’t mind the time when I was inside that packed, non-airconditioned bus…else I’d be muttering traffic-and-discipline jibberish to the mother seated on my right to get her to talk to me, like the guy who had been muttering traffic-and-discipline jibberish to me on my left.

When I got off, I felt I was sweating like a pig, and when I reached home and went inside my room, I wanted to melt. Worst is I can’t take a bath because I just had a back treatment. Worse is that the spa center where I’ve been treated won’t lay off in reminding me to settle my payment on my next visit. That they have to ask about it and remind me twice! Yesterday was just my second session out of twelve, and their “nagging” would be understandable if I weren’t told that clients have a month to complete the pay. A month, not two weeks. So I was taking my time in paying, nothing bad about that, but it doesn’t mean that I’m gonna run away. I mean, jeez, talk about poor customer service. =|